Fifty miles outside of Missoula, Montana, one of the back tires on
Akimbo’s tour van blows out on a two-lane bridge. The van fishtails
across both lanes and almost crashes into the wall. The flapping tire
tread pulls out the fuel line that goes into the tank, and the van
immediately fills with the smell of gasoline. We get out to change the
busted tire, but soon find the jack doesn’t go high enough to get the
van off the ground, so we’re forced to search the sides of the highway
for flat, discarded wood scraps and rocks we can rest the jack on. The
air outside is thick with a putrid smell, and as we scavenge in the
roadside ditch, we find it lined with the carcasses of dead deer.
After a while, Akimbo tour mates Cicadas catch up to us on the road
and pull over to help. As they stop their van, all the coolant comes
gushing out from under the engine onto the gravel. We can’t find enough
flat material to get Akimbo’s van off the ground, so the others
volunteer to drive further down the road to find us something we can
use.
Two hours and a few cinder blocks later, we finally get Akimbo’s rig
back on the road, but Cicadas’ van is a smoking mess. They wait for a
tow truck for seven hours, miss their Missoula show, and have to cancel
their show the next night.
As we stand on the side of the road in the heat and stench of dead
deer, trying to place a jack on a wobbly pile of wood and rocks, I’m
struck by the title of Akimbo’s new album.
“So,” I ask bassist and frontman Jon Weisnewski, “is this navigating
the bronze?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
Last weekend, the two bands came together for a three-day trek to
Spokane, Missoula, and Wenatchee—a precursor to the release of
Akimbo’s fifth album, Navigating the Bronze. The title is a
reference to the nine years Akimbo have spent on the road, playing
countless shows and sleeping on strangers’ floors. The way they see
it—or at least the way their album cover and band merch portray
it—they’re modern Vikings, axes in hand, plowing through the
waves in a big white van.
The Seattle natives have solidified themselves as major players in a
new movement of heavy music emerging around the country. They belong to
a set of bands like Saviours, the Sword, Lords, and Young Widows who
are mixing classic rock, grunge, and metal into a new genre that can’t
be defined by any one of its parts.
“Just call it grunge,” says Weisnewski.
“I liked the term ‘hair-core,'” says guitarist Aaron Walters. “But
then I found out people were already applying it to bands like Aiden,
and I got bummed.”
The band have been around long enough that they try not to play in
town too often these days, opting instead to hop on bills with touring
friends when they come through. They can guarantee a good turnout at
Seattle shows, but on the road it’s still anybody’s guess what kind of
crowd is going to show up.
The first night of the tour, in Spokane, they’re greeted by 30 or so
high school– and college-age kids who are stoked to see them.
Akimbo have been through Spokane several times and have built up a good
name for themselves there; the kids bang their heads and cheer
enthusiastically. They also buy lots of merch: the key to any
successful tour.
After shows, there are no hotels for Akimbo—just floors
donated by any generous fans they can find.
“Even if we were making enough to stay in a hotel every night, we
wouldn’t,” says drummer Nat Damm. “Save that money; meet new
people.”
If there’s a party happening, Akimbo are ready to get in on the
action, though on this minitour, the aftershow parties tend to be a
case of beer and conversation with whoever’s letting them crash at
their place. Getting to know the type of people willing to let
long-haired, tattooed strangers sleep in their home is half the fun of
being on tour.
In Spokane, a sweet, spacey girl named Cory is kind enough to guide
all seven of us—Akimbo, Cicadas, and me—down dirt roads to
her secluded house on the Spokane River. As we lay out our sleeping
bags on the floor, a couple of giant wolf spiders scurry across the
carpet.
“Dude! Did you see the size of that?” yells Damm.
“It’s not that big,” Cory replies. “If you want to see some big
spiders, look in the freezer.” We didn’t.
The next evening, after powering through exploding tires and the
stench of death on Interstate 90, Akimbo receive the kind of reception
at Wantage Records’ Total Fest that every touring band dreams of. Total
Fest is an annual gathering in Missoula with over 40 bands across three
days. This year, it’s set in a venue called the Badlander, with two bar
stages side by side for zero lag time between sets, and an all-ages
stage downstairs in a pool hall. Rock bands from across the country
play back-to-back all night. Akimbo are given the glory of headlining
the bar stage on Friday.
The crowd is screaming for them before they can even start playing,
hyped up from an explosive set moments earlier by Fleshies. As Akimbo
break into their first song, someone throws a bra onstage, a dance pit
explodes, and everyone is pumping their fists into the air. A few songs
into the set, Weisnewski, taken aback by the crowd’s reaction, leans to
the mic and says to the audience, “All of you should move to
Seattle.”
Shows like this are a vacation for the band—the sweet, rare
reward for years of hard work. The next night in Wenatchee, however, is
straight back to the office. They play to a giant saloon filled with
tables of people eating steak. One kid has shown up specifically to see
Akimbo; no one else seems to know who they are. Before they begin
punishing the room with sound, Weisnewski greets the crowd: “Hi, we’re
Akimbo. Sorry for ruining your dinner.”
Akimbo spare no energy, bestowing the same vociferous rock as the
two previous nights. They are greeted overwhelmingly with blank stares
and full mouths. They get their money and don’t bother trying to sell
any merch.
Akimbo spend roughly a quarter of their year on the road, so they’ve
played countless nights like this—small, irritating squalls
unavoidable on the open seas. It only gets worse when they’re forced to
deal with their embedded journalist barfing profusely out of the van
for the majority of the ride back to Seattle, getting puke all over
their sleeping bags, pillows, and jackets. Good thing we’re only a
couple of hours from home. 