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As I age, I am trying to push myself into uncomfortable territory more often, which expands my worldview, and I almost always enjoy it. For example, taking a nineteen-hour flight to Singapore was challenging but ultimately beneficial. And when I saw that Waxahatchee was going on tour with one of my favorite bands, Wilco, I decided it was time to jump on the bus and go Penny Lane mode, even though I prioritize planes and hotels over most things in my life. Luckily, Katie Crutchfield, the brains and brawn behind Waxahatchee, agreed to let me join; even over text, she got a kick out of the idea of me being uncomfortable in her world.
The plan was hatched quickly; I would fly to Nashville on Thursday, have dinner at Rolf + Daughters, and then meet up with the tour on Friday for the show at a new venue called The Pinnacle. My Uber dropped me off in the bowels of the new construction complex that housed the venue. Katie’s tour manager, Peyton, met me with my laminate and escorted me and my luggage to the parked bus. He gave me the lock code, showed me how to open the bay to store my suitcase, and then came the moment of truth—he took me to my bunk.
That morning, Katie had texted me to give me the out—alerting me that this particular bunk, the only unused one on the bus (“junk bunk” is a familiar term for those in the biz), had a significantly lower ceiling height. I had already psyched myself up, trying to forget the last time I rode long distance in a tour bus, which ended with me vomiting for hours (alcohol and cocaine were involved) in a low-rent hotel room upon arrival. I start feeling claustrophobic and pray to God Katie and I don’t get stuck in an elevator together on the other end of this ride. I lowered myself to the floor and, less than gracefully, maneuvered myself into my bunk, where the ceiling hovered eerily close to my nose. In that moment, I regretted my decision, but it was too late.
I hung out with Katie and her band in the green room before the show, and during a lull in the conversation, I heard Wilco playing what seemed to be a full-band set. I got up and peeked around the corner. Jeff Tweedy & company have a full setup backstage, so that every night they can play before they actually play. These guys, if you don’t know, can fucking shred. Everyone else backstage was going about their business, continuing the daily grind of tour life. Meanwhile, I stood next to the door and listened with a stupid grin on my face. I have listened to Wilco and Tweedy’s previous band, Uncle Tupelo, since high school. This sort of access is special and not lost on me, and it reinforced my decision to briefly join the tour, no matter how low the ceiling on my bunk was.