A flat tire in a sketchy crack riddled hotel row in Vallejo wasn't how I had imagined the day starting. It was the last day of a short tour with the Bottlerock set on the horizon. Shady folks who looked like the extras from a breaking bad meth scene outtake eyed the van and trailer for pawnable contents like a pinata that yielded the next fix. We were all tired, we had pushed the previous night thoroughly into the am at a fired up gig in Healdsburg and now it was time to summon the remnant energy for the last set, the one that really mattered. We got the tire fixed and were on the way, thrown into the fire on arrival. We unloaded quickly and stepped to the stage like underdogs with something to prove. I had no idea how large Bottlerock was. There was a literal sea of humanity there to see some music heroes with a litany of ubiquitous hits between. We were unknowns on the line up, the small font, but owned the determination to not live with that title. We hit the set hard with the hunger and every ounce of energy we could muster. After the set I was talking to one guy who had bought all of our CDs and he said "I just wandered over here for a beer and you changed my life, this was the best thing I saw all weekend." Mission accomplished.
Photos by Kristy Walker