Tour Diary, Vol. 1 “What Came First: The Tour or the Chaos?By: Brandon Yeagley, Crobot Vocalist

By: Brandon Yeagley of Crobot

What came first—the tour or the chaos?

When life hands you lemons, we all know what to do. But when life hands you a **shit sandwich**—what then? (Can you even print that? IYKYK.) I still say squeeze and clean up the mess when we’re done having fun.

I’m thrilled to be typing out my first piece for Sound Fury Magazine, though I’m not sure if beginner’s luck caused our turbulence mid-air or if I’m just a walking hammer busting through writer’s block. Either way, this most recent Crobot U.S. tour with The Atomic Bitchwax left no shortage of stories to tell.

Kids, listen up—this ain’t glamorous. It’s rough and mean, just like Bon Scott warned you. But you don’t need a view from the top of rock ’n’ roll to feel it. So take a deep breath and count to ten. *Ahhhhh…* there we go. Now buckle up—it’s a bumpy ride. And I mean that literally: the roads in Wisconsin (and Texas!) suck. That rattling you hear? Probably not our wheels falling off… not this time. Hold on to your lug nuts.

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**The Opening Bell**
The tour kicked off in Syracuse, NY at the legendary Lost Horizon—a familiar haunt for a Central PA band. It was the first run ever for our new rhythm section, brothers Willie & Nico Jansen, and the maiden voyage for our latest touring rig, a 2006 Chevy Kodiak shuttle bus. Everyone killed it—even the bus—easily our most comfortable setup in fifteen years on the road.

Of course, there’s always something waiting around the corner with the fury of Mike Tyson ready to punch you right in the face.

The brothers got the official seal of approval from our die-hard Beardos—fans who’ve seen every Crobot lineup and keep sticking around through every evolution. That means the world.

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**Legends and Lessons**
Let’s talk Atomic Bitchwax. I’d listened before, but seeing them live every night was another level. Three people making *that* much noise? Unreal. They roll in, throw down, pack up, and peel out—absolute legends.

We leaned into a funkier set list of Crobot tunes this run—groove-driven sets curated by the brothers. Feels right to play what *feels* right, ya dig?

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**The Early Grind**
Frankie’s (Toledo, OH) helped shake off the rust, and King of Clubs (Columbus, OH)—shout-out to Ricky—proved once again why it’s one of the best venues in the Midwest.

Before hitting the road we’d scrambled for maintenance and a new trailer-brake controller. Most of it got done, though not the oil change—so that was first on the to-do list on our first day off in Columbus. We stayed with our old friend and rock photographer Kris Misevski, who hosted an impromptu morning photo shoot.

After the oil change I felt like a real adult: budget updated, payroll done, marketing scheduled. (This is the dirt you came for, right?) DoorDashed some killer Indian food, fixed a couple squeaky pulleys and a worn belt—still winning. Ah, tour life… wind at my back, hair in the breeze. We got this!

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**Motor City Mayhem**
Small’s (Detroit)** was next. Pro tip: if a shawarma truck looks “unsuspecting,” it’s *lying*. Choose your pre-show meals wisely—especially if you’re dairy- and gluten-free.

Opening act Cherry Drop blew our minds—think Iggy Pop with a mouthful of nails fronting MC5. Motor City mayhem incarnate. Go see them.

Then came Pyramid Scheme (Grand Rapids)**—barcade up front, rock ’n’ roll party in the back. My kind of mullet.

WC Social Club (West Chicago. IL) followed, always a Crobot stronghold. We swapped book recommendations with Beardos for our unofficial Crobot Book Club—want in? Let us know. Of course, twenty minutes down the road came the dreaded text: *“Did you forget your guitars?”* Yep. Dammit. (And a mic stand, though no one called about that one.)

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**Beer, Bacon, and Broadcasts**
Next morning: 6 a.m. acoustic set at WJJO (Madison, WI)**. Early-morning beer requests welcomed. We’ll do anything for our favorite stations. Nico dropped a “shit” on live radio—thank God for the bleep button. Madison never disappoints, especially with **Droids Attack!** on the bill. We’ll be back for beers and curds—well, *they* will; dairy-free life for me.

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**Cornhusker Chaos**
Bourbon Theatre (Lincoln, NE)**—one of our all-time favorites. Ramen on the corner, 200,000 Cornhusker fans clogging downtown, but we still threw it down. Amazing venue, amazing staff. We’ll be back.

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**The Maintenance Marathon**
Then Denver. We love you, truly. The show at HQ was electric—sweaty, heavy, glorious Dirty Groove Rock. What followed? A full-blown *maintenance day from hell.*

Sometimes the road demands every kind of maintenance—vehicle, body, mind, spirit, even making sure your piss runs clear. What was supposed to be a day off became a $5,000 brake-and-rotor reality check. Wake up at 7 a.m., crash at 1:30 a.m., Uber back and forth, kill time in downtown Denver. Not glamorous, but necessary.

They also found a power-steering leak and cracks in the exhaust. Add that to the list. Eventually we hit the road again—a few grand lighter and one show (sorry, SLC) down. We wanted to play, truly, but physics and shop hours won. We owe you one, Utah.

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**El Corazón, El Karma**
Straight to Seattle. Fittingly, the very stage where a young Willie Jansen once opened for us twelve years ago. We park outside El Corazón and catch a whiff of something… off. Pop the hood: A/C compressor seized, belt screaming. Dinner first, diagnosis later.

When we return, the tech from Greg’s Auto, two doors down, tops off our oil and sends us off with hope. Moments later, *snap*—the belt breaks. The same one we’d replaced in Columbus.

The universe testing us again.

Two and a half hours to showtime, we track down a 24-hour roadside mechanic. The bus won’t move until it’s fixed, but there’s no use drowning in *what-ifs*. Out here you just keep walking—one foot, one riff, one problem at a time.

Fans see the lights and the noise. They don’t see the cracked compressors or the quiet faith behind the curtain.

But that’s the beauty of it. Because tonight I get to watch Willy and Nico light up like kids on Christmas. They grew up in Seattle, dreamed of this stage. Now they’re on it. That’s what makes every busted belt worth it.

When Crobot hits the stage, we play like the world’s on fire—like the gods are watching. Maybe that’s why the road’s so hard—because the *easy* part is the show.

If everything came easy, would it taste as sweet?
Maybe I’d like to find out… just once.

But that’s not what we were made for. 
This is.

The show goes on.
Come whatever may—Crobot’s gonna rock the fuck out in Seattle tonight.

And what else could possibly go wrong?