Sean Patrick Mcgraw

avatar

Packing At A Hundred Miles Per Hour…..

I can never get out of town with out stressing over a million little things that need to get done before I’m good to go and yesterday is no exception. I spent most of the day writing (songs) and me and Deric (Ruttan) actually managed to finish one in one sitting (doesn’t usually happen) and I told the wife I’d meet her for lunch and I rushed home to make that happen and then I had a meeting with Cassie-at-crowd-surf down at Fido and she thinks it would be great if I could post more pics on my site and I’m all about whatever it is I need to do to further the carreer in the virtual world so I promise to get a camera before I get on the plane in the morning (I did have a camera, but it was stolen in Key West in February) so I run to target after our meeting and pick up a cheap Kodak and rush home to mow the lawn that I’d promised to mow before I left town and at the same time it’s getting late and it’s my job to light the grill and cook the Buffalo Burgers (as in Buffalo meat, not Buffalo sauce) and (I think) I light the grill and then I get the lawn mower started and I get the lawn mowed and walk to the back yard and the charcoal is cold and it’s a matter of building a fire to start a fire (wife has something against lighter fluid) and that takes some doing and at the same time I’m supposed to bake the oven fries and I get the oven going and Oh yeah, I need to try and check in online and I can’t seem to figger that out and I get hold of my mom who has all my frequent flyer info and at the same time the phone starts ringing and there are gigs coming in that I need to confirm and I need to get supper done ‘cause it’s like seven-thirty at night and if I’m getting up at 4am I should try and be in bed at nine–I know it won’t happen–and I haven’t even packed yet, but that’s no big deal, my clothes are all hanging in my closet right? And the wife gets home and we have supper and talk about the shit married people talk about and I haven’t packed yet (but whatever) and it’s getting late so I start rounding up my stuff for my trip; I’ll need my helmet and gloves and leather jacket for the Love Ride, a nice pair of jeans or two for the ACM’s and I have more shirts than a man should have but for some reason half of ‘em are too BIG for me (did I shrink?) And half are to small (did my shirts shrink?) And I have two or three blue shirts that I like and I grab the two that I can find that I’d consider “back-ups” and the one that I always wear, the one that I live in on tour is nowhere to be found and it wouldn’t be a big deal but that’s the shirt I was planning on wearing cause it fits the best and the wife is in bed already and she’s trying to sleep and I’m trying not to make noise but I’m tearing the closet apart and where the hell IS that damned shirt? and after taking every last thing out of the closet I still ain’t found it and it’s now after 11pm and I’m thinking about the sleep I’m not gonna get and I say “screw it it, I’ll wear black.”

Thankfully I slept pretty good.



avatar

More Wisdom From Sin City

So I get to Vegas around noon or so after a non-eventful flight that’s just bumpy enough to wake me up every time I start to fall asleep…I’m here for a couple reasons: I got invited on the LOVE RIDE–details of which at this moment I still know NOTHING about other than this will involve celebrities and harley davidson’s and I don’t care if RATT sang “Nobody Rides fo Free..” Tomorrow I am indeed riding for free and I am here to attend the Academy of Country Music Awards which really means I’m here to be seen at the Academy of Country Music Awards and I’m here to write about it for CountryTattletale.com and then on Sunday I’m here to sing the national anthem at as ACM event out at the Vegas Speedway which is also an NHRA event so I’m guessing after I get to the part where I sing “and the home of the brave” I can say “Gentlemen, start your engines…”

Love that part.

Anyhoo.

I’ve learned a few things today.

I’ve learned that If you’re a married guy who doesn’t gamble and who’s not in the mood to drink all day…maybe there’s not really a lot to do in Las Vegas. I mean, there are shows…none that I really want to se so bad, and there is Vegas itself, which I’ve seen a lot of in the last six months…and it’s HOT and I couldn’t get motivated to walk the strip earlier….and there’s food; but I’ve learned that if you want a little bit to eat-–something to just hold you over–you are not going to find it here unless you eat fast food and hey, this is Vegas. There is a Wolfgang Pucks and a “Pearl” downstairs. You don’t eat Del Taco….

So I tried to have a “light” lunch; and the closest I could come was a chicken salad at the Mexican place next door and it was enough for three people and okay, I had a beer while I was eating and sitting at the bar I witnessed several patrons purchase these “yards” of Marguerita’s that are basically a walking beer-bong full of Tequila and they cost about $20 apiece and I guess if they really have six shots per Marguerita-Bong that’s not such a bad deal but I’m sitting there and these dudes from Long Island (I know that accent anywhere) come in and order a round and it comes to $100….(Okay, when in Vegas, I guess.) But I’m thinkin’ I’d go broke here If the band started drinking like that and as inviting as the Marguerita-Bongs look I think it best to abstain as of yet (it’s noon) and I finish-–as in clean my plate-–the HUGE salad and it’s a beautiful day so I figure I’ll go sit by the pool at the MGM Grand and it was here by the pool I learned a few other things.

1) that “small” Marguerita you order by the pool costs as much as the HUGE one you can get on the street so you might as well get the one on the street.

2) Kenny slept with that Crazy B*tch LeeAnn twice and maybe he would have slept with her more (he didn’t refer to it as sleeping with her) but she wasn’t that hot. She was hot enough, but Kenny rides motorcycles, it sounds like he races them and it sounds like Kenny has his pick of hot chicks to sleep with, even though the euphemism Kenny uses to describe the act is much more vulgar. ( I heard this from twenty feet away)

3) Kelly and her “Crazy Biotch” (that’s what she calls her) gal-pal Lisa have been here a week and they’ve been partying like rockstars even though they’re both underage, but Kelly has her friend Jenn’s ID and they look enough alike that “even when the bouncers know it’s not you it’s close enough and they don’t throw you out ‘cause they want hot young thing like us in there…” Kelly often calls her crazy-biotch gal-pal Lisa her “Nigga” and it makes me wonder if it’s ever okay for white girls to use this as a term of endearment…I’m not looking to see if they’re looking over their shoulders when they call each other this.

4) There are plenty of balding middle aged men at this pool with lots of gold jewelry around their necks who leer at Kelly and her crazy biotch friend who will never ever under any circumstances do what they’d like to do to girls like them..

5) Even a beer by this pool is pretty expensive

So after a couple hours of sitting by the pool returning phone calls (I had to feel like I was doing something productive) I went back inside, Ostensibly to go to my room and I was walking through the Casino and If I forgot one of the reasons I’m in Vegas I’m reminded when I’m walking across the room and I run Into someone I Know in the music business–Rory Feek—and Rory is an old friend and he gives me a bug hug and I say hey to his daughter and her boyfriend and we catch up on all that’s gone on since the last time we’ve seen each other which was at the CMT Video Awards and Rory and his lovely Wife Joey (together known as Rory and Joey) have been on tour with the Zach Brown Band and according to Rory that all went very well and we’re standing there talking and someone Rory know’s who looks familiar to me walks uo and they start talking and I’m introduced and I realizes it’s Jay Frank from CMT–the guy responsible for allowing my video to get played on the network…and I’m like “dude, I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you..” And he and I realize that we’ve really only met once face-to-face and it’s no-worries nice-to-see-you-again.

Meanwhile, the super-jumbo {BTW “Jumbo” as a euphemism for “really BIG” comes from the real Elephant named Jumbo, who was not named that because he was BIG, but who caused people to use the term “JUMBO” as an adjective for large because indeed Jumbo-the-Elephant was HUGE—and he made PT Barnum a lot of $$$ and was sadly killed as he was lead across a set of Railroad tracks and hit by a locomotive at high speed….sorry to digress, I read that on the plane this morning} The super-jumbo-mambo Salad that I had for lunch was now but a hollow memory form the pit of my stomach and I felt the need to ingest more sustenance should I decide to partake in that past-time so endemic to Vegas (I needed to eat so’s I could drink—Kelly and her crazy-biotch friend Lisa were going to eat so they could continue to party—maybe that’s where I got the idea) So I walked with Jay Frank to the front of the Casino and said “later” and figured I’d head across the street and hit Diabolo’s for Happy-Hour and I went outside and there was no seating at the restaurant and I started to thinking maybe I should go back in and see who else I might run into and sure enough I stick my head back inside the MGM Grand and I hear “Sean Patrick McGraw!!” from across the room and it’s my old friend Jay Jackson who used to play bass for me but who know plays steel for Jason Aldean and he’s looking for something to eat as well so I suggest that we see if we can get on the list across the street and we go to Diabolo’s and write our names down and “yes” we can sit at the bar while we wait, even though there’s no where to sit at the bar but as we walk up to order some Dos Equis these two dudes get up so me and Jay sit down and order up some burrito’s and catch up on what life on the road has done to both of us in the last year, and some of it maybe I could share and some of it is juicy gossip but all I know is it’s great to be in a band and It’s great to be in Vegas with an old good friend eating Mexican food as the pretty girls walk by….




avatar

Jager Countr Tour w/ Eric Church Epilogue

I suppose anyone’s who’s followed the jager blogs might wonder why I haven’t talked about the last night of the tour yet and I’ve been meaning too but there’s a few thing about life on the road that maybe I haven’t shared yet and they are: 1) I myself do much, probably most of the driving. 2) after the Boulder show we-the-band-and-crew drove non stop to Cleveland, where we-the-band-and-crew parted ways and I myself drove all the way to Nashville without stopping and I’m figuring I stayed awake for the most of 40 hours or so and if you’ve ever been on the road for almost a month solid you will leave things at home in a certain state of disarray and upon your return there will be a virtual, if not literal honey-do list a mile long and this indeed was the case upon my return to Davidson Co. TN and it is only now after two weeks back at home that I find myself in the position of sitting on the couch on a Sunday afternoon in the status of having the privacy fence repaired, the rock garden weeded, the rental property painted, the phone calls made, the lawn mowed, the miles run, the books balanced, the taxes done, the water heater fixed, the mailings sent, the recycling taken in and the rubbish at the curb.

So I figured I’d get around to the end of the story with regards to the Jager Country Tour w/ Eric Church.

And to be honest, I may be motivated by not one, but several cases of mistaken Identity, the particular incident in this case being the behavior of someone bearing my resemblance on the last night of the Tour, someone bearing resemblance to behavior that I may have been guilty of a time or two along the road but in this specific case, not so. I ain’t yer guy….

Precisely, I may have partied like a rockstar on several occasions on the Jager Tour, the nights end in Boulder NOT being one of them.

But let’s start at the beginning of the end. (Of the tour, that is). I stayed in nearby Winterpark, CO skiing as late as I could call it on Saturday. Rumor has it that that day was one of the best of the year, and thankfully, gratefully–for as little as I get to ski–I was there to enjoy the excellent conditions and the equally excellent company. I left the mountain at 2pm figuring that if my band couldn’t do today’s soundcheck without me, as they have done many times in the past, then fates simply fell that I did not deserve to sound good tonight and this is something beyond my influence in the universe.

Simply: they’ll figure it out without me.

If not, shit happens.

So I got to Boulder pretty late in the day and I seemed to arrive at the Boulder Theater at about the same time everybody else I could have expected to attend arrived: there was my old neighbor Michael Frey on the curb as I parked. As I got out of the car a voice called out “Hey, Sean Patrick McGraw…” and it turned out to be a facebook friend and after exchanging pleasantries and introductions with Sweet Caroline and her friend here comes Hilary-Girl-Friday down the street and we all walked inside the venue and hurried-up-to-wait. Michael and I caught up on a few years since we’d seen each other and my guys got our gear onstage and after not-too-long a wait we got a good sound check and it was already almost time to play and you think the last night of a tour is going to be a big last-hurrah and maybe it was for the other bands but for me it’s a happy thing to know that you got added to all those shows you never expected to be on and it was all great, but now it’s all over and it’s little sad feeling in with the satisfied feeling. We’d gotten some little gifts to say “thanks for having us,” and they’d been given to the Jager guys and to Josh Thompson and Eric Church and Rick Monroe and Rick came up before our set and gave me a big hug and said “thanks” and Josh Thompson came up and shook my hand and we wished each other the best of luck and we said so-long to all Josh’s guys and me and the band and Keith (our road Mgr) and Rick Monroe all did one last shot of Jager before our set and we-the-band just walked out on stage and rocked it like I guess you rock it when you know you don’t have to save anything for the next day, and Boulder as an audience was pretty great and it’s always a little bit of a blur playing music, it’s like being in a fight or playing sports, it happens fast and it’s a mix of terror and triumph and it’s adrenaline and sweat and it’s over before ya know it.

So to be honest, sometimes I remember more about the catering at a gig than I do about playing the gig. (It was superb in Boulder by the way, a little adventurous, well realized, fresh, hot and the well paired with the local beer). And I remember the hang upstairs and coming down from the balcony and signing a LOT of stuff and meeting some great people and I wish we could have gone to all the after-party stuff we got invited to but having partied my fair share during this tour I felt obliged to offer up driving us back to Denver so I chilled after a couple beers and let everyone else in the entourage party–figuring, hell, we’ll make a beer run on the way back and have a big time at the hotel….

(And I should mention that I watched all of Eric Churches set. I did almost every night of the tour and he’s really really awesome. And I expected some kind of pranking to occur on the last night and I want to say that Josh Thompson and his guys walking out dressed like freaks in drag during Eric’s set was AWESOME.)

But I was talking about catering and partying…

So–addressing that girl who emailed me today, that girl who-–like at least a dozen others–-confused me with someone else:

I was NOT hanging out by the busses at the end of the night. Regretfully I never had a chance to get back and thank Eric one last time for having us so,

ERIC, THANK YOU.

THANK YOU JAGER MEISTER.

And If you really, really think that was me all lacquered up and being a goof backstage let me say that yes Indeed I DID get lacquered up and goofy on more than one occasion on the tour, but tonight I was letting my peeps misbehave while I was the grownup and I’m positive you mistook me for somebody else ‘cause I never was backstage after we finished our set and while there may have been-–and will be–-times when I will get drunk, I never, ever stand around saying “I’m so drunk.”

I say “Hell I’m fine….”

as I fall on my ass.

So anyway. There were at least a dozen occasions on the tour when somebody would walk up to Keith (my road mgr) thinking he was me (we look maybe like brothers???) but I’ve never seen Keith inebriated so I’m thinkin’ that wasn’t him either.

So I don’t know…

I just know that every tour will eventually come to an end and it’s a happy thing and a sad thing and I’ll miss everybody and as for that big party back at the hotel..it consisted of me and a bag of chips and one Bud light watching TV as everybody went to their rooms to crash…

at midnight.

This is rock and roll

We’re livin’ the dream.

This was great.

Can’t wait for what happens next

peace

sean



avatar

Cause, I’m Wanted….

From Pulaski I headed north with the intention of cutting over towards Lynchburg. Highway 129 looked pretty crooked and twisty on the map, so I figured it would have some interesting enough contour and I was right. I should mention (or maybe I shouldn’t) that climbing the hill out of town some trucker thought it was funny to chuck his plastic soda bottles out the window in my path, I should also mention (or maybe I shouldn’t) that this trucker and anyone else who thinks it’s funny to pull that shit on a person on a motorcycle going 65 mph if a f$in’ TOOL.

I didn’t get your plate number buddy.

Next time that’ll be a priority and you’ll find out how unfunny that shit is.

But anyway I was having an awesome ride on an awesome day…in too good of a mood to let the little things bother me and the ride over to Lynchburg was pretty great. I’d only been over there in the winter before, when my buddy Mark Bannerman thought it would be cool to go flyfishing in the snow at the Elk River. YES, we did catch fish.

Lynchburg was much more vibrant at this time of year and this time of day (I think I’ve been there twice at 6am on a Sunday) and if the food in Pulaski hadn’t been so good I might have parked the bike and tried something cooking in town, but as it was the clock said the afternoon was approaching the 7th inning stretch so I motored on and steered myself toward Wartrace, a small hamlet I’ve visited at least a half dozen times when running in the RC Cola Moon-Pie Race held in neighboring Bell Buckle TN. The Moon Pie was an annual tradition with my wife and I before I started hitting the road so hard a few tears back. It was a rite of summer to book a room at the Walking Horse Hotel In Wartrace, have Frogs legs at Millers Grocery in Christiana and get up the next morning to run the 10mile race in Bell Buckle. After the race the Moon Pie festival commences and there’s carnival food, more carnival food, and a parade that’s followed by a campy pageant that is classically southern and classically American and is something even Renee finds embarrassingly entertaining. I hate to miss it. Haven’t made it in about four years.

It was nice to se that Wartrace hadn’t changed much. I think the old gas station and it’s pumps are still there. The Wartrace Hotel was still open and they now have live music and dancing. More accurately they have live music and dancing again. I’m sure that kind of stuff was going strong here fifty years ago. I don’t know how they hold on know except to try and exploit that very homey-ness that draws somebody like me. Bell Buckle is much the same, a few more stores, mostly antique dealers, a pretty great little meat-and-three. They’ve got live bluegrass there as well, so does Millers grocery in next-door Christiana. You could call the music a quaint touch but it always seemed to me that the quality was good and people listened and the repetoire wasn’t tourist-centered, Heck the towns aren’t so much tourist centered as they cater to neighbors and the odd straggler down from Nashville to show friends and relatives around or up from Chattanooga on their way to Nashville (to show the relatives around). And the waitresses call you “hun” and the food is fried and what ain’t fried is creamed and the tea is sweet unless you ask for it unsweet and if yo do you must be a yankee like me.

Then again, I’ve lived down south long enough to not ask for my tea to be un-sweetend, to know that “tea” means “Ice tea” not “hot” tea, to be able to say y’all without feeling weird about it and to know the difference between good gravy and bad gravy, and by gravy I mean sawmill gravy like the good lord intended.

Out of Belle Buckle I was at a loss as to the best way to waste the remaining daylight while getting back to Nashville without getting into too much Murfreesboro traffic…and I tried to make sense of the myriad of roads going in and out of the area and ended up putting the map back in my pocket and heading up Murfreesboro Pike (Highway 41) and if it wasn’t fun for being able to lean the bike over on the twisty’s it was cool enough to open up the throttle a little passing a few cars and seeing what the bike could do. With that 96 inch engine it can certainly DO…my only disappointment being those stock pipes just don’t make the windows rattle the way I’d like em too. Before I’d ever gotten on a bike I wondered why the hell those damn Harley’s had to be so loud and now that I’ve ridden a few miles in traffic I get it: loud may be cool, but it’s really a safety issue. If I pull up in the blind side of a truck and my pipes are loud, the trucker may not see me, but at least he hears me. This bike I was on had a bigger engine than any bike I’ve ridden so far, but with the stock exhaust system it sounded like a honda.

Anyway. I headed north and did get stuck in a little bit of Murfreesboro traffic, not much but some, and without looking at the map I figured I’d head east when I hit Hwy 70s and maybe go as far as the 53..whiich I know pretty well from flyshing the caney fork around Gordonsville. I figured if I could make it to Watertown in an hour I could jet up to Lebanon before heading back west and make it to Nashvegas by sunset. Which is about exactly how it panned out. While I’m not a big fan of riding interstates and divided highways (unless I’m in a hurry) that section of divided Hwy 70 was cool enough to ride at this time of day and again if you can ride twistys it’s cool to ride the flat straight stuff fast and the road here is in great shape and there was no traffic so I got to some small two lane just before the 53 that lead me through Auburntown TN which is half abandoned town like half the towns in Wyoming and Cattaraugus Counties in Western New York where I grew up. Auburntown could be the other side of Dayton NY and I’d never know the difference and I don’t know what anyone does there, I’m just pretty sure they don’t really do it there but in the city and then come back to that house to sleep, and the only reason an outsider like me is there is because they’re a) lost b) on a motorcycle c) heard a rumor there was fish in that creek.

Eventually that road from Auburntown leads you up to the other Highway 70 (confusing, I know) to Watertown, TN and this road I’m pretty familiar with. Hell I was here last week. Rumor had it there was fish in the creek.

Somehow I managed to go around downtown Lebanon and I wished I hadn’t ‘cause I haven’t been through in few years but at this point in the day I was facing riding in the dark on the 40 going west into Nashville and the thought of doing that on a bike unnecessarily seems like an irresponsibly stupid act, so I lit on down the old 70 through Mt Juliet as fast as I could legally and got back within Davidson County limits about the time the sun dipped below the Horizon. Just because I could I rode all the way into downtown on Lebanon Pike and on down Broadway, chugging along in third gear with my finger and the clutch and the RPM’s up. Damn pipes still making that bike sound like a honda. So much for inpressing the tourists.

More later…..



avatar

I’m a cowboy. On a steel horse I ride….

So last week I found out that I’m getting to go along the “love” ride. And to be honest, I’m not exactly sure what the love ride is other than it’s a bike rally in Vegas (it might be for charity–I think so?) and I’m meeting up with Toby Keith’s and his riding buddies ( I think) and actually if it’s like my past experience riding with Toby I’ll follow miles behind and have everybody waiting for me at each gas stop (okay, maybe not this time..I’ve got lil more riding experience now) and maybe there will be hanging out with famous people and maybe not. If so I’ll take pictures.

With the thought of getting on a bike again––and riding with a crowd of people –I figured it would be a good idea to get out on one on my own beforehand since it’s been since last September since I’ve sat on a Harley. So I did that today.

DAMN was it awesome.

I picked up a bike down in Franklin TN first thing this morning. (I rented one) and it was a bad-ass-looking low Fat-Boy with a flat black finish and a 96″ engine and the sucker handled great and hauled ass…and it’s such a buzz to get on a bike, especially when it’s been awhile, I was almost a little nervous when the dude from the shop asked me to take it around the parking lot and show him I could handle a bike, but I did–no problem–and dude waves me off and it’s “have a good time” and I put her on the road towards West Meade where my accountant lives so I could drop off my taxes, and I got that done and showed tax dude the bike and he agreed it was pretty bad ass looking and since I was close to the Natchez Trace I figured that was a good place to start and ya know, thats’ what I love about riding, and abouting riding alone; I had NO plan, just some cash and a map and the bike and I put her on the road at the end of the trace and rode for awhile and it was a beautiful morning; things starting to turn green, purple blossoms on whatever those trees are (someone tell me if you know) turkey every where (in fact I saw two Toms about to fight over a brood of hens it was cool-as-shit) and it was a good chilled out way to get back on a bike after my time off. The Natchez Trace has a 4omph speed limit from West Nashville to Columbia and it’s a nice enough ride on a bicycle but by the time I got to Hohenwald I’d seen enough of the same stuff in 3rd gear to start feelin’ like I was losing my focus so I got off the trace and headed into that bustling metropolis of Hohenwald TN and maybe I shouldn’t say that facetiously; Hohenwald is maybe a little bigger than it was last time I was there. And they still have a few old buildings at the four-corners that is downtown and they have not one but TWO mexican restaurants which is two more than they have in my hometown and I like, hell I love small towns like this.

Not knowing where I was headed I got out the map in Hohenwald (will someone else who knows tell me where they keep the elephants there?) And figured I’d sort of loop my way back east and south and get back to Nashvegas whenever and I headed towards Lawrenceburg on my way to Pulaski, if only ‘cause I’d never been to either town before and maybe because of Pulaski’s somewhat nefarious place in History, but regardless I stated getting hungry in Lawrenceburg and started looking form something local to ingest and saw one greasy spoon too late to make the turn and began bemoaning the sameness that has infected this country of ours; for all you know the outskirts of Lawrenceburg TN are the outskirts of Lisbon, OH are the outskirts of Spartansburg SC are the outskirts of Buffalo NY…which is fine if you are craving Taco Bell (and I love the Bell) or KFC, but today it was a beautiful day in the south and I wanted something southern to eat and better yet something that might pass as made from scratch. I found every fast food joint known to America in Lawrenceburg (on the main drag at least–I must stress) and like Hohewald, Lawrenceburg has some old buildings left and some character (it reminds me of Oil City P.A. a bit) but nothing culinary that could call out it’s name to a guy like me on a motorcycle.

So I continued on to Pulaski and– in the town where Nathan Bedford Forrest started his little men’s club 130 years ago (I’m not holding a grudge as a Yankee, it just has that taint–-or honor–depending on how ya see it) I passed by a little lunch place called the Rusty Spur and it called to me and I turned around and walked in and asked what was good? They had a few quirky inclusions on the menu: hamburger with “Chow Chow” and mostly nothing but red meat to choose from and I asked “how’s the Pork sandwich?” and the nice girl at the counter says “it’s pretty good.” And so I ordered one with a side of vegetables and it’s comes out in a minute and if it’s not the best pulled pork I’ve ever eaten EVER, it’s the best pulled pork I’ve had in a long time (I’d have to try it side by side against Desperados) and “vegetables” is green beans, carrots, onions, taters, and maybe some green peppers, cooked like you’d make homefries and this ain’t health food but DAMN is it good. I mean this is stick to yer ribs eatin’, and If I wasn’t trying to get in shape during this brief lull off the road I think I might have ordered another side and some dessert but my pants felt tight and the road was calling but the point here is thank you Rusty Spur for restoring a little something to my spirit. It makes me happy to know that there are still a few places like that left to get a bite in this world.

That doesn’t sound right all-together–but you know what I mean.

I’ll write more later and finish the story. I rode all day and I’m whupped…



avatar

Sean’s Day Off

We made sure to split from Des Moines early enough to make our way to Denver in mostly day light and the drive was okay; nice sunny day, not a lot of traffic (like there ever is in Nebraska?) Even had time to stop at Osso Burrito (awesome place) in Lincoln, where our lunches got switched and one of the band (I won’t say who) who hasn’t eaten animals in a long time took a big bite of my carnitas burrito and if you carnivores out there want something to put you off meat, drive that stretch between Kearney and Denver and the sight and smell of those feed lots should do the job; (not that I intend to stop eating steak. I had a Buffalo strip in Winter Park night before last that was awe inspiring), but man I don’t know about them places, but what do I care? I’ve got a freezer full of venison and a wife that knows how to cook it. And I know where to get a half slab from the Amish and they raise those steers on grass and prob know each cow by name…and I should prob shut up lest I incur the wrath of the cattlemen.

Don’t get me wrong guys

I love beef.

Just not that beef.

It’s a simple concept, like grandma used to say:

“Don’t shit where you eat”

There’s a LOT of shit in them feed lots.

So anyway, We get to Denver late Thursday and according to the TV they’ve gotten a bunch of snow up in the hills and I just happened to pack my ski’s when we left on tour and I do some investigating into lift tickets and they usually run for $93/day up at Winter Park but the concierge at the hotel (thanks again Summit Group!!) says I might get a better deal from the grocery store than at the Mountain so I go down to King Soopers and sure enough they’ll sell me a coupon book for $10 that include lift ticket discounts and I can ski at Winter Park for $55 with the coupon so I make some plans and it so happens that my sisters-ex-roommates-siste

r has a condo in Winter Park and My sisters-ex-roomates-sisters-husband-named-Dennis is at the condo and Lizzie gives me his number and I call and sure Dennis says “sure I can stay there” and yes, he and his son Charlie would love to meet me there in the a.m. to ski. And I get up very very early and get out of Denver and head up into the Rockies and if I forgot how huge those mountains are it is literally breath-taking on the drive up to Winter Park. I get there at 8:30 when they open and take a run and am reminded how different the snow is out west and it seems like I’m going a million miles an hour on my first run and I get back down to the base of the hill and meet up with Dennis and Charlie and we go up the lift and introduce ourselves and get right to skiing and it’s quickly apparent that Dennis know his way around a snowboard and Charlie shreds on ski’s and at over 11,000 feet I’m sucking air and my quads are burning and it’s tough to keep up but the skiing is pretty good-not-great, or maybe I’m just not happy with how I’m skiing but it’s still too-much-fun and we ski until they kick us off the slopes at 4pm. I have the option of heading back to Denver if I want and I kind of consider it but the snow starts coming down and I’m figuring bad roads are a good-enough excuse so I decide to stay and besides the company is great and me and Dennis and Charlie go back to their condo and get cleaned up nd then head into town for a mean and I get that Buffalo Steak and a couple bottles of the local IPA and life is good, very good and we go back to the condo and hang out with Dennis wife’s friend Barb (she’s staying at the condo too) and at 9pm I can’t keep my eyes open and crash for the night.

Getting up the next morning and looking out the window to see that about a foot of fresh snow has blanketed things is a good feeling; I’ve made the right choice by staying (the aforementioned good company not withstanding) and Dennis and Charlie and I get some coffee and bagels in town and get right to the lifts and Dennis hooks me up with (what he claims is) a free pass, and he and I ride up while Charlie meets his ski team (Charlie’s twelve years old) and the powder is deep and the skiing is pretty flippin’ awesome. We ski hard on the lower runs that are still fresh and then move over to the other side of the mountain when things get a little plowed. The chutes on the back side are practically untouched and we blazing these bumpy blacks and it’s just about the best skiing that I’ve ever had and then we jet up to the top of the mountain and the wind is blowing 50 miles and hour and it’s a white out and kind of scary but as soon as you get on the leeward side off the slope the visibilty improves and the conditions are just primo and the flakes are falling softly and it’s like being inside a snow globe; just beautiful. The trees are frosted and the terrains is soft and forgiving and we ski hard until I absolutely have to get back to Boulder for tonight s show.

Thanks Dennis. Thanks Charlie. Thank you mother nature. That was a day I’ll never forget.



avatar

Royal Ok, Des Moine Jager Country Tour w/ Eric Church part 11 or so

I believe I left off in Kalamazoo. And what a fun show that was; thanks for all who “friended” us on facebook after that one. Really was a great night.

From K’zoo we headed east to Royal Oak. A suburb of Detroit. Back before I was born my parents lived there. My sister Lizzie was a baby then, but my mom drove form WNY and gave us the tour of the neighborhood where the young McGraw family lived. There’s mom pointing at the old house and me and Lizzie going “wow” (sarcastically). Love you mom. Don’t mean to make fun. Lizzie was three when you moved.

I remember the gig at Royal Oak going well. I remember the dressing room (as the opener for the opening band we don’t get a green room most nights) being not only made available for us, but being well stocked with chips, salsa, beer, soda, etc…and for that you’ve won our hearts Michigan. I also remember our kind local Jager rep Jacqueline, a pretty brunette, hooking us up with extra beverage tickets and when she came through I told her, “darling I didn’t think it was possible but you just got even better looking,” And a minute later when she handed guitar Joe his beverage tickets he said the exact same thing to her, and she turned back around to be and says “what do you boys all share the same tired lines?” And I said “well no, but we did attend the same charm school. I got the better grades…” Another Jager rep, Debbie, did me the kindness of explaining how it was possible for two blue-eyed people to have a brown eyed baby (don’t ask me how Jimmy and I got on the subject of genetics) But, Debbie, you talk a really good game if your explanation was factual…and I share all this by way of saying that the hang was great and the Jager people have been great. We appreciate the hospitality. Sometimes we might even appreciate it too much, as in the case of one band member (swear to God it wasn’t yours truly) who had a lil too much of a good thing and needed to part with some protein on the roadside, only to discover a mile down the road after do so that he’d kicked his cell phone out the door onto the shoulder of the road…so we turned around at the next exit off the interstate and—can you believe it?—we found the phone! In the ditch. In the dark.

And we got to Fort Wayne in the wee hours of the morning (we drove south immediately following the show) and another sponsor I’d like to thank is the Summit Group. The rooms were great, as always. Wish we could have spent more than a couple hours, but it’s a long drive to Springfield, IL from there.

The Prairie Convention Center in Springfield IL is the biggest venue that we’ve joined with Eric Church on the Jager Country Tour. It was pretty cool that the floor was full for our set. Sometimes not everybody has a chance to get seated by the time our set starts, but it was pretty packed for us and the crowd was pretty good and we moved a LOT of CD’s…in fact we just about sold out of ‘em.

Thank you Springfield.

Thanks Amanda and Dan for driving down.

Peace and love

Sean



avatar

Urban Country Blog Interview

Check out this interview with Urban Country Blog after the Jagermeister Tour rolled through Des Moines, IA.

“At the recent Jagermeister Tour stop at the Val Air Ballroom, UCB contributor June sat down with Sean Patrick McGraw to talk history, songwriting and his future. Sean was very generous with his time and we will definitely keep following his career. (And no, we’re not just saying that because he called our blog ‘awesome’)”

[Read the interview at urbancountryblog.com]



avatar

Sean Patrick McGraw and the Jager Tour Kalamazoo Stop

Check out what the Grand Rapids Country Music Examiner had to say about Sean’s recent stop in Kalamazoo:

Sean Patrick McGraw and the Jager Tour Kalamazoo stop.

Sean Patrick McGraw“The Jagermeister tour visited Kalamazoo at the State Theatre last night and tore it up.  The show feature Eric Church, Josh Thompson, host Rick Monoroe and Sean Patrick McGraw.  Everyone has read enough about Eric and Josh so this is dedicated to a new name, Sean Patrick McGraw.  Sean and his band join the Jager tour in a SUV not a bus like the other participants.

Sean Patrick McGraw may share a last name with famous country singer Tim McGraw, but he shares no relation.  Sean grew up Irish in a small town 40 miles outside Buffalo, NY.  Childhood listenings included Willie Nelson, Patsy Cline and Candy Rogers, but Sean’s musical preferences see no boundary.  Before the show Friday night he was listening to some Bach and wondered if people were thinking “what is that, this is a country show.”  “Classical music moves me,” says Sean about his listening choice.  Some of his favorites include Miles Davis, Bach, Hank Sr and Bob Dylan.  Coming from a highly athletic family, football and baseball, his small stature directed him to better suited method of “getting chicks.”  His musicality started at age 9 and turned to professionally playing music at 13, when he would go to bars with a note from his mom to play.  Sean has played many instruments including trombone, piano, guitar, but vocality is his favorite. ”

[Read the full article at Examiner.com]