Jane makes all TWEN’s merch by hand, silk screening on thrift store clothing. Before we set off Ian heat-treats the ink in their Nashville home.
When Boston-born, Nashville-based TWEN asked me to join them for two weeks on the road, I jumped at the chance. As a music photographer, I find few greater joys than touring with the bands I love, bringing their experiences to the fans and friends who couldn’t be there. The life of a touring band is a curious one, one filled with all manner of adventures that too often goes undocumented and forgotten.
We were to be joined by St. Augustine’s own Reels, and we could not have wished for a more raucous, joyous group of companions. Together we journeyed south, playing shows big and small up and down the length of Florida and Georgia. We slept at the mercy of fans and strangers on floors, couches, recliners and deflated air mattresses. We drove through car washes with our windows down. We hung out with an orange Iguana named Rupert. I even became vegetarian.
For TWEN’s Jane Fitzsimmons, Ian Jones, Jim Connolly and Cory Best, the tour was a chance to further cultivate their strong grassroots following in their adoptive southern homeland. For Reels it was a chance to bring their music across their home state and beyond. For all of us, it was just a plain and simple good time.
P.S.
TWEN is coming back to Boston on March 24th and playing Trixie’s Palace. Go see them. I promise they’re good. I didn’t even get tired of them after seeing them every night for two weeks
Cory shows off his pride and joy, a spacious Chevy van named Brandine. We would call Brandine home for the next two weeks.
Outside an Atlanta house venue, Jane gets ready for TWEN’s first show of the tour.
The rain falls. The smoke rises. The beers empty. Ian sits.
In a pool too cold to swim, Jim gives his hair a refreshing chlorine bath.
Zach, Cory and Hudson of Reels. Three people for which the term “dude” must surely have been invented.
TWEN’s inaugural show at Atlanta’s Casa Nova, a basement venue to rival the best of them.
In the shadow of a Floridian water tower, Ian meditates and Cory stretches after a night spent in the van.
In Brandine the hours and miles fly by, while the dashboard fills with trash and trinkets.
Lonely gas stations scattered on the freeways and back-roads, our roadside oases of chips and mixed nuts.
We slept on the floors and couches of anyone who would have us. In Savannah, the rug on which Jane sits was soon to be our resting place.
A house slumps low, crumbling on the streets of Savannah while TWEN and Reels sleep next door.
Ian and Jane let loose their impeccable harmonies for an enraptured audience.
In Miami we met a man named Juan. He invited us to burn palettes and Christmas trees in his yard.
I spent the night swaying in Juan’s hammock, pine and palette smoke lingering in my nose.
The musical and performative stylings of TWEN grace a Gainesville art space.
This was a tour through Florida, as such many afternoons were spent on brisk winter beaches.
In Gainesville, the team at Heartwood Soundstage produced a live session for TWEN.
Heartwood even had a shower for us, a welcome sight for our sweaty crew.
Presiding over Spanish newspapers and racks of PBR, an Orlando bartender gazes through his plywood window.
Our trusty steed Brandine sits parked down a dirt road, waiting to ferry us to wherever we might spend the night.
After a smoke filled show in the storage locker headquarters of Fuzz Baby Records, TWEN and Reels enjoy yet more smoke.
Jane takes her tea poolside, surrounded by the lush greenery of central Florida.
Seen here: Ian literally bending over backwards to deliver a good show.
Exhaustion takes hold as the pace of tour begins to catch up with TWEN.
On a visit to the Paynes Prairies, Jane watches an armadillo scurry in the distance.
On the eerily empty shores of wintertime Daytona Beach, we stroll along with the sand and sea all to ourselves.
Jim disappeared for a while. We found him playing guitar with a man who travels Florida by canoe.
Reliving the beach vacations of younger days, TWEN share ice cream in the shade of the palms.
Lost down a lonely road in the South Carolina woods, we struggle to find our way to Augusta.
After a fruitful show, Ian and Jim take in the murmur and hum of an emptying venue.
In Augusta, decades of cigarette smoke stain the venue’s double high ceiling, while locals speak in hushed tones.
Zach from Reels watches a pool game from behind an errant cue.
Surrounded by smoke and James Brown iconography, TWEN give another crowd their all.
Wearing a TWEN vest, an Augusta bartender pours us a complimentary and ill-advised round of Irish car bombs.
Cory and Cory, TWEN and Reels’ respective drummers share a moment of mutual admiration.
With tour almost over, Long Island Iced Teas and exhaustion catch up with a member of TWEN, as they rest outside the door of our host’s apartment.
TWEN, Carinae, Julep, SUPERTEEN
Saturday, March 24, 2018
Trixie’s Palace
ask a punk / 8pmish / donate to the touring band TWEN