The horrid tales of The Black Keys’ first tour
Bandmates Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney rub their tired, bloodshot eyes on the long road from Seattle, Washington, to Portland, Oregon. The duo, operating under the name The Black Keys, shuddered at the potent smell of urine that infested their rust bucket of a tour van, their reward for having played their biggest-ever show the night before.
The year prior, childhood friends Dan and Patrick made the decision to drop out of college and capitalise on the recent garage rock revival, forming The Black Keys. Gaining a reputation for their blues-influenced indie rock, the duo were attempting to make a living off of small-town gigs in their native Ohio, but they had their sights set on the glitz and glamour of being a touring rock and roll outfit.
A far cry from the trashed hotel suites of The Rolling Stones, The Black Keys were so skint they could not afford the most basic of roadside motels. Travelling in a $4,000 minivan that Carney’s father had helped him to buy, their first national tour was characterised by sleepless nights in the dubious car parks of the USA.
After night upon night of playing damp, dingy venues to a smattering of disinterested concert-goers, the pair struck gold in Seattle. Arriving at the venue, Chop Suey, the duo found their usual crowds of 25 or so had been inflated to upwards of 150. With palpable excitement in the air, the Keys play a handful of tracks, including a cover of The Beatles’ ‘She Said She Said’, but it was the night that was to follow that set the tone for the rest of the tour.
Receiving $500 for the Seattle gig, the pair suddenly found themselves with enough money to fuel the rest of their tour dates. However, there was a dilemma: should they party the night away in the Washington city that birthed grunge or play it safe and return to their dilapidated minivan? The decision was made, and Dan was to go to a party whilst Patrick stayed in the van, guarding the precious earnings made from the show.
Patrick awoke in the early hours of a hot summer morning in July, clutching an envelope containing $500, with an overwhelming need to pee. Looking out of the dirty window of their Plymouth Voyager, he came across a troubling sight: 30 men, all dressed as Santa Claus, hanging around in a car park at 2:30 in the morning. Disorientated from the presence of Santa in summer, as well as his minivan-induced sleep deprivation, the drummer decides to relieve himself from the safe confines of the minivan. As anybody who has tried to piss into a cup will tell you, it is a lot easier in theory than in practice. With pee all over the seats of the Plymouth, a defeated Patrick goes back to sleep, safe from the army of Santas outside.
In the blistering summer morning sun, Dan returned to the chaotic scene inside the minivan, but the damage was already done. Patrick’s visions of Saint Nicholas, initially dismissed as some kind of PCP fever dream, turned out to be a summer Christmas celebration at a gay bar. The smell would remain within the minivan for the rest of the troubled tour. As the pair pressed onto Oregon, where they would play to an empty room supported by meth addicts, their musical ambition had never been higher – the only way was up
