Ethan Keller

Tour Journal Entry 2018.3


Wake. Snuggle. Walk. Shower. Clean. Pack. Drive 9 hours to southwest PA. Arrive at venue. Set up. Sit at bar and get carded and complimented on my looks. I like this place already. Eat 2 of 3 awesome shrimp tacos, when a random rogue glass shard that no one can find prompts the staff to send me 3 new tacos. A tiny girl, Remy, inquires "what I'm going to do with all the interesting tools." I tell her they are for making music. She says she loves to dance and pirouettes on a circular rug, one time, nonstop until the floor comes up to meet her. She strums some guitar strings and giggles when I change up the chords. Start playing. Perform all the songs. The old guys at the table are nice and one drops some Hamiltons in my guitar case on the way out. Pack up. Drive 1 hour. Stay at a hostel right by the railroad tracks. The train horn only wakes me up once or twice.

Wake. Snoop. Dawdle. Dilly dally. Eat shrimp tacos. Depart. Forget I-76 cuz tolls suck. Drive Historic Lincoln Hwy across PA. March for our lives is today. Demonstrators on all 4 corners of the roundabout in Gettysburg. Get to my friends' in NJ. Meet their cute son. Chill and chat. Ride in my buddy's truck as a passenger to pick up pizza. Long-curly-haired restaurant host is bustin my friend's balls. Unreal tomato pie for dinner. Go to gig. Some of my NJ friend's family comes to the show as well as some friends from PA. The manager gives me a bonus and asks me back. Pack up. Back to the house. Late night tomato pie. Crash on couch. Tiny longhaired dachshund cozies up.

Wake. Chill. Get fired up. I love schooling trolls, especially on Sunday. Shower. Drive to friend's in PA for breakfast at 1. Milk every last minute of good conversation with radically awesome advocates before jetting. Drive 3.5 hours. Arrive at brewery. Set up. Jenna opens. Tasty beer 4 me. Play music. Hang out and eat afterwards. Owner shares a chai flavored hard cider with me. Hmm. The dude abides. Fill growlers. Pack up. Sleep upstairs.

Wake. Drive 10 hours home with several generous rests. Make it around Chicago bypass at rush hour with no delays. Unprecedented. Pick up my son. Home. Exhausted. The more tired I am the more my sighs come out sounding like Chewbacca.


A Hop, Skip, and a Jump


The Hop





Organic chocolate milk breakfast.

A good week to kick caffeine.

No time to pray your advice.

Colors of joy lining corduroy pockets.

Electric spirit taps out technivangelization.

Live from the tip of electrode.

Living on a limb.

Balance like a pelican.

A frog hops across the wet highway.

A dog scrambles for snacks.

Smack me awake.

A few wrong turns.

Tethered to any road.

No map necessary.

The honored feed me.


The Skip



Fly through space in an electric chair.

Swerve to avoid pheasant strut.

Fine feather.

A golden eagle zooms to intercept me.

Breaks left just in time.

Flashing me a glimpse of full wingspan underside.

Screamed at phone.



Black/white bird w/ long tail.




The gas pump shamed me.




The Jump


Sleep. Cold.

Ball. Unfurl.


Blessed mourning.

I-90 sunrise.


Free chicken finger in Missoula.

Montana ginger ale.

Hair compliment.

Yodeling practice.


Mom phone call.

So much love.

Shame just for me.

Shame x3.

“You see…”



I see you.

More generosity.


Spoke Cain.


Blowout at 70mph.


What a message.

Can’t get at donut.

Trooper saves the day.


2 messages and a power inverter.


What a mess.


Back at car.

Dead gone.

Song of songs.



Trooper spitting chaw.

Les Schwab more speed.

Seattle rain.


Headset guy in burgundy suit mangles wish you were here.


Stop time.

Share cider.



Yell myself to sleep cursing.


I had to try.


I tried to stop performing. It didn't work out too good. I guess...


Love life on stage?


After 20 plus years of playing shows, I've decided to step away from performing live. I suppose I owe an explanation. Here it is: it is...


About "Dead Man Dancing"


So, about "Dead Man Dancing:" It's not sad. But it's definitely not...


Get out of my...


What do I do with all this future garbage?
Who on earth is not a junk collector?
Why should I hold on to my coat?
Birds don't trade seed for feathers.
They just keep moving.
Towards a fat red sun.



Science and Spirit


Sometimes when my eyes hurt from receiving photons, or my ears are ringing from too many sound waves, I can't find silence. Not aural silence, nor the tranquility I want, because I'm also buzzing from...