This is the second part of a series documenting Glacier Veins’ Midwest tour in May. It was written from the backseat of the band’s tour van, Connie. Check out parts one and three.

Perhaps no one in the Iowan crowd was more excited to see the Glacier Veins set than Lincoln — a toddler sporting baby blue overhead ear mufflers and dancing enthusiastically in the middle of the crowded living room.

The little lad, watched closely by his mother, would later claim he “doesn’t like to dance.” But actions speak louder than words, Lincoln, and yours were indicative of the spirit of The Ox — the Sioux City venue that hosted Glacier Veins on May 22.

“That’s the type of shit that — we could lose money on every show, and it wouldn’t matter as long as a handful of kids cared. That’s really the bottom line: If people care, we’ll keep doing it,” said Jake Saunders, co-proprietor of The Ox, which hosts a handful of all-ages concerts every month. It also triples as Saunders’ home and a crash pad for touring bands.

The space was once a dormitory for a local nursing school. In its next life it was a halfway house. That’s when Saunders and Kendall Motl (who runs the other half of things) found it.

“I understand how touring musicians work,” said Motl. “I’ve personally never done it, but they need a lot of help. It’s just little things you can do to help them out.”

Following the five-band slate on Tuesday night, Motl dished up a church-sized platter of spaghetti and meatballs to the remaining bands and audience members. Religious, too, is the fervor of community among small-time bands across the country, matched only in niche sects and between cult members. It’s a rare thing for strangers to go out of their way for each other, and nigh unheard of for one to feed you dinner. But in an age of musical inundation, it’s these small acts that keep bands like Glacier Veins financially viable and on the road.

“If I was out of town, and could have the perfect set-up, that’s what I want to give the bands. The fact that this house lends itself to that — shit, if we can spend 50 bucks on spaghetti and feed everybody, it’s worth it. That’s less money those bands have to spend on going to McDonald’s or Taco Bell,” said Saunders. “There’s not too deep of a story besides that we both love music, and we love bands and we want to grow something cool here.”

Saunders’ and Motl’s generosity was exceptional in relative terms — but in the DIY community, it was the standard. Glacier Veins was more than halfway through its May tour, and thus far had paid for a place to sleep only once and eaten free regularly.

“It’s crazy to me that people that don’t even know us are more than happy to house us for the night and feed us,” said Jason Espinoza, Glacier Veins guitarist. “Everyone knows how hard it is on the road and everyone wants to make it easier for each other. It’s a community.”

That kind of charity generally requires panhandling or a well-organized nonprofit, but the Portland-based band had neither. What the group did have was the support of like-minded supporters who knew what it was like to travel across the country eating snack foods in a van with scratched-out decals.

“Everyone we’ve met has been so welcoming,” said Kyle Woodrow, Glacier Veins bassist, shaking his head as he unloaded gear for a show. “They’re like ‘We get it. We understand.’ And not everybody does.”

.@GlacierVeinsPDX gettin’ out the preshow heebie jeebies (and doing some homework). Set at @TheOx712 in an hour! pic.twitter.com/UpgDLFr96K

— Cooper Green (@clygreen) May 22, 2018

Help came in many forms. Glacier Veins had arrived in Lincoln, Nebraska, the day before the show at The Ox. Members of Salt Creek, also on the next night’s line-up, had already offered the band a place to stay.

“Everybody wants to help each other out,” said Malia Endres, singer and founder of Glacier Veins. “And not just so you’ll be helped out in the future, but because you know what these people are going through and you want to give them a good experience.”

But the gracious welcome was compounded from an unlikely angle at happy hour. “So, uh, what are you guys doing?” asked the restaurant host as he walked us to the patio. His eyes were flicking between our ragtag group and the van parked outside — filled to the brim with luggage and gear visible through the windows. He was in a band himself, he explained, and offered up sleeping arrangements, a meal discount and a napkin list of recommendations on where the band might find a gig in Lincoln if they wanted to cancel the night off.

Everyone was jonesing to play, having had a taste of tour in Salt Lake City. It took a few tries, but at the third stop, a small dive named Bodega’s, the band found open arms — or at least indifferent ones.

“I don’t give a shit,” said the big Nebraskan behind the counter when Endres asked if Glacier Veins could play that night. “How’s 10 p.m?” he asked.

The show came together and went off without a hitch. On such short notice, the crowd was composed of a few regulars, the restaurant host and Salt Creek’s entire band plus everyone they could drag out on a Monday night.

“I love how that shit works out on tour,” said Salt Creek’s bassist the next night. “Sometimes you wake up, having no idea what to do, and things just fall into place.”

Serendipity is key on tour, the members of Glacier Veins agreed. Plans aren’t made like a traditional trip, but rather the group goes where the music takes them and everything else seems to just happen.

“It’s kind of thrilling, it’s kind of risky, but it always works out — or at least it has been working out. I feel like that’s the vibe of the community,” said Woodrow. “It helps me not sweat the little things. It allows me to remain focused on the gig and not stress. If we were only road-tripping, not playing shows, that’s all I would be thinking about all the time: What are we going to eat? Where are we going to stay? Where are we going to get gas? Whereas, for me, I put the gig in the front of my mind and all the other stuff just gets us there.”

Down to the details of a lunch stop, help comes from unexpected places, with even some corporations making unlikely moves of graciousness. Managers at a number of chains, including Chipotle and Noodles & Co., are often willing to provide meals to touring groups as a show of support. “It’s surprising, but it’s cool as hell,” said Woodrow. And between free burritos and a plethora of couch space, the thriftiness adds up.

“If you’re gone, you’re not home making money and it’s hard to save up enough to personally sustain the band,” said Endres. “It would definitely be hard getting hotel rooms every night. At this level, that isn’t a possibility.”

Though lacking the funds that come with being a big name in the scene, Glacier Veins found some version of recognition everywhere. At a gas station on the way to Lincoln, a middle-aged man had pulled up on Connie’s side, his wife seated next to him and curiosity in his eyes. The van’s tank was half full, and the gang was lounging, a few sprawled across the benches inside, Endres standing up front watching the pump.

“Are y’all driving home from college?” asked the man. After he was corrected, his face lit up. “Wow, that’s cool. We were just at Red Rocks. What’s the name? What is it? Glacier Bane? Glacier Vein?” The band laughed it off as the Illinois plates pulled away.

But after a show, when a bouncer at the bar next door asks for stickers or the bartender comps a handful of drinks because the performance drew a few customers, Glacier Veins responds with a heartfelt thank you.

“Obviously it means more when people actually hear what we’re creating and like it because of what we’re doing and not what we are,” said Endres.

“It’s kind of jarring when we’re not at the venue. We’re just getting gas,” added Woodrow.

The distinction is clear. To have someone marvel at your van filled with instruments is novel, but tiresome. They’re marveling at an idea: that bands still tour, that there’s life between show dates, that people exist behind the music at all. But when recognition stems from performance, it’s treasured like gold. I never saw a “good show” slide by the band without genuine, enthusiastic gratitude. The smallest compliment lifts the spirits of the entire band and fuels them like unleaded fuels Connie.

“Maybe some people aren’t aware that there’s a community of smaller bands touring,” said Endres. “They hear ‘band’ and ‘tour’ and assume it’s some big thing, some big band that a lot of people know but they don’t know. But we’re just some people in a van playing shows.”

Each rung up on the music industry needs a little less help than the one below. It’s on the lower half of the ladder that bands like Glacier Veins particularly need the support of the community to survive — it comes from music lovers, like Saunders and Motl, it comes from the audience and bands at the same level, like others on the line-up who without fail pick up a shirt or CD after a set, and sometimes it comes from higher up, from the musicians who’ve made it.

“Did you see that? Matty Mullins came in,” said Espinoza after the set in Lincoln. The band was incredulous, but Espinoza was certain that the red-haired man in a leather jacket who’d stopped into the little bar for a few songs had been Mullins, vocalist of Dallas-based Memphis May Fire. Sure enough, the Glacier Veins set was posted on Mullins’ Instagram story, visible to 334,000 followers, with a complimentary caption. And out on the sidewalk a few minutes later, with the band nearly finished loading Connie the Van, Mullins walked by again and gave them a compliment in person. Endres handed him a CD.

“He’s so high up in the music world, and he probably couldn’t give any less of a shit about our band than any other band but he stayed there,” said Jesse Beirwagen, Glacier Veins drummer. “He didn’t have to do that. He didn’t have to watch us, but he did.”

By the morning, Glacier Veins had pulled in dozens of new followers on Instagram. But more than that, the band was ecstatic for recognition from one of their own.

Although it may be difficult for Glacier Veins to step back and see it, the same trickle-down vibes are part of what the band is giving to the community. In the same way Mullins’ support is affirming to them, Glacier Veins sets are an inspiration to an even younger group of musicians whose careers are just beginning, or haven’t yet. Despite maintaining a humble attitude about how much they should really be seen as role models, the band agreed that any support they can give is valuable.

“I was once in their shoes and I know how it feels to have dudes tell you to keep doing what you’re doing,” said Beirwagen. “I know how much it means to people, I know how it makes them feel and I know how it makes me feel and I would like to return the favor.”

“You know how it feels to have that recognition, so if you can express how you feel about other people’s stuff it really means a lot to them,” said Endres.

Back at The Ox in Sioux City, Saunders and Motl pointed out that that type of interaction was precisely what they were trying to foster via an all-ages venue.

“One of the biggest driving forces was to get these high school kids to come to shows and start bands, pick up an instrument,” said Saunders, acknowledging at least two bands he knows started after the members saw a show at The Ox.

“I just want to see more of our high school students starting bands and going to shows and supporting the scene. That’s my main motive: to have someone to keep this going,” said Motl.

Continuity is the bigger goal, Saunders and Motl both said, but the drive is building a network that supports musicians and music lovers, of any demographic.

“In this day and age, especially with streaming services, musicians aren’t making as much money as before, they’re not getting as famous as before,” said Motl. “Since starting this, all I’ve met are the kindest people coming through my door. So I have no issue with serving these people because they’re returning the kindness. I think working so hard in the DIY scene, you get it. You become kind people because you meet so many other kind people.”

This is part two of a three-part series. Read parts one and three of On the Bus, and follow Cooper and Split Tooth Media on Twitter for more.
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