Life Between the Lines
When people think about the life of a touring musician, they often picture the stage lights, the screaming fans, the big festival moments. And don’t get me wrong—those are incredible parts of the job. But for those of us who’ve lived it day in and day out, touring is so much more. It’s a rhythm, a lifestyle, a test of patience, and a deep well of stories—some hilarious, some humbling, and all unforgettable.
After decades on the road with bands like Band Du Jour, the Derek Trucks Band, Leftover Salmon, Coral Creek, and now Steely Dead and the Very Jerry Band, I’ve played hundreds of shows and traveled thousands of miles. Each tour has been a ride of its own, and looking back, it’s the in-between moments—the roadside diners, the broken-down vans, the unexpected friendships—that often stick with me just as much as the music.
The Festival Spirit
Festivals hold a special place in my heart. There’s nothing like the energy of a festival crowd—people coming together to celebrate music, camp under the stars, and lose themselves in the groove. Whether it’s Telluride, High Sierra, or some off-the-beaten-path gathering in a Colorado meadow, festivals are where musicians and audiences meet on equal ground.
With Leftover Salmon, festivals were our playground. We’d hit the stage ready to go anywhere musically, and often did. Sometimes we had a setlist. Sometimes we just followed the vibe. That freedom is what jam music is all about—improvising not just on stage, but in spirit.
One year at a festival in West Virginia, we lost power mid-set. Instead of panicking, we unplugged, gathered at the front of the stage, and played an acoustic set by lantern light. The crowd came closer, everyone quieted down, and something magical happened. That night reminded me that the connection with the audience doesn’t depend on volume or lights—it comes from heart.
Van Life and Late Nights
Touring means living out of vans, buses, and hotel rooms for weeks or months at a time. It means loading gear at 2 a.m., eating gas station snacks for dinner, and getting to know your bandmates better than you ever thought possible.
In the early days with Band Du Jour, we crammed five guys and all our gear into one van. We played shows wherever we could—college bars, dive clubs, military bases overseas. Once, during a DOD tour in Japan, we played a show on an army base, then got invited to a local karaoke bar where we ended up singing with the soldiers until sunrise. We may have butchered some Elvis songs, but nobody cared. It was pure joy.
With the Derek Trucks Band, the touring schedule was relentless—but the music made it worth it. I remember one show in Atlanta where we were joined onstage by Gregg Allman and Warren Haynes. Standing there behind my B3, trading grooves with those legends, I felt like I was part of something bigger than myself.
Brotherhood on the Road
Being on tour turns a band into a family. You celebrate birthdays in hotel lobbies, share headphones on long drives, and learn to give each other space when the miles start to wear you down. There are tough days, no doubt. But there’s also a deep sense of camaraderie that only comes from the road.
Some of my closest friendships were born in green rooms and parking lots. We’ve laughed until we cried, argued over directions, and picked each other up after rough shows or long nights. That bond is what keeps the wheels turning—literally and figuratively.
One time, driving through a blizzard in the Rockies on our way to a festival, our van slid off the road and got stuck. We thought we’d miss the gig for sure. But a farmer came by on a snowmobile, helped us dig out, and even brought us coffee. We made it to the stage with ten minutes to spare—and played one of the most energized sets of the tour.
The Soul of the Road
Touring isn’t glamorous, but it’s deeply rewarding. You learn to appreciate the little things—a clean hotel room, a great meal, a moment of quiet before soundcheck. You also learn that no two shows are ever the same. The crowd changes. The venue changes. Your own energy shifts. But the music always finds a way through.
And then there are the moments that stop you in your tracks: watching a crowd of strangers come together on a single chorus, seeing a kid in the front row light up when you hit a solo, hearing people sing your lyrics back to you. Those are the moments that make the long drives and sleepless nights worthwhile.
Still Rolling
Even after all these years, I still get excited to hit the road. With Steely Dead and the Very Jerry Band, I’ve found new inspiration in the music of legends, alongside musicians who bring passion and skill to every note. Whether it’s a massive festival stage or a small-town theater, I try to bring the same energy, the same gratitude, and the same willingness to follow the moment wherever it leads.
Touring has given me stories, friendships, and a lifetime of music. It’s shaped me not just as a musician, but as a human being. And while the road can be tough, it also offers something rare—a chance to live fully in the present, night after night, note after note.
So here’s to the long drives, the festival sunrises, the off-key harmonies in the van, and the never-ending journey. As long as there’s a stage to play and a road to travel, I’ll keep going. Because this life—crazy, beautiful, and unpredictable as it is—is home.