On Silly Things I’ve Done With My Life Gusto is getting ready to embark on the trip of a lifetime. Well, one of many trips of a lifetime. We’re not going to forget that time we all got into a van and drove out to Geelong to play a festival to absolutely no-one. The comment on arrival was ‘apocalyptic’, and as we stood there on a baked dry sports oval amidst a ring of food trucks and carnival rides with absolutely zero punters, it felt a little on the nose. We won’t forget driving from Melbourne to the Blue Mountains, all seven band members in a Honda Odyssey with instruments tetrised in between legs and over head rests, to arrive at a ‘winter solstice festival’ where most of our set was taken up by the MC running an enthusiastic celtic ritual that involved saluting all four directions and wishing your hopes for the year to come. It was so cold that by the time we got on stage the clarinet wouldn’t work, but we played a raucous 15 minute set, wondering if the ten hour drive each direction was worth the effort. We won’t forget playing the main-stage at Woodford Folk Festival for the volunteers afterparty. I had fallen off my bike and undergone hand surgery just before the tour so I was playing the drums in a sling, doing my best to keep the band together with one arm, but the crowd brought the energy and we fed off it. … This band that’s been around for a little over two years has had a pretty hefty run of experiences, and I’m going into this UK tour with the thought that this is another one of them. A slightly bigger, bolder experience. A much more expensive experience, in the grand scheme of things, but just another experience that we’re rolling headfirst into as a band. If I build it up to be a massive world-changing experience, it’ll disappoint, but if I come into it eyes open, ready for whatever it is, then I’ll have a good time. We could play shows to no-one. We could have shows cancelled. We could have catastrophic gear failure, band sickness, flat tires, missed flights, knee deep mud. If we were a bigger band with a tour manager and a team behind us we’d probably have a risk management matrix – a list of possible scenarios and work-arounds. But its just me, and all i’ve got is a little first aid kit stocked with panadol and cough syrup, and a band who I’m excitedly herding towards soundcheck, like a gaggle of instrumental geese. We WILL have a general feeling of exhaustion. We WILL come out of it slightly worse off financially than if we’d just stayed home and done nothing. There’ll be frayed tempers and moments where we aren’t sure if its worth it, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s another experience, and that’s all life really is right? You can insert some thoughts here about the journey verse the destination, embracing the little things, tie in a little stoicism etc. It all rings true, but it’s hard to treat life like that. There’s always a ramp up to the next big thing, and then a comedown after it happens. Still, I’m doing my best to treat this whole tour for what it is at face value – next in the line of silly things I’ve done with my life. I’m also doing my best to come back to WHY I started this band in the first place. I wanted a band that brings joyful experiences. That has fun on stage. That comes away from shows sweaty and happy. That gives people the fleeting feeling that everything is ok and that you can forget the world outside for a moment. In amongst it all, we’re going to see Stonehenge!