Part One: Down the Highway

It's come to this: I'm sitting in a rental van with the rest of The Monkeywrench chasing Nebula down Interstate Highway 94 on an eight-hour drive from Chicago to Minneapolis. Mark Arm is pointing a Super8 movie camera at me as I fumble with a glass pipe full of rag weed. Stoner rock, dude. Hrumf. Just get me to Minneapolis in some semblance of sanity. It was a long night in Chicago.

The Monkeywrench, for those of you who haven't heard, is Mark (Arm) and I, who your older brothers and sisters might remember from Mudhoney; Tom Price, who my older brother might remember from skate punk legends the Big Boys and Martin Bland who our Australian brothers and sisters will remember from the beast that was Lubricated Goat.

I don't know how Nebula do it; they're not that much younger than me. Mark Abshire, bassist and statistician, claims they've done around 150 shows in the last year. Damn, The Monkeywrench has had its busiest year ever (not hard) and have managed to do just 33 shows. And I feel it. They'd be carting me off in a stretcher if I tried to keep up with their schedule. I might not make Minneapolis...

As a disclaimer, Mudhoney had Nebula open for us on two US tours a couple years back. They come to Seattle what seems like every three weeks and I go see them. I know them and I like them. I've yet to get sick of them. This is not an unbiased piece. I can say anything I want about them, make up quotes, lie, etc and they probably won't get mad.

So this is what's happening: we're out in the heartlands doing three shows with these boys in Detroit, Chicago and Minneapolis. Nebula are playing these gigs while on break from recording their next record in New York City. They'll return there to mix before flying to Australia and then back home to L.A. The day they arrive home, they play a show with us at The Troubadour. Then they hop over the pond to the UK for a while, and on it goes. They are road-dogs: unstoppable, tireless, dedicated. Meanwhile, The Monkeywrench will have had three weeks off to recuperate from this little jaunt and will still be tired from it in L.A. We are not road-dogs. I am, it seems, allergic.

Part Two: Let it Burn

As soon as something gets tagged with some stupid name, chances are it's over and done with. And what a stupid name this junk has gotten. Stoner rock, Jesus. Of course, Nebula - along with their other originals that have been lumped together under this banner - hate this term. Who wouldn't? But truth be told, they sort of deserve it. This is the band whose drummer passed a joint out of the van window to Officer Bring Down of the Texan branch of Fun-Stoppers just before landing in a small-town jail a couple of years ago. That they seem to smoke more than most is a bit of an understatement. However, Eddie says that he would rather be known as 'acid-rock' because that term always scared him as a small child.

So it makes sense that their plan to escape from the stoner rock ghetto would involve posing for pictures at a table full of all sorts of drugs. And here we are in Chicago at The Empty Bottle with a very fast photographer snapping pics of our boys. They are posers today. The drugs are fake except for the weed, and Eddie is smoking a cig, something he doesn't do in real life. As soon as the pictures are done, they regret them. Eddie regrets most pictures they've ever taken except the live shots. Too late, the photographer has the goods and is gone. This is the official Nebula message:

Mark: "Hey man, we're more than just stoner rock."

Eddie: "Yeah, we do all kinds of drugs..."

Part Three: Smokin' Woman

This is something I'm very serious about. "Smokin' Woman," from Nebula's 1999 Sun Creature EP, really speaks to me because, really, who wouldn't want a smokin' woman in the back seat of their car? Just a nice, smokin' woman. Nebula didn't play this at any of our shows, but ask for it in the UK. The ladies love it.

Part Four: Sonic Titan

Eddie has always hated guitar show offs. Weird, since Nebula can go on for days without ever coming down from solo-ville. One thing that remains sacred is the "no pinkie" rule. Watch closely and note that Eddie will never use his pinkie finger when soloing. This is something he is very serious about. I caught him using his pinkie during soundcheck in Chicago. He claims he was just joking.

Part Five: Elevation

I made it to Minneapolis without medical help, save for the aforementioned "herb." I stand in for Eddie at soundcheck since he and his smokin' woman hadn't arrived yet. I used my pinkie.

Later Mark Abshire and I sneak out to find some grub. It's a big night in Minneapolis: Tina Turner is playing across the street, and Gordon Lightfoot is playing a block away. Amphetamine Reptile Records head honcho Tom Hazlemyer informs us that it's also the Marine Corps' birthday. Hoo boy. This means the streets are full of the ugliest assortment of humanity I've ever had the displeasure of seeing.

Mark and I wander through this for a while looking for a restaurant, then his cell phone rings. It's Jason, their soundman/right-hand man, asking where we are. See, Nebula aren't a total throwback to '71 - they embrace modern technology. We guide him to the corner of Lame St. and go into a Mexican joint. Anything to escape. The food sucks. I'm exhausted. We drink a pitcher or two of margaritas and head back to the club.

The Monkeywrench does our little thing and Nebula gets ready. I'm too tired to care at this point. Not so for Mark Arm and Chet, the lead singer of opening band Lee County Killers (ex-Quadrajets new two-piece, new record out on Estrus). They're front and center, witnessing what Mark says is the best Nebula show he's ever seen. He's seen a lot. Chet, who hasn't seen so many, claims, "People were passing joints to me left and right, the girls were dancing slow and sexy, and Eddie's guitar was going off, man! I was in paradise!"

Chet, for your information, lives in Alabama. Paradise is relative.

Part Six: Freedom

For Nebula, it's just another day on the road. I need rest and medical treatment, they need to keep moving.

For three dudes from L.A.'s beach towns, things are groovy. It beats a day job. They head back to NYC, we head to Green Bay, Wisconsin; then back to our day jobs. Aye, the road's a harsh mistress. Nebula have it down. Chances are good if you live in the known western world they'll be rolling their way down the highway soon enough. Offer them your drugs.