Get in the Van

It’s 2:20 p.m., and I’m at the TacoTime on Madison and 15th trying
to score some magic Mexi-Fries for my hangover. A giant
Winnebago—actually, a ’91 Chevy Sprinter, complete with a Beware
of Dog sign in the window—comes barreling into the parking lot,
honking its horn. Through the windows, someone in mirrored sunglasses
and a Detroit T-shirt is waving at me. It’s Sean Wood, aka Sean
Spits.

Instead of buying a cheapo minivan for the next tour, Sean bought a
stinky old motor home with a Veterans of Foreign Wars sticker on the
windshield. “Veterans” is appropriate, seeing as this is something like
the Spits’ 80 millionth tour since the band’s inception 14 years ago. I
haven’t missed a single Seattle Spits show in eight years; this is the
only band I’ve seen more times than Slayer, another group that’s
amassed their massive following over the years despite little radio airplay and
sans a bunch of craptastic music videos.

We spend the rest of the day driving around South Seattle looking
for pit bulls and plastic plants to spruce up the Sprinter and
listening to the new Spits album, Self Titled #4. Here’s the
conversation we had.

How did the Spits come to be?
Well, it all started at Chili-Fest in Antarctica in 1962. Naw, it
started in the ’80s when my brother Erin and I were in the Allegan
Juvenile Detention Center near Kalamazoo, Michigan. Part of the therapy
there was that kids had to write songs. That’s when we started the band
Spit Out. We felt like weirdos, like we’d been spit out by everybody,
our parents, teachers.

What were you and Erin listening to
back
then?
Twisted Sister, Black Flag. Twisted Sister is punk, so much
more so than NOFX or any of those dumbfucks, all those Hot Topic
“punks.” NOFX is not punk rock.

When did you guys move to Seattle?
Around ’93 or ’94. It sucked. We didn’t fit in anywhere. The garage
rockers thought we were hardcore, and the punks thought we were garage.
We were hated by all. We’d go to Gibson’s downtown and get in a fight
with the whole bar.

I think I saw you play Uncle Rocky’s wearing ski
masks.
Did you see the show where we dressed like Vietnam vets and Erin sat
in a wheelchair the whole time? We just played shows all the time. And
played and played. A lot of other bands grew up, got real jobs or got
too ugly, and we just kept playing. We’ve seen a lot of bands come and
go. I mean, we’ve gone through 12 keyboard players and four different
drummers. But we’re still the Spits.

Why is this new album, your fourth, still
self-titled?
All of our albums are self-titled.

Who recorded the new album?
We did. Also with John Reis of Swami Records in San Diego, Red
Lantern Studio in Portland with a four-track, and in a pole barn in
Kalamazoo that used to be a meth lab. Then Recess Records—that’s
a label started by an old skate punk named Todd—offered to put it
out.

You guys still skate?
Total. We still play skateparks, house parties.

You have a song on the new record called “Live in a Van.”
Did you ever really live in a van?
What band hasn’t had a band member living in the tour van at
some point? Constant touring makes it hard to pay rent sometimes.
Eventually it’ll turn anyone into a road dog. Rrarrf!

Tell me about the death cult you formed with King
Khan.
You better ask him. But then if he tells you, I have to kill
you.

What about Midnight? That death-metal band in Cleveland that
put out a 7-inch of metal-fied Spits covers?
I believe they’re black metal, Kelly. Get. It. Right! What band
hasn’t had some metal kids from Ohio cover their shit?

Um, well…
Bam! Sky five!*

*Sky five is a noncontact high five, best utilized when the person
is too far away to actually touch and/or has a hand that’s just too
dirty to slap.