Misadventures of the Scallywags.

“If I only scrap a living, at least it’s a living worth scraping, and if there is no future in it, at least this is a present worth remembering.”

Mickey Smith

            As we once again prepare for a summer of tour dates around Ireland I have been reminiscing over past years and the adventures of the Scallywags. Life on the road means worn out tires, squeaky brake pads, worn out patience, packing and unpacking a car so filled to the brim with tents, sleeping bags, booze, food and instruments we can barely squeeze ourselves in for these long journeys. There is always a mixture of excitement and resignation as we set out on these trips around Ireland where inventing car games such as Castle, Tractor, Thatch, and Hot or Not, become valuable ways to pass the time. There is a lot of joy in playing music and it is an honor to be asked to play your tunes for people on the other side of the Island. This is something we have to constantly remind ourselves as we try to squeak out a living sharing our energy and spirit in the form of this rag-tag collective of musicians we call the Scallywags.

As we step into the Corolla we prepare ourselves mentally for a battle of leg and elbow space that we will go through as we tread country roads and carriage ways that have become so familiar to us after three seasons of touring. We know every castle ruin along nearly every road, and every thatch cottage that hides down country lanes. The first to call them out gets a point and for the poor bastard who calls out “castle” when in reality it is an abbey or just a big building they inevitably drop down a point or two. Eardrums are not often blown on stage but in the car rides with Juliana, as she screams “TRACTOR” whenever she sees one. 

This is a game the rest of the scallywags have abandoned as there are far too many tractors in Ireland and the game gets repetitious after a few minutes, but Juliana insists on destroying our hearing with her high pitched screams and proceeding giggles that bring painful grimaces and then reluctant smiles to us all. Unto this day Juliana has never successfully spotted a Castle before one of us see it.

Ivan will often take out his headphones and throw on some symphonic metal. We are generally all in accord with each others choice of music but Ivan is particular in what he listens to in a car, and so he is never without his mp3 player filled with Nightwish and whatever new Finish metal band he has discovered that week. 

We often don’t hear from him during the journeys, unless he wants to request a stop for tea or to serenade us with one of his impressions of Arnold Swartzneggar or sing us a song in the voice of a sheep. You can take the boy off the farm but you can’t take the farm out of the farmer. Often the sheep impression is “Bahh Bahh, mikey nooooooooooo” 

as he simulates some undignified act to an un-wanting sheep, or some song in which my name is featured. Being the front man I receive the majority of the slaggin in the band which keeps the ego in check and allows for the rest of the band to have a much needed source of venting. Tensions can get high amongst any band that spends countless hours traveling and sleeping on couches or in wet fields together, but generally morale is good and we all dish out just as much as we take. This isn’t the rock and roll dream that they promised us but we wouldn’t trade what we do for anything, though one can dream of nice beds and comfy tour busses all the same.

Brian drives fast and cant stand bad drivers. He also buys and listens to an album on repeat until he has heard and counted every beat and can recite it verbatim. This can take quite a while and so we heard Snarky Puppy’s album for nearly four months straight, but if you ask Brian where the tempo changes from 128 beats per minute to 150bpm in track 6, he can tell you the exact second of the change, or pretty damn close. 

Conversations about engineering, cars and Frank Zappa keep for a happy car ride with Brian and he is very knowledgeable on both topics. (Ha ha!) There’s only ever one spare seat in Brian’s car as he lugs most of the gear. Pauli rides shotgun on most trips with Brian and the two of them will discuss music theory and recording issues at great length. But give Pauli a bit of Buckfast and seat in the other car and prepare yourself for the goofiness to begin. Anything from covering the driver’s eyes to pouring ice cream down someone’s back can take place. Which is why we often like to prank call Pauli when he is in the other car. We once tested his loyalty to the band by pretending to be the manager of Sharon Shannon and convincing him that she was looking for him to play double bass on her American tour as Kelvin Busher couldn’t make it. As convinced as he was that he was looking at an opportunity to make big bucks, he didn’t waver and regrettably turned down the fake offer so that he could fulfill his commitment to the scallywags to play The Flatlakes festival. Pauli is our source of goofiness and the level head in the band that helps settle disputes. He is our councilor and band therapist, but his absolute disregard for decent and appropriate fashion is extremely questionable. I believe he wore dirty sweat pants rolled up to the thigh, with a puppy dog t-shirt, a fanny pack, muddy boots, and a child’s hat on stage last year at Body and Soul. God love um!

in fairness none of us are exactly looking great that day

Alan is the faithful driver getting us to our destination safely and filling the journey with a slew of puns that help pass the time. He likes to call himself the peacemaker, and his general easygoing nature allows everyone to suggest mischievous side adventures that Alan will most of the time graciously oblige or even suggest himself. He has been known to keep a rotting sandwich in the glove box for weeks, though he tends to drive a clean ship and is always up for a detour to see the odd waterfall or to confirm that what somebody claims is a castle actually is a castle. He holds the car record for most castles called and is particularly fond of finding more thatched cottages than anyone else. His banjo playing isn’t bad either, and his fondness for the craic and craft beer is unparalleled. 

We have met hundreds of great bands, some of which we stay in touch with while others drift off and are never heard from again until they pop up on the radio and we all celebrate and curse their success simultaneously. (Ha ha) Jealousy of success comes with the game and one must fight it at every turn. Eventually, with a little bit of time and perspective you can honestly celebrate a good bands success and be happy for them, especially if they are nice people and have something to say to the world that is worthwhile. In general we are simply blessed with the ability to do what we love, and like the great photographer Mickey Smith said, “If I only scrap a living, at least it’s a living worth scraping, and if there is no future in it, at least this is a present worth remembering.” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1swPZzxv0tI

Taking to the stage with this crew becomes the most important thing for all of us. We could be at each others throats just before the show starts but once we begin playing we become a band, and with every note the healing power and driving force that is music washes over us and all disagreements and frustrations seem to slide away at least momentarily. 

We are Scallywags in nature. What I mean when I say scallywag, is that thing that your parents called you when you were a kid and still full of wonder and mischief. That’s us. We marvel at the fact that we are trying to live the dream and we do our best to make the most of every grace filled moment touring together. Making art for oneself in this life is inherit in many of us, but the ability to share it with others and have them appreciate it and pay you for it, is a hard earned gift, and I hope we can keep receiving this gift for many years to come. That’s all for now, but I intend to share more adventures of the scallywags in weeks to come. There will be tales of late night sessions, meeting other bands such as Gypsy Rebel Rabble, and the great, terrifying, and mysterious tale of Who Farted on Stage? See you in the funny pages.

Mikey