Tag Archives: interstellar tour

I said keep the bastards away from me!

Get Music Here

I told you, I didn’t want to be disturbed. And just because I have a gaping hole in my wall doesn’t mean you can just jump right through it. Get out, and take those nasty things with you. Jesus! This mill is a prison!

Okay, I admit that I was overreacting a tad just then. My deepest apologies, and the same for Marvin (my personal assistant), who was once again in the process of invading my personal space for no good reason. Still, that doesn’t justify bad feelings or harsh words. We try not to fly off the handle around here – that’s part of our credo as a band, and it’s something we’re particularly, uh … shit ….. WILL YOU TURN THAT DAMN THING DOWN!!

Quadropedal unmanned vehicles

What did Marvin want from me? Well, he made a new friend today and he wanted to show the bugger off. It’s one of those automated robot dogs – you know, the kind that chase people to death in your nightmares (or just in Black Mirror). He thinks he found the robot dog out in the street, but I happen to know that little iron fido is one of Mitch Macaphee’s latest experiment. It’s kind of his Eighth Man, if you know what I mean, though he’s clearly no Professor Genius.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I don’t trust autonomous vehicles of any sort. They have a mind of their own, you know. And they’re just as liable to take your leg off as any real dog, maybe more. I mean, I could possibly get behind Mitch’s experiment if it were about supporting our next interstellar tour. But damn it, man, it’s got nothing to do with that. That’s right – Mitch is going rogue, once again!

A real Florida story

Now, I’m not a big fan of all these other states. But apparently there’s one state called Florida, and apparently there’s a place down there called Cape Canaveral. And at this Cape Canaveral is a special installation of the Space Force. And that force needs protection … the kind you get from autonomous robot dogs.

Yeah, I'm not crazy about that idea.

Okay, friends. Like I said earlier, I don’t much cotton to autonomous robot animals. And I’ve made my opinion quite well known within the domain of the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill. Which is why it puzzles me so that Mitch Macaphee – whose hearing is excellent, I understand – would put in a bid for building those robot dogs for Cape Canaveral. Seriously, do you know what this means? It means all of his beta testing will be happening right here, in the hammer mill. That’s no fair, man. Tell Florida to get their own beta-tested robot dogs. (Not even sure you need to tell them something like that.)

My little redoubt

Like with most of Mitch’s contracts, it’s really best to just ride them out and keep your head down. I might consider investing in some knee guards – something that will protect my vulnerable shins from those vicious robots. No, they haven’t done anything mean yet. But they might decide to at any moment. What part of autonomous do you not understand?

Lights out.

I thought I told you to pay the bill before we left. Well, if you did, why the hell is it sitting here on the counter? Riddle me that, Batman! WHAT? Well, of course you can’t see it. The lights aren’t on …  BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T PAY THE BILL.

Man god damn, now I have to give lessons on household finance. I ask Marvin (my personal robot assistant) to do one thing, ONE THING, before we set off on our Ned Trek Live Springtime Extravaganza Tour 2019, and he screwed it up. I put the electric bill in front of him, hooked a pen into his prehensile claw, and told him to cut a check to National Grid, post haste. Nothing. And now we’ve come home from our less than triumphant interstellar tour to a dark hammer mill with a leaky roof and a family of turtles living in our studio. And no, they’re not subletting.

Yes, friends, we are back on terra firma, and none too soon. No, we didn’t get to the Small Magellanic Cloud. We kept flying towards it, hoping it would get a little bigger in our forward view screen, but no luck. Saturday came and went – that was the date of our gig – and so we chose to turn around. I asked Mitch Macaphee, our resident mad scientist, to send off some kind of automated vehicle in our stead, with a letter of apology sealed in its nosecone. Well, he sent some kind of missile out towards the Small Magellanic Cloud, but I’m not certain what it was, exactly. I guess they’ll find out in a couple of hundred thousand years. (Sometimes surprises are pleasant … and sometimes … )

In the studio? Uh ... okay.

Back here on earth, everything went to hell, as you might expect. The hammer mill is in a shambles – exactly how we left it. Aside from the lack of electricity, the air seems a little thin in here, like it’s been on a hunger strike since we left. I was hoping the mansizedtuber would have looked after the place a bit in our absence, but damn it, you can’t get good help around here, even if you grow it in a planter. Speaking of planters, we almost went nuts cooped up in that tiny flying saucer. That SOB made the lunar module seem spacious. It also made the LEM’s computer system seem sophisticated. (It wasn’t.)

I would like to be able to say that we made a pile of quatloos on this tour and that we now have the means to make this place habitable. Yes, that would be a nice thing to be able to say … I just can’t bring myself to do it.

Cloud nein.

Okay, so what are you saying, Mitch? I thought you knew how to drive a space ship. This is a hell of a time to tell me you were just pulling my leg. No, I don‘t have any prayer cards on me. What a stupid question!

For crying out loud, why … why does this happen every time we go out on tour? We map out an itinerary, we hire a spacecraft, we commandeer a space commander of some description, we set off with confidence, and then BOOM – everything goes to hell. Before we know it, we’re bobbing around uselessly in intergalactic space, light years beyond the outer reaches of the Kuiper Belt, hoping some alien freighter takes pity on us and trains a tractor beam on our pathetic, rusting hull. And I ask myself, is this why I got into this business?

Right, so … now that I got that out of my system. Someone (could be anybody … but probably was me) suggested that as part of our Ned Trek Live Springtime Extravaganza Tour 2019 we play this gig in the Small Magellanic Cloud, some 200,000 light years out yonder. Now, necessarily, such a journey would require the development of technologies previously unthought of by humankind. Recall the challenges NASA faced when JFK charged them with putting a white dude on the moon within the course of a single decade. Christ on a bike, they had to invent miniaturized computing, develop advanced rocketry, perfect the concept of staged spacecrafts, and the only help they got was untold billions of dollars in public funds and the advice of retired Nazi ballistic scientists.

At this rate, we should get there by the end of time.

They did it, though. And what have we got? Well …. one mad scientist. (Actually, right now I would describe him as just a little grumpy.) One supercomputer – Marvin (my personal robot assistant), who has a Pentium processor from 1995 humming away in his little brass noggin. And a second-hand flying saucer, salvaged from some boneyard on the outskirts of Roswell, NM. Pull all of those resources together, and nothing can stop you … from getting about three feet off the ground. We’re still working on that first light-year, so we’ve signaled ahead to the promoter on the Small Magellanic Cloud that we may be a little late. Unfortunately, our message is traveling a bit more slowly than us – I can just about see it through the rear window.

Did NASA say uncle when things went wrong? Hell no. But then … maybe they should have. UNCLE!

Hot spot.

What the hell kind of itinerary is this? I have never seen a more incompetent attempt at organizing a freaking interstellar tour. Who put this bullshit together, anyway? Me? Oh … oh dear.

Well, as usual, I spoke too soon.  Not the first time. Honestly, I don’t know why my bandmates don’t look over my shoulder when I volunteer to do shit like this. After all, I’m just connecting dots on a map. I’m not a rocket scientist or anything. Sure, I used to launch Estes rockets when I was 10 or 11, but that was kind of a long time ago, and I think technology has moved on a bit since those days of cardboard tubes, butyrate dope, and solid fuel engines. Oh, and ignition wires. Yeah …. Mitch Macaphee, our mad science advisor, has moved beyond those texts. He of all people should have known that what I was suggesting was just plain impossible.

Let me explain. The third leg of our Ned Trek Live Springtime Extravaganza Tour 2019 brought us to Sirius and then back to the great red spot on Saturn. All well and good, right? Trouble is, our next gig is on Saturday in the Small Magellanic Cloud, which I am now reliably told is nearly 200,000 light years away. Jesus. No wonder it looks small. Even pedal to the metal, it will probably take far longer than the rest of human history for us to get even halfway there.

 Damn. Just imagine the size of the BIG one.

What’s worse, even if we were to make it the the Cloud by Saturday or several aeons after that, it’s a freaking galaxy that is itself about 7,000 light years wide, so it may take us a while to find exactly where we’re expected to perform. (My contact in the Cloud told me we couldn’t miss it, but then she or he is a transcendental being without form or persistent location in time-space, so everywhere is as close as it needs to be for that fucker.)

I hate to cancel a paid engagement, but unless we find a serious wormhole or radically rewrite the laws of physics in the next day or so, we may have no choice. Besides, that gig on Sirius was a serious pain in the butt, and the big Red Spot isn’t as hot as it used to be back in the day. Hell, the older it gets, the slower it turns, and well … there goes the electricity, my friends. So I’m for packing up and heading home. What about the rest of you? Show of hands? All in favor, say aye! Anyone for an aye? Don’t all speak at once.

Are you Sirius?

Homeward bound, I wish I was … Hoo boy, I hope Paul Simon isn’t super litigious, like those folks who own the rights to Happy Birthday. Who the hell are they again? And for chrissake, DON’T SING THE BIRTHDAY SONG!

Thing is, we will be heading in the general direction of home over the coming week, that is, after our gig on Sirius tomorrow … depending on how THAT goes. Like most of our interstellar tours, the Ned Trek Live Springtime Extravaganza Tour 2019 is presenting certain challenges and unexpected turns of events. Our concert on Procyon was overshadowed somewhat by a large, dry alien moon. (Fun fact: “dry alien moon” is an anagram of the name Leonard Nimoy.) When I say overshadowed, I mean cast in darkness … which is problematic when you’re playing outdoors. No lights in the venue, because the denizen of Procyon 3 can see in the dark. Interesting evolutionary trick, as it’s a binary system, so when Procyon A goes down, Procyon B is over your shoulder …. until the dry alien moon intervenes.

I ask you – does any other band have to put up with this shit? We need freaking night vision goggles to get through a night. I was playing organ parts on my piano, string parts on my organ. Matt picked up a 12-string guitar to play six string ( of course …. that’s just the way he strings his Ovation Balladeer … nothing to do with the darkness, you understand). The lunar eclipse was still in progress when the gig ended and the promoter handed us our pay packet. We were well out of the planet’s atmosphere before I realized they had paid us in Betelgeusian quatloos, which are virtually worthless back on Earth! Well … you can spend them at Circuit City, Radio Shack, and Blockbuster Video, but that’s about it.

Which Procyon?

Of course, that means when we get to Sirius we have to make some hay. I’m talking Sirius money, people. Their currency is more ethereal, I understand …. most of their transactions take place via thought transference. So if you’re playing a song that someone likes, they think a few shekels into your membrane. It makes busking a whole hell of a lot easier – none of that passing the hat bullshit. So Marvin (my personal robot assistant), you’re off the hook this week.

Anyway, we’ll see how well we go over on the dog star. Hope they don’t request Werewolves of London. My Zevon is a little rusty.

Cold comfort star.

Oh, Jesus … turn that thing up, Mitch. I’m just starting to get the feeling back into my fingers. No, I don’t want to burn them off, but geez … there has to be a happy medium in there somewhere.

Well, hello, friends of Big Green. Time for another dispatch from our Ned Trek Live Springtime Extravaganza Tour 2019, an interstellar romp across the indie club circuit from Neptune to … well … Epsilon Indie. Except we may not make it quite that far, given the limitations of our transport. Mitch Macaphee’s used saucer lot vehicle has very little living space and can’t carry a lot of fuel, so we’re doing short hops across the void of interstellar space, hoping to bring some down-home joy to the lonely denizens of the forgotten worlds scattered across our modest galactic neighborhood. We take turns watching the planets pass by through the one viewport our ship affords. This is plain clothes, my friends … nothing but the best.

Our gig on Barnard’s Star b (that’s not a typo … the planet is named “b”, for crying out loud) was okay, I guess. Kind of a chilly reception. The surface temperature on “b” is -238 degrees Fahrenheit, and the inhabitants of “b” …. the B-ings, if you will … are a bit like our Neptunian fans. Picture ice crystals with arms and legs. You might call them pseudopods instead of appendages, but that would make you a microbiologist. When we played Jesus Has A Known Mind, they swayed a bit. A few of them held lighters over their head-like projections. There was something that could be called dancing, but the B-ings movements are so subtle you probably need special instrumentation to detect it.

Looks inviting?

One thing I’ll say for the inhabitants of Barnard b …. they need to get themselves a new star. Barnard’s star is meek, man, really meek. I mean, I’ve had space heaters that radiated more warmth than that little beacon. It emits only 0.4 percent of our own sun’s radiant energy, it says here, so if you’re waiting for summer to get there, stop waiting … it ain’t coming. Anyway, we played our tunes, collected our quatloos, chipped our spacecraft out of an ice sheet, and got the hell out of there before they asked for an encore.

Next stop is Procyon, in Canis Minor. That’s a bit of a hike, especially in this dumb-ass heap. What’s more, our navigational computer failed two days out from Barnard, so we had to hook Marvin (my personal robot assistant) up to the control panel so that his 486 processor can tell our various rockets when to fire and when to stand ready. Ahem …. may be problematic. We’ll just see where we end up.

Saint Barnard.

Captain’s log, star date May 17, 2019 … which just happens to be the same as today’s “Earth” date. Strange that those two calendars would coincide on this of all days! But no matter.

Yes, Big Green is currently en route to Barnard’s star, coming off a successful string of performances on Neptune (5/12) and on the third planetoid in the Proxima system (5/15). Tickets were pretty hard to get, so if you’re reading this you probably didn’t see either of those shows. Our performances were live-streamed, but given the vast distances from Earth, the stream won’t get to terrestrial devices until sometime in late 2027. (That’s what passes for “live” on an interstellar tour.)

So … the Ned Trek Live Springtime Extravaganza Tour 2019 is off to a barn burner of a start, at least according to our publicist. Frankly, between the two of us, I consider any Neptune show I can walk away from a success. When your audience is submerged in a lake of frozen methane, it’s a little hard to tell how you’re going over. I thought I saw some movement when we played “Two Lines”, but it may have been a trick of the light. There’s a strange electromagnetic pulse that zaps through the methane, causing a greenish shimmer. I like to think of it as applause, but …. critics may differ.

Next came the Proxima system. We played on Proxima Centauri b, popularly known as Alpha Centauri (AC), the fabled destination of the Space Family Robinson, who took a wrong turn at Pluto and ended up in the worst kind of trouble television has ever seen. It’s a consensus among the Big Green crew that the Robinsons weren’t missing much when they gave AC a miss. Sure, it’s a rocky world, 1.3 times the mass of the Earth, and sure, it is inhabited by little blue space creatures who snap their finger-like appendages in time with the music. Okay, and the accommodations were better than expected. So … maybe the Robinsons SHOULD have gone there before going back to Switzerland. Who am I to judge?

Proxima? That's close.

Right about now I’m sure someone’s asking, “How’s the ship?” Well …. it’s adequate. Mitch Macaphee is somehow keeping it all together, which is a good thing, because Barnard’s Star is six light years away and we need to be there on the 20th or we forfeit about 4,000 quatloos. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) thinks the place is inhabited by St. Bernard dogs. He doesn’t spell so good. Or think so good.

Spaceward, my friends! Into the breach!

Get ready.

Electrodes to power. Turbines to speed. Our sorry asses to perdition. Prepare for launch sequence start. Roger! Roger! Stay away from that engine nozzle! Man, that guy’s an idiot. I don’t understand how he ends up on every mission.

Well, we’re about to launch our spring Interstellar Tour, which we’ve dubbed the Ned Trek Live Springtime Extravaganza Tour 2019.  Not a moment too soon, I should add. It’s getting pretty strange down here on planet Earth, and we’d just as soon watch the various developments from a safe distance of maybe 75 light years. From that remote prospect, all of the cares and woes of human kind are reduced to a mere point of light. A sobering thought … unless you’re drinking that basement hooch Mitch Macaphee has been working on recently. Not one of his better experiments. Speaking as someone who’s about to embark on a perilous deep space excursion in a ramshackle craft, I can say I’m more afraid of imbibing that noxious beverage.

Yes, we did secure transport. It’s a used saucer someone abandoned in exchange for something much, much better.  Mitch picked it up from some used car dealer, caulked up all of the gaps, and it appears to hold air pressure for the most part. Then there’s the engines, and well … they’re a little vintage. There are some rudimentary sleeping quarters, a kitchenette, strangely one of those snack fridges where you get charged five bucks for a Snickers bar. (It shows up on your bill.) There appear to be navigational controls, some direction-finding devices, a few dozen flashing lights, and an old reel-to-reel machine done up to look like a computer. We’ve loaded our gear in and we’re going through a list of final checks before liftoff. (Hey … I never saw that check before!)

How about this little Jewel, Mitch? Just one owner ...

So … we’ve got two days to get to Neptune. And really, we shouldn’t merely arrive on time. It’s awfully hard to find the venue down in that mass of impenetrable atmosphere. Oh, and the Neptunians don’t appreciate tardiness. Come to think of it, they don’t appreciate much of anything … including our music. Why they keep hiring us I could not say. I think it’s because we’re cheap and we provide our own transportation. As you can imagine, being one of the outer planets, they go to great expense to import just about anything, and that includes music. In any case, just a short stop there, then it’s off to the next solar system over … Proxima something or other. Can’t miss it. Just take a right at the Kuiper Belt.

Light minutes.

Okay, so what if it doesn’t come back? What happens to your little experiment then, Einstein? What the … PUT THE STICK DOWN!

Oh, hi. Yes, things get a little contentious at times around the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill. I was just having a conversation with our mad science advisor, Mitch Macaphee, who is doing some tests on a new propulsion system he’s developing. Suffice to say it’s the kind of propulsion system we would need to carry us to the far-flung interstellar venues that have been added to our upcoming tour in recent days. We haven’t secured transport yet, owing to our lack of resources, so Mitch has taken it upon himself to custom design a deep-space conveyance that will meet our needs … and then some.

Trouble is, he is … well …. a crazy-ass mofo, and because of that simple fact, he can’t just use existing technology to build his spacecraft. Oh, no … he has to innovate an entirely new form of propulsion. Don’t ask me the particulars – it has something to do with curved space-time. I don’t know much about that, except that I don’t have enough space-time in my life these days, curved or straight. Anyway … Mitch built a model of his rocket booster and has claimed that it will travel many, many times the speed of light. And to prove his thesis, he’s going to send the little gizmo several light minutes away and back, timing its journey on his old-school pocket watch. Of course, he gets all worked up when he does this sort of thing, so it’s best to avoid Mitch. Like, spend the day in another room. Or on another continent.

Well, all right, then.

So, yeah, we’ve added a couple of stops to the itinerary, which now looks like this:

  • May 12, Neptune
  • May 15, Proxima system
  • May 20, Barnard’s Star system
  • May 27, Procyon system
  • May 30, Epsilon Indi
  • June 2, Sirius
  • June 5, Jupiter, red spot
  • June 8, Small Magellanic Cloud

That last one is going to be a ball-buster. We may need cryogenic chambers to cover that ride, particularly if Mitch’s propulsion scheme doesn’t pan out. But, again … I will leave the science to the mad scientist and concentrate on what really matters: the Tuesday night garbage pick up. I mean, the music! May 12 is coming up fast, so …. better work up some numbers, am I right? Back to the studio!

Practice makes more practice.

All right, then. Ready? One, two, three, four ….  wait, whaaat? That’s not how that song starts. The bagpipes come in on the third verse, not right at the beginning. Where’s that screaming guitar, Mitch? You promised me a screaming guitar!

Oh, man. It’s really been too long since we got out on the star-dusty trail and played a few remote venues. Pulling together a live show is hard when you’re this rusty. In fact, it’s starting to make interstellar space travel seem trivial by comparison. But what the hell, we’re doing it – Big Green is going on another galactic tour, assuming we can find a spaceship worthy of such a journey. No matter what the difficulties may be, the daunting challenges … we will not be daunted. Forward! Forward into the breech, me lads!

So much for the motivational speech. Actually, I think the toughest problem we have on this project is, well, personnel. We’re a little thin on the ground here at the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill. In fact, Matt and I are the only humans in this band. The rest of it is made up of robots and possibly space aliens. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) will be sitting in on drums this time out. I say “sitting”, but it’s really more like standing. He doesn’t actually play the drums – he just emits the sounds of drums in a vaguely rhythmic fashion. I’m starting to think he may have been fashioned out of some old machine parts recycled from the Caribbean.  Or maybe he was a Victor Borge imitator in a previous life – I don’t know.

One, two, three, GO!

What about the guitar? The lead guitar? No worries – Mitch Macaphee isn’t sitting in with us. But he DID promise to build us a self-playing guitar programmed with all of our recent Ned Trek era songs. That would be a tremendous time-saver, but as always, Mitch overpromises and underdelivers. He did go so far as set up a guitar on a stand with a transistor radio taped to it, tuned to the local classic rock station. I suspect he thought we wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between that and a REAL automaton guitar player, since we typically ask guitarists to just play like some guy on the radio. (He’s got us all figured out.)

Okay, so we’ve gotten through two songs. A few more to go, right? Right.