What it is about is the tour we hadn't intended to do, to support the video we had no intention of making, for the single we vowed never to release. Basically, around mid August of last year MOIST decided (in its usual "Of course we can make an informed decision in the face of a compete lack of information as long as it's based on wildly inaccurate specualtion piled precariously on top of layer upon layer of instant, barely considered, kneed jerk reactions" sort of way) that it was once again time to begin the running argument we call the creative process. To which a number of people said - "The hell it is. It's time for you to get back out on the road and pronto."

And so the Gasoline Tour was brought kicking and screaming into the world, bringing with it the usual cantankerous rabble that keep us on time, in tune and pointed (generally) in the right direction for the next show. As tours go this was probably one of the tames we have ever embarked upon (both on and off the stage). There were no sudden attempts to steal small motorised conveyances of any kind, Jeff didn't even sniffle (well once, and badly enough to have cancel a show), and nothing got broken, twisted, or otherwise discombobulated because someone or other just had to use it in a way it was never intended to be used.
For instance, like using a human body as an impromptu pile of hay bails to stop a speeding go cart instead of just stepping on the barke like anyone else would do.

That said however, there were a couple of mements that bear a small amount of attention. All I can safely say is: 4:30AM, playing the bagpipes outdoors, full frontal nudity, Victoria BC, and "hello officer". No matter what order you put those five phrases in it all adds up to the same thing. At best, not a very good idea and at worst, missing the morning ferry to the mainland and incidentally the next show in Edomonton because YOU ARE IN JAIL. Luckily the officer who had the misfortune to witness what I'm sure is a sight most of the world would rather not see on the very best of good days allowed the offender (who shall remain nameless) back on the bus on the condition that he not step out of it again until he was fully clothed, less shameless in his chosen method of self expression and most importantly in another provice.

Happily, we retained our erstwhile crew member and he, his freedom, as well as some small vestige of his self respect and dignity. Sadly, his underwear were lost. Other than this and an unfortunate incident involving several gallons of stale urine leaking out of the bus toilet reservoir and into the crew bus luggage bay the entire band and crew showed remarkably uncharacteristic restraint, alacrity and (gasp) maturity.

Many thanks to all of you who came to the shows and did your level best to create a mosh pit where none had previously existed.

This trend continued into the next small bout of touring that took place in February in the USA with Big Wreck and Creed. Referring to his journal for the time period in question, Jeff swears that absolutely nothing happened. If the Gasoline Tour was somewhat restrained, the US tour was positively puritanical. A fundamentalist southern Baptist church picnic on a exceptionally cloudy and inclement good Friday at the height of prohibition would have been more hedonistic. Most of our down time, which was considerable due to a case of bronchitis contracted rather inconveniently by Mr. Usher, was spent pecking away at matching laptops and trying to get to the next city in time for that day's broadcast of the Jerry Springer show.

Even Paul, normally a individual who's morning begins sometime well after noon, competely flipped schedules, waking up at the crack of dawn and tottering cheerfully off to sleep shortly after our shows without even a nasty parting shot or "whateryoulookinat" for anyone. Traditionally, on tour and before noon, Paul is nearly as friendly, genteel, and reasonable as a starving grizzly bear with a toothache, painfull gas, and a flesh wound. His sudden observation of farmer's hours and unusually sunny morining disposition made everyone a wee bit uncomfortable, but after ascertaining that Paul was indeed still Paul we know and love to avoid before later afternoon, and had not been abducted by the FBI and replaced by a government probe, the rest of the band resolved to accept "Mr. Saturday morning's" new hours and only occasionally wonder why and how he is managing to sleep at night instead of during the morning, sometimes the mid to late afternoon, and occasionally during the pointless circular discussions we self importantly call business meetings. *

*Please NOTE: This is not to say that Paul doesn't participate in said meetings. He does. However, he will (and rightly so) only discuss an issue once, and for a limited period of time before opting for unconsciousness, intelligently refusing to beat a conversation to death by using slightly different words to say the sme thing over and over again ad nauseum until no one has a clue what we were talking about in the first place.

Sadly the same can not be said for Mark "the more we indulge in hopeless speculation based on best case scenarios propped up by ludicrously flawed information the sooner we can confuse the issue beyond recognition" Makoway, Kevin "This, gnash, sputter, grr, is an outrage. We must, spit, twitch, obsess about it, nar, hiss, have at thee, endlessly, until we are so angry, fuss, blither, we can't speak" Young, Jeff "I must tap my teeth continuously to avoid throwing punches" Pearce, and of course David "I want to sky to fall on him forever"Usher.

To be fair, something must have happened as the tour took us through ten cities starting with Providence, RI and looping as far south as Virginia before finishing up in New York with our own show at the Mercury Lounge. I suspect that whatever did go on was simply missed by the band as we all had our faces either buried in our laptops or our eyes glued to the television. With David down and a few days in Philadelphia to kill MOIST goes sightseeing in an effort to pass the time. I could regale you with stories of the Liberty Bell and downtown Philly food courts but you'd probably yawn so hard you'd swallow your own head.

There is one thing we discovered in Philadelphia that might be of interst. On our last day in town, Mark and Jeff found a small music store filled to overflowing with gloriously ancient keyboards and other amusing bits and pieces of unusual gear including the fabulous, electric washtub bass and the amazing, wondrous, 'Guitorgan'.

Essentially a guitar that can be coaxed to sound like a keyboard; the 'Guitorgan' is a strange piece of equipment that though it is shaped, played, and even sounds like a guitar (sort of), it can, at the flip of a switch, also sound like the cheesiest Bon Tempi organ ever to grace a mobile home. Now this is not to say it sounds good, it doesn't. As a guitar it sounds thin and anemic and as an organ it sounds very much like several angry tomcats fighting it out to the death in a shoe box lined with slabs of old chalkboard. Built into the fret board are contacts that when pressed while forming a chord enable the player to accompany his or her guitar stylings with big washy organ pads.

We oohed. We ahhed. Not one of us left that store without considering buying the magical, splendiferous, 'Guitorgan', buit at $950 US the price was just a bit too steep regardless of the kitsch value of the instrument.

Paul Wilcox (who I might add is the current holder of the title of grand master of cheese, lord of limburger, and proud winner of the annual Muskoka Invitational Cheesefest five years running, knowing and being able to play, as he does, more chessy old favourites than any one else in the band or crew, ranging in scope from "Hello Mudder, Hello Fadder" to obscure R and B tunes and old Journey B-sides) put more thought into the matter than anyone else. As he looked longingly at the "Guitorgan" you could almost see Paul's name in lights as he considered a possible solo projec entitled 'Dang Me: Paul Wilcox and his marvellous Guitorgan play the blues'. Wisely, (I think) Paul decided against the Guitorgan at the last minute and we piled in the bus and headed south. Many thanks to Creed and Big Wreck for having us on the tour and to all folks in the States who supported us.

After wrapping up the tour in New York it was back to Montreal for a few days and into the rehearsal space to begin work on our next album where we finally get to the scents and sounds of five men nearly deafening themselves with the thunder of their own self indulgence. At least until the Junos, where Javier and MOIST (by association) take the Juno for Best Video for Gasoline.

All of which brings us to the present; half an hour before thrashing through our latest material at high volumes for several hours as we get closer and closer to completing the next record. We hope.

Generally when writing we go on a long ill advised tangent and write a boatload of strange new material, play it gleefully for six months, and toss the whole lot of it out in disgust two months before we go into the studio to record. Hopefully this time we're keeping quite a bit of what has come together so far and will get it to you as soon as we can. All being well, sometimes early next year. Until then, see you at Edgefest and at the Calgary Stampede.

Nauselbaum, MOIST

DAMN WE'RE SHORT HANDED, BUT ALL THE BEST ANYWAY DEPT.
At this point we'd like to say few words of thanks and farewell to two members of our crew. Stan Wardle and Graeme MacDonald have been with us from the very beginning and their hard work, sacrifices, and loyalty will never be forgotten. They routinely attempted the impossible and out of sheer bloody mindedness and determination often accomplished it with time to spare. They drove, set up, tore down, packed, unpacked, repacked, laughed, played, bitched, finagled, and got it all done fast, right and then drove some more. If we needed something, they found it, if it was broken, they fixed it, if it was in the way they went over, around, or through it, if it was tangled up, bent, or ass backward they untangled it, straightened it, and got it pointed in the right direction. We continue to value their friendship, judgment and strenght.Thanks for making the road a safer, saner place for all of us over the past six years. It just won't be the same without you. You'll both be deeply missed.