Back in the Saddle

AN ILL-ADVISED ADVENTURE PLANNED...            

          The legend of the rock and roll prodigy called “PETER AND THE TWINS” is well known in America, and most of the developed world. From the villages of Sri Lanka to the bustling metropolis of Kuala Lampur, Peter and the Twins remain a cultural fixture, and a household name.

Stock Photo

                Since their last tour, the band has become reclusive, shunning the public light, and refusing to do interviews.

 Andy rarely leaves his suburban mansion. Tabloids have covered his rare and desultory public appearances extensively due to their bombastic frivolity.  Insiders rumor of drunken, late-night, high speed, smoke-filled joyrides through downtown Minneapolis. He faced a PR disaster after word spread of hidden camera footage capturing the drummer throwing trash out his limousine windows at pedestrians, and yelling nonsense at them.

Andy

Andy Whittetism of the day: "That's not snow! Those are amps!"

Roger keeps to himself, traipsing the earth as an aimless wanderer, searching for remote corners of the world where he will not be recognized, often vehemently denying his identity to fans. He is said to have summited the 7 peaks, navigated the 12 rivers, and traversed the two poles. The sins accompanying god-like fame affected Roger deeply. By most accounts he unceasingly mumbles the phrase “must get clean” to himself, while tearing at his long red beard. Some say Guatemala is to be his next destination.

Roger

         Tour companions, J-bone and Benjamin have collaborated to form the burgeoning genre of hardcore metal hip-hop screamo. They are still looking for major-label support. 

J-Bone

Ben

        Peter has fostered new relationships, but also encountered new enemies, most notably his nemesis, “Morris Day, and the Time.” 

The Time

He works in solitude on solo tour plans across the United States, and intends on creating a new permanent residence in Los Angeles. Rumors abound from those closest to him. Some say his rambunctious lifestyle, along with a string of bad business decisions has exhausted him of nearly all his assets and money. 

Peter

Others claim he has no tangible plan for survival on the road. One friend, who asked to remain anonymous was quoted saying, “I tried talking him out of moving to California because he doesn’t have any money, and his car is probably going to break down.  I know this because he’s my roommate.”

It was recently leaked that Peter spends most of his remaining weeks in Minneapolis with his closest friend, Prince, as he prepares to hit the road and confront the questions of our age. Grandiose, philosophical, psychological, physiological, anthropological questions.  Questions such as - “am I a huge idiot?” The wind whispers to him… “most likely so.”

Prince

His journey begins JUNE 15th...

Peter, the Twins, and Irene

Apparently Peter and the Twins played a show in New Jersey on Friday, because that's where we came to Saturday morning. The plan for the day was to drive four hours west to play in Waterville, Pennsylvania, but one by one things went awry.

At the break of day (around noon), Peter stirred first. He sleepily sniffed the air; the dewpoint was high and the barometric pressure was low. Sensing danger, he peered out the window. "Just as I suspected," he said. "Cumulo nimbus clouds; the storm is upon us."

 

Moments later Hurricane Irene began pounding on the door of their eastern New Jersey local. He roused the others. Their plan of waking up early to escape the fray had predictably fallen through.

According to some, Peter and the Twins tore off their shirts and charged out into the gale-force winds to load their trailer, while uprooted trees fell around them and detached road signs whizzed by like Chinese throwing stars. Roger's chest hair stood on end as he bellowed and beat his chest like a crazed gorilla. Detached roofs orbited hundreds of feet over his head, and power lines lashed the open air like giant electrified whips of the Gods.

Andy fought his way back into the house where the road dogs had been cowering and crying, and soon emerged with both Ben and Jerahn slung over his shoulders like children. He staggered forward to the tour bus like a Titan, and laid them down on the soft carpet. They cuddled together, pouting in fear.

Peter had went on ahead to drag the fallen trees from the road, clearing a path for the wind-stricken RV.

Some say the hurricane continued to plague them for the entire day. Others claim they never encountered more than a gentle drizzle of rain. It's not important. In any case, they soon had other problems to deal with.

Down the road, one of the rear left wheels on the motor-home began making a horrible noise. They feared a tour-ending breakdown. Soon, the sound became too intense for the band to continue driving. Ben shouldered the vehicle and once again, they began wrenching on their battered ride. This time it wasn't the broken auto-park break, or the transmission leak, nor was it another flat tire, or even the highly flammable propane that had blasted out the side of their vehicle for miles. It wasn't more blown fuses, the malfunctioning trailer lights, the smoking brakes, the oil leak, or even the coolant problem. These issues had already been dealt with.

 

Andy and Ben became irate as they realized that the mechanic who had changed their tire in Boston had not even tightened the lug-nuts, nearly causing the wheel to fall off as we crossed the Apalachian mountains.

Things were bad. Even our rations were running low.

Peanut Butter/Dorito Sandwhich

Between the storm and the breakdown, the band was over an hour behind schedule, but they navigated the forested roads to their destination. Just as things were beginning to look up, the bottom fell out.

When they arrived at the Waterville Tavern the bar was empty. The owners told Peter they didn't want the band to play, and wouldn't pay any of the promised $300. Not ready to give up yet, Peter returned with Ben, and Andy for intimidation. They gave them $50 dollars to leave.

It wasn't a complete failure, but they weren't ready to give up yet; they had come to Pennsylvania to rock.

Down the road there was another bar. "Why not check it out?" we asked ourselves.

Roger and Peter went inside for a few minutes, and came out with the impression that admittance was limited to angry AARP members. 

As Roger and Peter were leaving the old dive, a star seemed to glimmer in the sky up ahead. Then it moved a bit, as if to beckon them forward. "A sign from the Rock Gods!" Roger exclaimed.

They re-boarded the bus and shared the good news with the others.

For many miles we followed the star, until it settled over a manger. But this was not an ordinary manger, there was a bar inside of it. Wide eyed, we walked towards the light. Outside we were greeted by a man who called himself Gabriel. Then, as if choreographed, an entire bar staff of beautiful, scantily clad angels appeared before our eyes. The band broke down and wept as they gave thanks to the Rock Gods.

Like Job himself, the young band had been tested; struck by a storm, broken down on the side of the road and cheated by a bar, but they were rewarded doubly for their faith in the power of Rock. 

Cars then filled the parking lot, the music began, and the generous patrons rained down tips upon the pious musicians.
 

During a particularly rightious guitar solo, Peter was struck by the fabled Rock Stigmata, causing him to bleed the wounds of Jengo Riehnhart. The band played until all had had their fill, and all who witnessed the Rock saw that it was good.

Rock Stigmata

Minnesota Vs. Michigan

The Last 48 hours have been a non-stop Kalamazoo party.  We joined forces with our new friends in "Pleasant Drive," and "ProConPro" to rock Louie's Trophy Bar on a Tuesday night. The show went off without a hitch. As Peter and the Twins rocked like angelic pilgrims, several onlookers dropped to the floor and rolled around wildly speaking in Tongues, as the rock entered their spirits.

Later, as Jason from "Pleasant Drive" delivered a sermon of rock from his stage-pulpit, some believers were able to drink poisonous substances, and handle dangerous snakes without being harmed.

 

All seemed well in the land of Kalamazoo, until the band was struck twice by terrible news! The big show in Saginaw the next day had been cancelled! And even worse, the Minnesota Twins had lost to the Detroit Tigers. The news afflicted the band with such distress that they could only bring themselves to party and jam in the RV for an extra two hours after the show instead of the usual four.

After the shortened jam, the band slept uneasily, with the prospect of another embarrassing loss to the Tigers coupled with an absence of rock and roll in the front of their minds.

In the morning the band bickered. It seemed there would be no rock at all. As they were driving out of town they noticed a large bar. A giant LED sign advertised that Mini-Kiss would be playing. Hesitantly, their spirits rose. "Perhaps Mini-Kiss will let us play with them," they pondered.

Peter opened up a bit as he revealed that it had been a life-long dream of his to meet Mini-Gene Simmons.

With confidence they entered the bar to meet their destiny. Unfortunately, the bar staff informed them that Mini-Kiss would not be playing there for another month. The spirits of the young men dropped to an all time low. They gambled and drank heavily. In a move of desperation, Roger hatched a daring plan. "Let's just call every bar in this town; there must be somewhere that wants our manly brand of rock and roll."

"Yes," Peter remarked. "It makes perfect sense."

Soon they were back on the path to rock, making phone calls like telemarketers high on speed. It didn't take long before their tireless work paid off. Not a mile from where they stood, a bar was in dire need of more rock for their acoustic battle of the bands that evening. Suddenly, a cash prize of $100 was within their reach!

They sped to the new bar, but another problem soon arose. The spirited young men had to wait nearly two hours before they could compete. Cheap drinks threatened to derail the entire performance, as Ben fought like a ravenous wolf towards the bartender while the Twins struggled like asylum workers to hold him back.

^ Ravenous Wolf

Some claim to have seen Peter quietly back into a corner and wet himself as the ensuing chaos combined with both the souring Twins-Tigers baseball game and the intimidation of seeing his competition rock the stage harder than a Himalayan avalanche. 

Yes, it was looking bad for both the Minnesota Twins and the strapping young musicians, but something inside of them refused to yield.  Something readjusted their focus.  Some say it was the new waitress that just clocked in.

In any event, they played their rock and roll songs with the focus of Galileo, and with as much conviction as the Dahli Lama.

The band completed their set and surrendered the stage to fate.  From barstools they watched the closing minutes of the Tigers/Twins game as the Battle judges tallied the hundreds of votes.

The Baseball game was getting intense - top of the 9th, one out, bases loaded, and the Twins at the plate.  Between the game and the battle, you could cut through the Minnesota/Michigan tension with a knife.  As the judges approached the stage - results in hand, Joe Mauer swung through strike 3.  We looked at each other nervously.  From the stage, a young, sympathetic judge apprehensively stated that the results were "very, very close."   Justin Morneau stepped to the plate.

Peter wet himself again, but then, in a second of simultaneous Minnesotan glory, Morneau laced a game winning single up the middle past Detroit's diving pitcher and the bearded judge announced Peter and the Twins as the winners of the epic battle.

 

The dual Minnesotan victory rained down over all of Michigan like a golden shower.  The gods of rock smiled upon Peter and the Twins and awarded the young band the resources to continue their quest eastward. 

Cleveland Rocks

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Peter and the Twins Eau Claire experience

Last night, we made our third sojourn into the rock and roll depths of Eau Clair, WI, to party with our good friends in Fall For Glory, Rob, Pat, Brian, and our nemesis, Brett Dahlberg, their drummer. Tall, lanky, and almost certainly pure evil, Dahlberg happens to be freakishly good at the drums. He also has a tendency to end up sauced beyond recognition at Peter and the Twins shows.

Dahlberg himself...

Fall For Glory volunteered to start the party at the Mousetrap, by playing first. Their punk-rock machine was well lubricated by free tap beers. Dahlberg coyly worked what we feel is his “Fuck you Peter and the Twins!” routine from behind the drums, playing at outrageous tempos and doing things with drumsticks that appeared to break the laws of physics in a gravity-rich environment. We attempted to slow down the Dahlberg Machine, but it was too late…he’d already made Andy look like a prissy school-girl.

Fall For Glory finished up their set and Dahlberg left the premises with two beautiful girls. If Peter and the Twins were to recapture their dignity, they desperately needed help from the Gods of Rock and Roll. They placed their hope in the next band to hit the stage, the lone metal group on the bill.

A long lost rock and roll prophesy states that if a band shreds unbelievably hard, they can actually extract memories from audience members during their set. Could this metal band, Desolate Void, shred so hard, that Dahlberg’s drumming superiority would be less than a distant memory in the minds of the audience?

Unfortunately, Peter and the Twins underestimated the raw power the Rock Gods had infused in this metal band; for they shred so hard that several audience members’ heads actually exploded, severely thinning out the crowd.

Shortly after, Peter and the Twins took the stage.  They smelt strongly of drink after having much time to take advantage of a myriad of free tap beers.

Legend has it that Peter and the Twins rocked harder than a fishing boat caught in a hurricane that night, though they themselves are not quite certain. 

However, it is widely believed that Andy was unable to match the drumming prowess of Dahlberg, for after the show Peter and the Twins pledged to teach their nemesis a lesson.

They arrived, unsuspected, at Fall For Glory’s after party, where the Twins unleashed the secret weapon—the box. To the untrained eye it would appear as a simple wooden box—rectangular and two feet tall, with a hole in one side. But the untrained eye knows not the powers the Rock Gods have infused in the box. As Peter and the Twins approached the deck where the party raged, Andy slapped the box with the cool of a young Ringo Star.  Dahlberg was dumbstruck by the power of the box. It sounded like a twelve-piece drum set and echoed through the streets like thunder in a canyon. After watching enviously for several minutes, Dahlberg tipped back his drink, determined to conquer the box and embarrass Andy once more, possibly defeating him once-and-for-all.

Andy confidently surrendered the godly instrument, and Dahlberg tried his hand. He slapped away but it was to no avail; he was no better than a drunken monkey haphazardly crashing cymbals together. Andy let out a belly laugh and boasted, “Hahaha! Dahlberg, you may be master of the drums, but you do not know how to slap-a-da-box!” 

Dahlberg looked over in defeat as he recklessly launched a tall boy into his gullet and begged like a beaten dog, “Let me come on tour with you…teach me the ways of the box!”

Peter and the Twins slept well.

In the morning, Rob led us to the pristine waters of the Eau Claire River. Dahlberg trailed along in shame, with the subservience of a Gollum-like creature. Rob led the way across the river to the white sand beaches beyond, where Peter and the Twins meditatively recharged their rock powers in the calm of the wild.

Dahlberg failed to forge the river; he lay prostrate on the beach, repeatedly vomiting in defeat and then covering it up with sand like an ashamed cat in a litter box.

We parted ways with our brothers in Fall For Glory, and headed further east with our rock powers fully charged.

August 13th Shawano, WI Classics Bar

Peter and the Twins “The Dragon in the Mix” 2011 East Coast Summer Tour – 8.13.11 – Shawano, WI

 

It was Saturday night, our third night on tour. We were set to play “Classic’s”—a rockin’ bar in northeast Wisconsin. With rock and roll memorabilia covering the walls and the promise of free Budweisers all night long, we felt we couldn’t fail. We were given a daunting four-hour time slot to fill, so we decided to split our covers and originals into four sets. Before the show, we dove into our free Buds at the bar, anxiously anticipating whatever was to come in the following few hours of our lives.   

A few rounds later, we took the stage. We started off strong, feeling a positive—albeit timid—response from the seated patrons. After two sets, our spirits wavered as the bar remained largely empty…and sober.

During an intermission, Andy puffed a cigarette outside, inspecting the foot traffic situation around the bar. It wasn’t looking good. As he tossed his butt to the wind, he heard the faint sound of a motor, or saw the gleam of headlights in the distance. His eyes sparkled with hope as he turned to the band and pondered… “Party bus?”

The band looked back at him with doubt. “Not likely.”

Distraught and inside the RV, Jerahn, Roger, and Peter vainly attempted to gather songs for the next set. The band’s reservoir of cover songs was quickly running dry. Even worse, Peter’s voice had gone hoarse. Just when it seemed all hope was lost, Andy burst through the door like an action hero and said, “PARTY BUS IS HERE…WE’RE GOING ON NOW!”

We fell out of the RV and there she was…in all her eight-ton, double fuel-injected, black-lighted glory, as if sent by the rock gods themselves—an entire busload of beautiful, shit-faced women, celebrating an epic bachelorette party. They flocked into the bar like lambs to the slaughter. We felt a burning in our loins and our…uh…spirits rose as testosterone magically cured our vocal chords.

As we launched into our third set, the bar erupted into a wild dance party. The rock gods were kind to us as they granted us the supernatural ability to play songs we had never played before. With our new superpowers, we completed the four hours, but were not yet ready to yield. We pressed on deep into the night.

As Roger sensed that the harmonies in Tom Petty’s “Refugee” would be out of reach, a beautiful blonde appeared through the mist of the fog machine. She introduced herself as Kimberly, a professional singer, and timidly asked permission to join us.

Yes. The rock gods are good.

With our new band member, we rocked harder than the Rolling Stones on angel dust. Peter sang with such power that Vince Neil, had he been there, would have needed a diaper change. Jerahn peered to the stage in awe as a faint, yet unmistakable halo appeared over Andy’s head, and his back-up vocals took on the sound of the entire Vienna Boys’ Choir.

Roger played good too.

Countless rounds later, we closed down the bar with rock and roll.

Needless to say, it was an experience of legendary proportions. The Classic’s staff was awesome. They even added us to their Wall of Fame. We all left happy, except for Andy, who was upset, mulling over some bald guy who made fun of his red hair.

“I make eye-contact with a lot of people, and rock out with them for brief minutes.” – A quote by Andy Whittet

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PETER AND THE TWINS LIVE AT TC MUZIQUE!