The land of Texas

Finally Nashville-bound after a long week away from home. Ended the 5-show run with Griffin House on a high note at The Belmont in Austin, TX. Didn’t sleep until 5am. Woke up at 8. Austin is very far from Nashville. Brisket breakfast tacos from Taco Cabana are amazing. So are bathroom breaks. So are bathroom stall walls. So is Cherokee Music Festival. Golf carts are game changers come party time. They also have an impressive and surprising ability to cover wild terrain fairly quickly. Driving recklessly at sunset in the wilderness without my glasses is dangerous and exhilarating. So are cacti when you run into them. They will hurt you. Driving the cart on a 70mph two-lane highway in the dark is incredibly stupid and actually more frustrating than fun. 12mph never felt so slow. Adrian can run faster barefooted. Don’t try to teach a Texas girl to two-step. Even though she’ll let you try, there’s a strong chance she’s far more advanced. Sometimes it’s actually not a bad idea to get into a truck with a stranger and drive down miles of crazy dirt trails through a big game reserve at 4am. You just may end up with a snack and a nice place to sleep. And an infinity pool. And a private driving range. And bloody marys. Also a nasty headache and slowly forthcoming images and memories from the night before. I don’t think my head has stopped hurting since. That was the night before last. 9 hours to go.




It’s been a hell of a year. More highs than lows, and countless memorable moments. Is that an oxymoron?

I slept for 12 hours last night and it’s snowing like mad, which is always pleasing to me. Kosovo is a hell of a place so far. The general reception seems warm, locals and soldiers alike. The restrooms are about 50 feet snowy feet away from my door, which means I probably won’t shower until we get to Holland. High maintenance? No. Lazy? Yes. But I will probably sweat only once before we get there. Maybe twice. Judge me.

Tonight we’re playing for the troops, supported by a band of Asian gentlemen from LA called The Slants. Which is awesome. Looking forward to hearing them and hopefully hanging out later. My goal is to party from midnight here until it’s midnight in Nashville (7 hours later). That will probably be a difficult thing to do on a military base, but maybe we’ll be able to hit the town and paint it a shade of 2012 rouge.

I would love to add some photos, but the WordPress iPad app won’t actually upload them for some reason. You can follow me on Twitter (evanweatherford) or on Instagram (evanweatherford). I’ll post a bunch when I get back to Nashville too.

This will be my last post for 2011. That was sarcastic, since I think i only posted maybe 4 times all year. Anyways, Happy New Years!!


Vienna Sausages

I can’t remember liking them, and this post isn’t even about them, but I am in Vienna.

Chris Farney (drummer extrordinaire) is looking over my shoulder as I type this and I’m instantly self-conscious about it. He stopped. Whew.

Chris just informed me of his plan to get a tattoo around his nipple that says “Always Erect.” He’ll probably get it in Papyrus font. Idiot. Just kidding. It’ll probably be in a cool spaceship font. He’s futuristic. (He’s looking over my shoulder again.)

I’m with Seth Philpott and Andy Davis, along with Chris, Bryan Lee of Pro Sports MVP, and Charles Noice (FOH engineer) on a short layover here in Austria, headed for Kosovo for another military outing. This time we’ll be ringing in 2012 with rock n’ roll and soul for the NATO troops in Europe instead of hitting 300-yard drives over the Tigris off of a picnic-table-driving-range behind Saddam Hussein’s palace while breath hot death dust in Iraq (easily one of the best and most meaningful experiences of my life). Then we’ll be off to Amsterdam, Cologne, Hamburg, Berlin, and Frankfurt for a couple more shows and a lot of shenanigans. A whole lot. We’ve discussed it in depth actually, and we aim to leave a noticeable mark on the face of post-midnight Europe, if for no other reason than retribution for the mark she’s going to leave on Chris’ left nipple.

Here’s to the use of commas in unnecessarily long sentences.

Cheers. Check back!


Last night a tornado destroyed Joplin, MO, leaving some of my family homeless. My cousin Cory (single-dad), and his sons, Brooks (9) and Jake (7) lost their home and all their possessions in the storm, which carved a 6-mile long, 1/2 mile wide path through the center of the city.  As if things could be any worse, 3 weeks ago, Cory was laid off from his job, rendering him currently unable to provide financially. They’ve literally lost everything but their lives, and have no means of replacing any of it. One of the boys’ teachers was also killed.

EDIT: Both boys teachers have been found safe!

I’ll keep this short. They desperately need our help. I’m asking anyone who feels moved and can afford it to donate whatever they can. Even 5 or 10 dollars will be very helpful to them. If you can give more, do it! It’s very rare that I would ask this sort of thing of anyone, but this is very important to me. Think of your own family. If we could get 200 people to give $10 per month for a few months, we could significantly cut down on their bills and help them get back on their feet. If we spread the word efficiently and got thousands of people to give $2 each, that would be simple and overwhelmingly huge.

Thanks for reading. You can click on the Donate button below to give via Paypal. It only takes a minute. You don’t even need a paypal account. Just a credit or debit card. You should get an email receipt. If you don’t, leave me a comment on here. I’ll get it on my phone. God bless you.

Also, please feel free to link to my blog on twitter or facebook or whatever it is that you use to get the word around.

Cory’s truck is parked in front of where their house used to be.



Wow. Been awhile. I’m older now, as we all are, but this time I passed the 30th mile marker…. (eh nevermind.. that expression paints a rather underwhelming image.)

This past week has been one of the best of my life, as I’ve never felt so loved by those around me. My parents traveled all the way from Kansas City to spend a few days with me, my friends rallied ’round me, and the lovely Megan James, my… ahem… girlfriend, produced and edited this thoughtful masterpiece:

It made me tear up a little, which is big. I’m reeaally tough.

She presented it to me just before we left for the biggest progressive birthday bash ever (also courtesy of Megan), starting with a small get together at Imogene + Willie, a bigger dinner party at 12 South Taproom, a raging night at Melrose, and a nightcap (or three) at Patterson House with the remaining stragglers, my true friends (just kidding, but seriously). We literally partied for almost 12 straight hours from 4pm-3:30am, and my salty parents dusted off their party shoes and matched our younger stride with ease. I was so bushed by the time we sat down at PH that I could only keep one eye open, and I told everyone “my mouth is done.” It was the best party anyone’s ever thrown me. Thanks Megan :)

Fast forward to Friday, 4/1, Coach’s Pub, Hartford, CT:

I was standing outside talking to a couple people, and my buddy Dave came out, grabbed the back of my jacket, and pulls me inside as everyone in the bar loudly counted down the last ten seconds of my 20s, erupting into a fit of yelling and hollering, cheering and laughing. Like a band of wild pirates, they all sang Happy Birthday and For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow. That was easily one of the best moments of my life. I had an ear-to-ear grin and a few more tears in my eyes (still super tough though). I’ll never forget that. I love you guys.

Then we went to New York the next day and stayed out until 5 am. Then I went with my great friend Tiffany Thurston to Sarabeth’s for brunch, and to the Oak Bar in the Plaza Hotel for a Manhattan, which is somewhat of a bucket list accomplishment, personally.


If it sounds like I’m bragging, I am. I have the best friends and family a guy could ask for, and I’m bragging on them.

A lot of folks seem to stress out over such a number, but I welcome it. Sure, it feels a little strange to think about what I was doing 20 years ago, or to realize I’m 2 years older than my parents were when they had me, etc. But according to the majority of my friends of similar vintage, it’s the best time of their lives so far, so bring it on.

Let me also take this moment to congratulate my brother, Bryan, on making it to 21. You have a rich adventure ahead of you. Happy Birthday man!! Wish I could buy you a lot of drinks today.

Edit: i got this out a couple days late. Sorry Bryan.


Art vs Marketing: Can They Be Friends?

Some friends of mine were having a conversation on twitter about the best way to market yourself, and it got me thinking, so I wrote down my thoughts.

First we should probably define the two subjects.

Dictionary.com defines art as the quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance.

Marketing is a hard one to pin down in any sort of dictionary, so we’ll just describe it as advertising and selling your set of skills.

My question is this:

Is doing great work for less-than-great product/client furthering mediocrity?

A few similar, but media-variant scenarios to ponder.

1. If you’re a good photographer shooting a sub-talented music artist, there is no doubt you’ll be able to deliver top-quality images to your client, cloaking them in a facade of perceived importance, legitimizing them, in a sense. You’ve done good work and made your client happy, and that’s ultimately the best way to market yourself.

2.  If you’re a record producer, and this same client comes to you with any sort of proper budget, you’ll be able to produce, at least sonically, a top-quality record. Again you’ve done great work and pleased your client. They’ll most likely tell everyone they know, which is the purest form of marketing.

3.  If you’re a web developer or graphic design guru, you can make almost any product enticing to the right people, regardless of it’s quality. You can use your talent and brilliance to make anything shine.

But what’s the cost? Is your own work cheapened?

Another thing, who determines what’s “great” and what’s worthless? By refusing to do great work for mediocre people, I’m effectively claiming authority on the matter, when it’s really just my own opinion. Who am I to tell someone what they should like and appreciate as art and what they should shun as noise (figuratively speaking)?

I guess it comes down to perception. How is your work perceived? I know I’ve been involved in shows where I could only hope know one would recognize me or remember me, just to make money. People afterward would tell me how good it was, when it was actually terrible in my opinion, and I didn’t know how to agree with them without being dishonest. I’m not great at the “smile and nod” thing, but I gave it my best shot I suppose.

I could probably keep chasing this rabbit, but I have a lot to do today. Let’s get a conversation going.  Tell me I’m right. Tell me I’m wrong. Share your opinions. I’ll definitely be responding.


Fast Fallin’ Friend

My heart is a fast fallin’ friend.
He goes all in when it’s too fast to swim.
I’ve tried to warn him a time or two before,
But he just smiled and bet some more.

Well I jumped in this time around.
Stood right by him, didn’t make a sound.
He was up, but the river flushed him in.
Now I’m sittin’ sad again.

I’ll ride on home, broke, alone.
Singin’ a song I oughta know.
I still believe one day he’s gonna win
My old fast fallin’ friend.

That man’s always been a dreamer,
Reckless heart, firm believer.
He holds on until the bitter end,
Leaves me sittin’ sad again.

Ride on home still alone,
Singin’ a song I oughta know.
I still believe one day he’s gonna win,
My old fast fallin’ friend.


Drank one down and then another.
There was you and there’ll be others.
I know, I still believe one day we’re gonna win…

Ride on home, drunk, alone.
Singin’ an old song I oughta know.
I still believe one day he’s gonna win,
My old fast fallin’ friend…
One day my fast fallin’ friend.



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