I first came to know about As Cities Burn in February of 2003 when I attended a show in Ruston, LA, with my friend Tim Jordan. He was getting ready to fill in on guitar later that spring for a North Louisiana emo band called Rivers Indiana that was also playing that night. We made the drive from Arkadelphia, AR—where I was going to college at the time—to catch their set and hang out. I remember feeling very out of place at this show. All the guys were wearing tight jeans and t-shirts that let the top of their hips show. All the girls were cute with tattoos and cool haircuts. I was wearing some sort of Ralph Lauren button-down dress shirt left over from high-school-douchebag-jock days, trying to look nice, as I had high hopes of meeting a girl every single time I went out in public. This mentality created a tremendous amount of stress and social anxiety, a common theme throughout this book.

When ACB came onto the stage to set up—when I say stage I mean a six-inch platform at the Louisiana Tech Methodist Student Union or something—I could immediately tell there was something different about them compared to all the local bands back in central Arkansas. For one, they just looked cool. There was a feeling in the air that something interesting was about to happen. The anticipation coming from the crowd was something I had never witnessed toward a local band. It was like these kids knew something I didn’t.

They started into their first song with deafening feedback that dropped out just as the two guitarists screamed an alternating vocal intro; “I COULD BE ONE OF THEM IF I DIDN’T FEEL SO ALONE!” then the other, “I COULD BE ONE OF THEM IF I DIDN’T FEEEEL!!” and then straight into a sick guitar riff, reeking of discord and emotion. This type of guitar work wasn’t represented by local bands back home. This was different. They all had their backs to the crowd. Even the singer. They were loud. They were tight. They were like the best local band I’d ever seen.

On the next song, a much heavier one, they start throwing their guitars around their bodies only to catch them and have their fingers slide perfectly back to the chord they had just left. The whole band would recklessly fling their bodies all over the stage barely missing each other’s faces on every pass. There was head banging and total disregard for the risk of damaging their equipment and each other. The audience was captivated in a way I had not witnessed in my local scene. It was some badass shit.

None of this was part of my reality in Arkansas. It wasn’t even that I loved the music. I had rarely been a fan of heavy music. But I could just tell there was something special going on. Something unfamiliar to my life experiences thus far. I played in pop punk and ska bands throughout high school and into college. But this shit had substance and passion that I had not yet tapped into. I went home discouraged that night. Discouraged that I wasn’t anywhere close to as cool as everything I had just witnessed. My friend Tim, the coolest guy in the room, went home with a girl’s phone number.

———

A couple months later Tim calls me on his way back from Baton Rouge, having just played with Rivers Indiana. The show was with As Cities Burn at a backyard BMX rally.

Tim’s report included details about shitloads of kids connecting with the music, breaking into mosh pits and jumping off of roofs. He too had never seen kids react this way to a local band. Tim was 6 foot 4, good looking and charismatic. He was a great first-impression-type of guy who always dominated whatever situation he was in, so it was no surprise when he told me that As Cities Burn tried to recruit him to be their drummer, as theirs was quitting very soon. But alas, Timothy did not play the drums. So whom did he tell them about? His less cool, shorter, confidence-lacking best friend, Aaron. Next thing I know we are planning a trip back down to Baton Rouge for my audition.

Once again, social anxiety takes over and I am pretty much miserable the entire weekend of my hangout and audition with the band. I’ve never been to Baton Rouge and it is undeniable that South Louisiana is like no other place in the country. Everybody was loose. The girls oozed sexuality.

The presence of LSU and its party atmosphere was felt far and wide, whether you were partying or not. It’s not the Bible belt down there. Arkansas is very conservative. I grew up Southern Baptist where basically everything fun was bad.

Not that I hadn’t broken free a little bit from that. After all, I had gotten my ears pierced when I turned 18! And I cursed like a sailor. Not very Southern Baptist of me.

But in Louisiana, land of excess and indulgence, I was a fish out of water. I could sense the skepticism from the band. I didn’t look or even seem as cool as they did. And I wasn’t making up for any physical shortcomings with my personality. I totally clammed up. But Tim, the epitome of cool and confident, was there by my side and for some reason he was vouching for me with these guys. That had to go a long way.

Being the popular guys that they were, people were always coming and going from their apartment—even if they weren’t home. The ACB guys all lived together in a two-bedroom apartment with a loft. The exiting drummer was in the process of moving out and I hardly saw him, which was fortunate because it was an awkward situation for me, coming down there to try and be the new guy. A dude they called Fat Tony lived upstairs in the loft. He’s the one who organized the crazy backyard BMX show—in their own backyard— and also served as the band’s graphic designer and de facto sixth member. The dishes in the sink were piled high, a foot above the sink rim. Trying to move a dish was a death sentence, as the aroma coming from underneath was what I imagined the inside of a dead elephant’s colon smelled like.

Nevertheless, I thought—Hey! This seems fun!

Rehearsals that day were whatever. It wasn’t really a style of music I was good at. The songs were structured loosely, with tempos changing constantly and lots of screaming. But they wanted to tour. Every single member of this band was committed to dropping out of college and hitting the road ASAP.

The plan was to build up the bankroll around town for the summer and then in the fall leave town and never look back.

I informed them that I had in fact been on tour before and even booked shows out of town. Turns out I was the most experienced touring musician in the room. This seemed to add to my value, which at that point must have been right about zero. Thank God for my pop punk band’s summer tour the previous year that totally destroyed my Chevy Blazer.

On the second night I was in town, they called up a bunch of friends and decided we should go to the top of the abandoned Jimmy Swaggart building. Jimmy Swaggart was a big time televangelist, and apparently, a corrupt one. Big surprise, huh? Back in 1989 he started building this dormitory for his campus in Baton Rouge. But construction stopped and it was still just sitting there, totally empty and unfinished in 2003 and for many years after that. So naturally, kids used to sneak in and drink and have sex and do dumb stuff. Not us, but maybe other kids. We crawled under the fence and started making our way up this concrete block of nothing. I don’t even think we had flashlights. And hardly anybody had cell phones back then. It was just...dark. The only light coming in was that of the moon and streetlights down below. It just seemed like a bad idea and one that I was not too thrilled about. Day two, and I was uncool AND a pussy. Not to mention I was extremely out of shape, seeing as how my diet at the time consisted of Cheez-Its and sweet tea.

However, once we made it to the top I could see the appeal of this endeavor. An amazing 360 view of the city, and with Baton Rouge being so flat, this meant you could see for miles. There was a sense of freedom and community up there, and a collective attitude of ‘who gives a shit if we get caught.’ I knew then that I wanted to be a part of this. These people were exciting. Climbing up on top of abandoned buildings, putting on backyard hardcore shows, throwing guitars around their necks. I felt that if given the opportunity, it was time to do something crazy. Even though it was scary to think about leaving behind every person I knew and cared about, in that moment I realized if I was ever going to make it, I needed to get out of Arkansas and take a risk.

Another thing playing in my favor was the fact that Cody (the main songwriter and lead guitarist/backup singer) and I kind of hit it off in terms of artistic vision. We had some great discussions about influences and philosophy on building songs and vibes. I was amazed at his talent and the ease in which his hands and fingers glided across the strings and fret board. He told me he was actually a bass player and had only taken up guitar a couple years before. I knew there was something special about this kid. I had no idea he would end up being the most talented, creative and one of a kind musicians I would ever come across. Much of the reason I had faith that As Cities Burn could do well was because of what I saw in him. Even though the demos were kind of shitty and the songs were all over the place, with time I knew Cody was going to develop into a badass. I was right, by the way.

I was packing my things, preparing to head back to Arkansas, and the guys hadn’t broached the subject of evaluating the weekend. I figured maybe they wanted to spend a few days talking about it or even try out other drummers. I figured I probably didn’t get the gig, because I definitely wasn’t cool enough.

Maybe it was something Tim said or simply the fact that he was putting in the time to be my wingman on this quest. I wouldn’t be surprised if Tim pulled the guys aside and said, “He may not seem like much, but you should give him a chance. This dude is dedicated and wants this as bad as y’all do,” or something in that vein. Whatever the reason, just minutes before Tim and I began our five-hour trip back to his lake house in Camden, AR, the guys asked me to come outside the apartment into the driveway and offered me a spot in the band.

Actually TJ, the main singer/screamer wasn’t out there. He was inside eating Chinese food. Mere seconds after I accepted the offer to join, TJ walks outside and says to his brother, “Hey Cody, check out my fortune...’Learn a new language, gain a new life’.” He laughed and walked back in the house. We loaded up and headed home. Notably, Tim left town that night with a girl’s phone number... again.

Before I had gone down to audition, I had just gotten a summer job in Cabot, AR at the local video rental store. I told the guys I would work that job for a month, save up some cash, and move down at the end of May. I wasn’t sure exactly how much cash I would actually be able to save at $6.50 an hour for ten hours a week, but dammit that was my plan. A few days after I got back to Arkansas I decided that plan of action was foolhardy and I loaded up my Blazer with everything I owned (a drum set, clothes, TV and a Band of Brothers DVD set), went out to dinner with my parents to let them know I was moving to Louisiana that very night. Oh, and dropping out of college.

I was off. No shit, I didn’t even tell any of my friends. I just left and would end up making phone calls over the next few days to inform people things like, “By the way, I won’t be moving into that house with you next semester.” The night before I decided to run off in haste, I had hung out with a few people at an All American Rejects show in Little Rock.

They were playing Juanita’s, which was a 400 cap room with amazing vibes and an amazing sound system. All American Rejects had already sold a million records probably, but for some reason were doing a small club tour. I only bring them up specifically now, because they will be a player throughout this book, a somewhat significant one in fact.

Tim and I were showing some friends the demos for the bands we were joining. Tim, almost simultaneously to me, had landed a spot in a really good pop punk band from Northwest Arkansas called Welton. I could tell nobody liked what they were hearing of As Cities Burn. They knew I was moving soon to join this band and I’m assuming they couldn’t figure out why. I guess my friends lacked the vision to spot the diamond in the rough. Well, everyone except Tim.

———

Things weren’t easy at first in Baton Rouge. I had no money.

Meals consisted of PB&J and Kraft Mac & Cheese. For a splurge we might hit up Jack in the Box or Raising Canes.

And the humidity? I was not ready for it. I couldn’t breathe when I walked outside, and I’m not sure what caused it but I broke out in hives after being down there for a week. It rained every single day. Sleeping was tough: I shared a room with Colin, guitarist and kind of the band leader/personality, and the dude snored like crazy. Still does. (In later years on the road I would spend many nights sleeping alone in the van due to the insane snoring habits of my fellow band members.) And of course you are sweating, because that’s what you do in Louisiana.

Sweat all day and all night.

I was able to land a job at the Tinseltown USA movie theater. TJ had applied to work there and received a call to schedule an interview. After some thought I guess he decided that he wasn’t interested in tearing tickets so he told me to just go to the interview in his place. They were confused, but I got the job. It felt nice to get something going for income and I think the guys were impressed I took initiative to find employment so quickly as their previous drummer seemed to be notorious for a somewhat laissez-faire existence. Sometimes you just gotta show up. Anyways, who cares about a dead end job? I moved here to bust ass playing shows and booking a tour. And that’s exactly what we did.

One of the coolest things about looking back on this time is getting to recount the second show I ever played with As Cities Burn. In early June of 2003 we made the quick trip over to Gulf Port, MS. Back then I thought this whole part of the country was an absolute shithole. Now the gulf coast is my favorite place to be. But across the shithole we went and at that show we would meet two bands from Jackson, MS that would have major influence over our career and also become great friends, Jonezetta and Fletcher. Fletcher would several years later change its name to Colour Revolt and take the indie world by storm. If any of you reading this are fans of Brand New and the sound they ripped off—I mean matured into—on “The Devil and God Are Raging Inside Me”—you have Colour Revolt to thank for that. A couple years later, Jonezetta would end up signing one of the biggest record deals in Tooth and Nail history for a new band, as well as bringing my friend Tim on as a band member.

Every show we played that summer was insane from my perspective. I went from being in bands that hardly anyone cared about to being in a band that was the best draw in the scene. I witnessed hardcore dancing for the first time. I thought it was weird and stupid back then just as I do now, but the kids loved it. We even featured fans “dancing” in a DVD set to a Sigur Rós tune—lots of head banging and guitar throws with pretty music over it. We were certain that this DVD would set us apart, showcasing to labels that we really knew how to “throw down.” It didn’t.

The “throwing down” as we called it wasn’t always a good thing in my opinion. I wanted to put on a good show, but I also wanted to actually play the songs. One show in particular where I found this to be an issue was in late summer of 2003. We were opening a show at a local Baton Rouge church for two touring bands. One was This Runs Through from North Carolina. Their singer Spencer would go on to join a group from Florida called Underoath. The other was, Evelyn, whose drummer and guitarist would go on to join Between the Buried and Me. Shane, guitarist for Evelyn, would years later help start a band we were good friends with - Oh, Sleeper. Weird how far back friendships can go. I say all this to make the point that these bands were good.

They were on a noticeably different level at that time. A level I wanted to be on. But what happened at that show would prove to me that we had a long way to go.

In the midst of our normal “throwing down” throughout the set, there was a moment where I questioned exactly what we were even doing. I’m going along, playing my drum parts and as I look up I see our bassist, Pascal, throwing his bass 20 feet in the air over and over. I look to stage left and see Cody doing guitar throws around his shoulder using the strap, eventually descending down his arm like a hula hoop. So to be clear...also not playing his instrument. Then Colin, attempting the same trick as Cody, accidentally propels his guitar high into the air and off the stage into the crowd, crashing down and hitting a girl in the head. At that moment I was the only one playing an instrument. And I thought, “Are we even a band right now?”

We had been sending out press kits to every label under the sun. They were nice too. Very well put together due to Fat Tony’s access to the LSU print shop. We thought for sure this would get us noticed. We even included that fancy Sigur Rós DVD along with our new demo. Hell, I dyed my hair black to keep in line with the image we were pitching: hard, tough, black hair dudes…wearing girl jeans. We throw down, bitch. (Just in case you don’t know, wearing girl jeans somehow became a thing in the hardcore/indie scene back in the early 00’s. I don’t know why. I just did. I conformed. It was really uncomfortable for the crotch area in all honesty.)

After many late nights researching where to send our press kits and hundreds of dollars of postage, we received our reward. Zero responses. Not even a single “Not Interested.” We thought we were ready, but we weren’t. And the industry knew it. Maybe they saw potential somewhere like I did, but it wasn’t enough to even garner a response.

I think the show with the guitars flying into the crowd should have been a big enough indicator that we lacked seasoning. However, we were determined, and kids down in Baton Rouge cared about our band. We had great confidence that we could take this thing somewhere. So as was intended when I joined the band, we made plans to get out of Louisiana and tour. A lot. The booking of our first tour would begin and it would be on me to get it done. Foolishly, I volunteered to take it on alone as I of course had “been on tour” and had “lots of contacts.” Twenty years old, inexperienced and stupid, I sent my band off into a brutal circuit of financial uncertainty and shows with nobody in attendance.

Sound fun? Only for a band of hopeful idiots.

In 2015, our lovely drummer Aaron Lunsford wrote a memoir about his time in As Cities Burn. Some of you may have read it. Most of you probably didn’t. We’ll be sharing the entire manuscript here, chapter-by-chapter, alongside our other journal entries, BTS videos, and whatever else ends up floating through this little corner of the internet.

Acknowledgements

A big thanks to Matt Carter for encouraging me to continue writing this book after sending him the first couple chapters on a whim. Thanks to my editor, Matt Johnson, for knowing what it’s like to have your knuckles bleed from behind a drum kit. Abigail Pruss & Matt MacDonald, my copy editors, thank you for allowing me not to sound like the uneducated southerner band dude that I am. Also thanks to other BC folks that took the time to read and critique along the way — Simon, Nick, others that I am forgetting or find too insignificant to mention. Of course, thanks to my wife Cassie for allowing me to tarnish our family name with my foul mouth and sour attitude.

To my band:

I’m not going to sit here and gush about camaraderie and brotherhood and the “community” that I am constantly being bombarded with from the millennial church culture of 2015. Being in a band was and is hard. I’ve made it hard. My bandmates, Cody, Colin and TJ made it hard at times. But damn, we are all still friends, 12 years after I joined As Cities Burn. That’s a fucking accomplishment worth ACKNOWLEDGING.

———

CHAPTER 1

This Is It

It’s August of 2006 and I’m in New Orleans. It’s hot, and humid. Really humid. The type of humidity where you forget what the point of showering is. I’m just a sweaty, sticky mess. Rapidly accelerating my dehydration is the fresh Abita Amber - a local Louisiana beer - I just picked up from a bar across the street from the venue. I’m now enjoying it as I watch the openers load their gear in through the stage door.

In New Orleans, it always seems like a good idea to start drinking early, despite the fact that in the morning you may have to get on a plane, or take a ride across Lake Pontchartrain on the 25-mile causeway back to the North Shore.

Blowing chunks of jambalaya and hurricanes on that stretch of road is tough, seeing as there’s no shoulder to pull over onto. But it’s the last show of tour and my band, As Cities Burn, is headlining the House of Blues in New Orleans for the first time. We are on the verge of greatness. Riches and fame are inevitable. Abita Amber is the only appropriate action to take.

If I had only known the truth in that moment, sipping my beer, watching my friends in Jonezetta load their gear through the back entrance of HOB on Decatur Street, that THIS was as big as it gets. By the time As Cities Burn would come to an end in 2009, I would be humbled and broken, devastated by the suicide of a friend, a failed marriage, and the collapse of my band. No ill-advised night of drinking in New Orleans could match the metaphorical hangover that my life would become.

It was actually supposed to be our last show ever at the end of a very successful farewell tour. Bands are very narcissistic about their “farewells,” aren’t they? It can feel quite presumptuous to think that anybody is going to give a shit about your LAST TOUR EVER. Which, of course, it wasn’t. As you may have noticed I wrote ‘supposed to be our last show’. Turns out that “Farewell Tour” billing is worth a lot of tickets and a lot of merch sales and a lot of fans spilling their hearts about how important you are to their existence. This all must have been very convincing because about halfway through our “final tour” we decided to announce that in fact it was not! We had been so inspired by all the heartfelt gratitude from our fans (and their money) we realized what a stupid idea it was to break up. Besides, we were going to be HUGE once we put out our next record.

That was the trajectory we were on. All the other bands on our label were blowing up at the time and we were next in line, so “they” said. We had the right booking agent. We had the right sound. We were getting the good tours. And the fans were damn passionate about what we were doing. There was a connection between As Cities Burn and the fans that was unexplainable. That connection exists to this day I believe.

The Force is strong in our fan base.

We had to stay together. For the greater good of music, right?

———

This last show at House of Blues in New Orleans was kind of a dream come true for us. Just one year before we were still playing churches and VFW halls in our hometown.

Headlining HOB was a rite of passage for us. It meant we were moving on to bigger and better things. I remember that night we believed we had a very good chance at selling out the show. I don’t remember the capacity at the time, but I think the room could fit close to 1,000 people. It might be less now, but let’s say 1,000. That sounds better than 878. So we were expecting 1,000 kids to come to this show. Sure, about 163 of them were friends and family but that’s the way it always was when playing South Louisiana. All the members of the band besides myself were from nearby Mandeville and Covington, just across the lake, and also attended LSU before dropping out to tour full-time. They were popular guys and really fun to be around, so there were always people hanging wherever they were.

If you sell out a show at HOB New Orleans you get your name on the wall backstage. I remember being so giddy about the possibility of our band name written on a wall next to Jimmy Eat World and Foo Fighters. We were at the peak of our career, and on the verge of attaining the unattainable for a hardcore band from Baton Rouge, where frat-rock rules all and Zydeco country music is a real thing that people want to listen to. I dare you to Google “Zydeco”.

As Cities Burn had survived dealing with shady local promoters and playing for free at churches. No longer did we have to work our asses off to promote and sell tickets for shows that we would receive no financial gain from, even though our draw was double that of the touring “national” act. We had arrived. We were legit: “Pay us our money or we take a walk to the ATM buddy!

And by the way we requested BUDWEISER, not Bud Light on the hospitality rider. FIX IT NOW!!!”

Truth is we were never like that. Never demanding.

Never really that professional. We never took what we were doing too seriously. I think we were mostly surprised that this plan had worked. Dropping out of college and just hitting the road with no help whatsoever. We were surprised and proud. Excited for the future. In the end, our turn to blow up and become the next Tooth and Nail/Solid State Records screaming band to sell 100,000 records or more would never come. We had reached the peak and didn’t have a fucking clue.

You see, we would end up changing genres completely. TJ, our singer/screamer, decided to leave the band, start a normal life and get married. Although we loved TJ we thought, “Well, now at least we can write the music we want to write and be part of the cool rock and roll indie scene.”

Cody, TJ’s brother, would become our singer and As Cities Burn completely reinvented itself. Artistically, it was for the better. Our second and third records were much more in line with the type of music we all actually loved to listen to. But career-wise, it was devastating. Our sophomore release would end up selling half as many records as the first.

The shows got smaller. The booking agent was gone. The label loved the record, but it was like marketing a whole new band. Half of our fan base left us. Can’t blame them. They liked screaming and hardcore dancing and moshing. You can’t expect an 18-year old kid, whose existence is defined by wearing girl jeans and black t-shirts, to within a year become a thoughtful indie rocker. I was cocky about our transition. I thought that our music would have more mass appeal, and that we were going to be the biggest band in our “scene”. Not even close.

After our third record was released in the spring of 2009, the band was basically in shambles. We played one show in support of the record with no mention to anybody that it could be our actual last show. We were still friends, but relationships were strained. There was plenty of blame to go around, including myself. I was on the tail end of an eventual failed marriage that had deeply affected friendships and even my commitment to the band. At times I was selfish: missing practices, bailing out on shows, asking the band to tailor everything to my schedule. Oblivious to what was go- ing on around me, my dream was falling apart and I didn’t do a damn thing to try and save it.

That summer Cody posted on Facebook that the band was done, thanking the fans for six years of ACB support. None of us even discussed it. But someone needed to say something. So that was it.

———

Let’s get something straight about this book. I’m not writing this about those years after our peak. That’s a story for another time. I only mention that part of our history to give you context. This is a band that fell short in a lot of ways. Nobody bought houses with the money we made, so in that sense, there was really nothing material to show for it in the end. The financial success was minimal. We fell short of virtually every expectation I had on that hot August day in 2006.

Most of this book will be about three of the best years of my life, which also happen to be the beginning of three more years of absolute misery. Even though As Cities Burn embarked on a great adventure from 2003 to 2006, this time period was not without tragedy. Suicide. One could never imagine how many life trajectories can be jolted from their previous path due to the tragedy of suicide. I will write about these things with transparency. Because these things are all too intertwined with my experience in As Cities Burn.

I think in some ways this book is a way for me to appreciate that time in a way I was never able to back then.

When you are always looking forward to what is next, it’s difficult to live in the moment and realize how amazing those experiences are. With touring and trying to push your career forward, you’re always thinking about where the next show is, how many tickets have been sold, are we going to get an offer for that amazing tour, how much merch we should re-order. Always looking forward to the next thing.

Never enjoying what’s happening to you right now.

Even with all the terrible things that would occur in my personal life, I want to enjoy those moments now. I want to tell you what it was like to come up as an indie hardcore band in 2003, before the internet took over every aspect of the music industry. I want to tell you what it’s like playing for absolutely nobody in Brighton Beach, NJ, with a foot of snow on the ground awaiting you after the show as you search for a place to lay your head. I want to tell you about the overwhelming joy that you experience when you find out you sold more than $300 worth of t-shirts! Or the numbness and disappointment you feel when you mail over 100 press kits to record labels, managers and agents and don’t receive a single response. These were the realities of starting out as a touring band in 2003. Maybe this is still true for 2015. I wouldn’t know. I don’t want to know. Well, not by way of experience that is.

Maybe this book will be a cautionary tale to some young, hopeful musicians who just know they can make it if they try! Or maybe somebody in their early 30’s who had dreams of playing in a band and going on tour but never did will feel eternally grateful towards their younger selves that they decided to stay in college and become an engineer. Or maybe some of my peers will read this and declare that I am totally full of shit and starving for attention in my musical “twilight” years where I can no longer make a living doing what I love—that I just can’t hack it in this business and that I am now trying to make a quick buck, exposing and exploiting things I know about the music industry and “Christian” bands.

My honest to God hope regarding the quality and success of this endeavor is that I just want my wife to like it and maybe laugh a few times. Dammit. That’s a lie and I know it. I want to sell 100,000 copies and be the voice of a scene and generation of music fans that started underground and slowly made their way into the mainstream. I want to get fucking rich and be a panelist on Dr. Drew or Dr. Phil or Oprah or something, and talk about how “difficult it is for touring bands to maintain their mental and physical health on the road” or some bullshit.

Outside of trying to get rich and become a famous author, I think this is a story worth telling. But also, this band has real fans, and these fans might actually find this book interesting! Beyond that I hope that this story can appeal to someone who has never even heard of As Cities Burn. I really don’t want this book to be about As Cities Burn. I hope fans of the indie/hardcore/Warped Tour scene in general can find entertainment in this book.

My intention is not to create a biographical account of our experience. I plan on writing hardly anything personal regarding the other band members. This is just my perspective of what can happen when kids dare to dream. You could change the band name and it wouldn’t matter. If I wanted to please our fans I would leave out the chapter where I basically talk shit about our fans for 3,000 words. But it’s relevant to this story. To my story.

This book is meant for those who long to see how this works from the inside: a firsthand account of an amazing experience by the drummer that fans still don’t recognize even when he’s wearing his own T-shirts left over from tours past.

This happens a lot; “Hey, is that an As Cities Burn shirt???

Cool! What’s your favorite record?” a kid asked me at the Whole Foods meat counter yesterday. Oh…and yes I wear my own band’s T-shirts. I’m old; it doesn’t matter.

I think it’s possible for non-fans to read and enjoy this. Maybe this book can lead to new fans even. We are on the internet. Some interesting and amazing things happen when some 19-21 year old kids leave college to hit the road.

To those who are not familiar with this world, it could seem like a crazy fantasy novel or something. Others may be appalled at the complete disregard for responsible adult behavior. “How do you pay bills?? Where do you live?? What are you going to do when you have a family one day?” Oops.

Whoever you are, if you like music I hope you find some level of enjoyment in reading this. And during the parts of the book that are dark and depressing, I hope you are able to find comfort and maybe allow these stories to relate to your own life in a meaningful way. Outside of poverty, suicide, and divorce, being in a band is really fun. We had lots and lots of fun. We lived in a fantasy world, a boys’ club of sorts. It was an escape from all the bad stuff. And if you keep having fun for long enough, eventually the beer is free!

When I think about myself at 23 years old, sipping that Abita Amber, getting my mind ready for what I thought would be the ride of a lifetime, I wonder if it would have been better to know that the summer I had just experienced was as good as it would ever get for As Cities Burn. Would I have taken the time to enjoy it more, or been riddled with anxiety and feelings of let down and failure? It’s probably wise to submit to the brilliance of Garth Brooks’ “The Dance” on this matter.

Yes, I like Garth Brooks, and I was in a post-hardcore band.

Garth said he was “glad he didn’t know, the way it all would end, the way it all would go.” That’s deep, Garth. I have to agree. If I had known on that day what I know now I probably would have drank too much and had to endure that awful trek across the lake, puking out the window at 55 mph.

Now, at 32 years old with a wife and two kids, I’m able to look back and appreciate it all. The good, bad and the ugly. In the summer of 2006 I was a dumb-ass, 23-year-old boy. No 23-year-old boy could possibly appreciate that experience the way he should. The way the experience deserved to be appreciated. Now I can. And now, I can write about it.