Tacocat’s Top 6
Most Awkward Tour Moments

The Ballad of New Orleans: Cat Boxes, Butt Dials, and Shitting in a Thunderstorm

It was our first time in New Orleans, probably in 2007. It was clear early in the evening that the Circle Bar, the venue we were playing, was certainly going to give us any drink we wanted, for free, forever, because bars do not close in New Orleans. Needless to say, we took them up on the offer.

The night went something like this: The show wrapped up very late and the band we opened for offered to let us stay at their place, but not before “going to clean up” (for TWO hours) while we continued drinking, only taking a break to give each other haircuts on the sidewalk.

For some reason, while waiting in the bathroom line, we got into drinking “bathroom booze”, (half-drank cocktails people left in the bathroom) and gossiping. One of the girls in the band we were on tour with (our great friends in a band called Forever from SF/Portland) ends up butt-dialing her girlfriend WHILE IN THE MIDDLE OF TELLING US A STORY ABOUT HOW SHE HAD CHEATED ON HER A COUPLE NIGHTS BEFORE, WITH A GUY.

Much crying, puking, sidewalk passing out, and other shenanigans went by, and by the time our hosts came back to collect us, both our drummer Lelah and Forever’s drummer Joel were passed out in the van, everyone was a boiling hot mess of very tired and very wasted. Eager to sleep, we were thrilled to find that our host’s apartment was home to no less than four COMPLETELY FULL cat-boxes (actual quote: “When you have more boxes you have to clean them less”) and that this semi-terrifying couple smoked cigarettes indoors with the windows closed… Oh, and they locked us in. Meanwhile, here is Lelah’s account of the rest of her night:

“I woke up in a van (not even OUR van) to the sound of someone throwing a piano down a stairwell. The piano turned out to be thunder. I was in a van in easily the nastiest torrential Southern downpour I’d ever experienced. At first I thought it was cool, but then I realized that I had no idea where I was or where my band mates where and that in about 30 seconds I was definitely going to shit my pants. Faced with two options, I chose to dash out into the storm, into an open field next to a Burger King, and poop. It was major di-di. It took too long. The piano-thunder was yelling so loud. I retuned to the van completely drenched. That is when Joel appeared in the back-seat and asked me ‘did you just shit in this thunder storm?! Do you need dry clothes?’ I said yes to both, he gave me a tank top and a pair of his underwear. I dried off and curled up on the bench seat and went back to sleep.”

“The shuttle is leaving to go to the other show!”

Once upon a tour in San Francisco, we played a pretty awesome DIY warehouse festival that seemed like it was going to be super fun. Or so we thought…

The place was packed with tons of rad people and everything seemed to be going great, until the band before us finished playing and started loading off the stage. Unexpectedly, the festival’s MC ran up to the mic to urgently announce that, “THE LAST SHUTTLE IS LEAVING IN TWO MINUTES TO GO TO THE OTHER SHOW.’” Apparently the festival was split between two venues and to accommodate that, there was a shuttle. “DONT FORGET TO FILE TO THE FRONT OF THE VENUE RIGHT NOW AND GET ON THE SHUTTLE TO SEE THE HEADLINES! Oh, or you can watch Tacocat right now, BUT SERIOUSLY, THE SHUTTLE IS LEAVING RIGHT NOW!”

She then scurried off the stage and onto the shuttle bus, with most of the crowd. We played to a small handful of people who don’t scramble out immediately to see the other show.

Saddest Badgers

We were playing a show at University Of Wisconsin in Madison the same night their beloved basketball team, the Badgers, were in the playoffs. Our set-time was moved to later due to the game, which was fine, but when we showed up to load in, we were greeted by some extremely upset Badgers fans who had just lost their precious game. Literally everyone was wearing maroon and white, looking pissed off and bummed out. There was a girl sobbing her eyes out in the bathroom! We played to a very sparse, very drunk handful of wilted Badgers who slowly filed out as we tried to serenade them with our upbeat pop songs they were in no mood for. At least that campus served beer, a very rare perk for an on-campus show!

“I’m high, wanna fuck?”

One time we were all in the van on the way to a show when Eric received a very interesting text message from our long-time friend named Ian. It said “I’m high, wanna fuck?” obviously meant for his girlfriend, but accidentally sent to Eric. We are all very amused, confused, and slightly horrified. We were dying laughing. He didn’t text anything else to Eric, so we assumed he hadn’t realized his mistake. Emily had this brilliant idea: “Let’s all text Ian ‘I’m high, wanna fuck?’” So we all did. We never heard back from him and assumed he was likely too embarrassed or confused and was maybe pretending it all didn’t happen. Then Emily got a response. “Ummm did anyone ELSE get a text back from Ian?” Turns out Emily had sent the “hilarious text” TO THE WRONG IAN. Not to our friend we were joking with, but to a nice sound guy at a local venue who had been pursuing her pretty hard, even though she had been declining his advances. He had immediately responded with the mortifying, “Yes, when and where.” She still dies of embarrassment when we bring it up. It was also like 3pm.

“BUTT VIRGINITY!”

One time we were in New York for a few days while on tour. It was October 19, Emily’s birthday. Our friend’s band, the Pharmacy, were also in New York and their guitar player’s birthday was the same day. We met them at an Indian restaurant to celebrate together.

I can’t remember what it’s called, but in New York there is this small cluster of Indian restaurants very close together, aggressively competing with each other, attempting to usher customers inside. The inside is tiny and cramped but decked out floor to celling with blinking Christmas lights and shiny decorations — quite the sensory overload. Oh yeah, we’d also had gotten REALLY stoned right before going in. I remember being tucked into a corner feeling slightly claustrophobic but laughing too much to care. Emily was trying to tell a story over the super loud traditional East-Indian music bumping over the speakers, and I don’t remember the exact details of the story, but the subject was rather personal and about one of our friends’ sex lives. All of the sudden someone abruptly turned off the music and the whole tiny room crammed with people went silent. At that exact same moment, birthday girl Emily threw her hands up and exclaimed loudly, per the end of her tale, exclaiming: “BUTT VIRGINITY!” It seemed to almost happen in slow motion, a classic record-screeching, fork-dropping halt. I sunk down in my chair in a fit of laughter. The music had stopped because it was also the same moment the wait staff brought out birthday cake with sparklers on it over to our table, only drawing more attention to the girl who had just screamed “BUTT VIRGINITY” in a crowded, silent, tiny restaurant. They turned music on again —“Happy Birthday” music— but needless to say there have been more seamless transitions.

The English Party-Guy Squat Fiasco

When we were in the UK, Bree got us an Airbnb in Leeds because we thought it would be a nice change of pace from a hotel. When we went to meet up with the host to get the key right after our show, he danced up to our tour van with a mobile suitcase-sized sound system blaring Good Vibrations by the Beach Boys. He said he’d give us a ride to the house we were staying at, but that we’d have to stop by “the Fun House” first… When we got there, it was a dirty, sparse, very vertical, three-story apartment in the midst of a full-blown party. Each room was decorated with flashing LED tube lights, Christmas lights, disco balls, lasers, fog machines, and very little else. Even the bathroom was so dimly lit it barely had a purpose other than to rave in. None of the people in the house seemed to really “know” who this guy was, but came by because, in his own words, “all I do is throw parties, I love to party, that’s all I do.”

Party Guy told us we could stay at the Fun House (nooooo) or that we could stay at the other property he had, but that he had to do a few things at the party first. So we hang around his dilapidating party house, politely prodding him to take us to the next spot so we could pass out / get away from this nightmare party. He kept disappearing, and a girl at the party told us he was in the shower, clogging up the bathroom line in the middle of this rager. Finally, around 4 a.m., he took us to the second property, which had no heat or water and few working lights. He bid us good-night as we were left to wonder whether or not we had just paid to stay in a vacant house he had broken into.