OUT ONE DAY - ON TOUR WITH KRISTIN HERSH AND THROWING MUSES (Pt. 2)
THROWING MUSES TOUR DIARY, PT 1
By Todd Perley
Kristin Hersh is an indie music legend. Now based in New Orleans, she is taking her seminal band Throwing Muses on the road for April 2026. Out All Day: New Orleans writer Todd Perley is along for the ride, and reports exclusively from the coal face of the music industry for Out All Day: New Orleans. You can keep up, and get lots of extras every month by signing up to the free tier of our new Patreon, or choose to support local independent media with a paid subscription, from just $5 per month
(Read parts 1-3 here)
4
Saturday 4th April, 2026
Manhattan
Christine is joining us for the first half of the tour. She runs Kristin’s website and online store and has been helpful with some of my tasks. I’d never met her, but we’ve become chummy the last few weeks via 7,000 texts. She showed up yesterday morning after a red eye from the West Coast, and I immediately liked her as much in person as on the phone. Proactive, efficient, affable, and funny. The last quality is most important because this group is nourished from humor and laughter. No Grumpy Gus on this bus, s’il vous plaît.
We spent the morning prepping merch: assembling keychains, forming bracelets, peeling cellophane off records that would need to be signed by Kristin. We all went to pick up the van. The woman at the rental place seemed amused. “Can I join your band? I play
flute.” Kristin: “We don’t have one of those! Yes! Come with us!”
To K’s house to load gear and merch in Jenga-like towers in the van. I’m a pro packer, but this was a challenging level of Tetris. To the Odeum Theatre in East Greenwich, R.I. for the first show load-in. Christine and I flailing around, trying to figure out our setup and routine for merch presentation, prices, methods of payment, accounting, etc. We discovered we make a good team.
My heart was full as we were working and the band started soundcheck. I’ve been a huge fan of Throwing Muses since a dorm room party at Ithaca College in 1989 when someone put on their House Tornado album. I’d never heard anything like it. All I remember from the party was leaving whatever conversation I was in to go sit by the turntable, mouth agape, listening to an entirely unique kind of music that both confused and enchanted me.
This was twenty years before meeting Kristin herself. When we did meet in New Orleans, decades later, I found the person behind the music to be just as enchanting. We clicked, and chose each other as family. I am faux-uncle to three of her four boys, who were kids then. We’ve had high times together, and helped each other through numerous life crises.
I asked Christine how she met Kristin, and it was a similar story. Mega-fan from the beginning, met, fell in love, hitched her wagon. Also Cellist Pete: huge fan. He got the opportunity to play a few UK gigs with her some years ago, clicked, and stuck around. Everyone’s in this for the love of the game, and the love of the people. That flautist girl from the van rental place would probably have fit right in. I wouldn’t do this job for any other band. There are no egos, and the only fights are, “No, I’M gonna do the dishes!” “No, I’M gonna drive the next seven hours!” “No, YOU get the comfy seat!”
The show was electric. Christine or I sneaking off from our table in the lobby to lurk in the theater and listen, then returning, giggling like excited children on Christmas. During one of my sneak-aways to the theater, I felt a strange emotion: pure, uncomplicated joy. There has not been a moment of such honest happiness since we were pulled from our blazing house. I stood there listening, acknowledging this foreign joy, crying with gratitude that this moment could even happen, and ecstatic that this would be my life for the next month.
One of my jobs is playing interference between Kristin and some of her more, well, shall we say unhinged fans (of which there are many). She doesn’t do post-show meet-and-greets, but not because of any pretentiousness or diva complex. In fact I’ve never met anyone more un-diva-like. She’s just so painfully shy and nice, and gets scared and confused by gushing fans saying, “I saw you in 1993 at the 9:30 Club in D.C.! You were amazing!” “Oh, that’s very nice of you to say. Ummm …” Maybe she should travel with the dinner party conversation starter cards and follow up with, “Where’s your favorite place to picnic?”
5
Sunday, 5 April, 2026 (Easter)
Middletown, RI
Spring in Newport, winter sixty miles away in Boston. Tha hell? Load-in at the Paradise, Boston’s answer to CBGB’s, but they enjoy the advantage of still existing. Capacity about 960. Settling up with Manager Bill after the show, he said we were 19 shy of the fire marshall’s cap.
Bangin’ show, with ecstatic faces everywhere I looked. We’ve got our system sorted and we make one well-oiled machine. Only our second gig on the tour and we’re running out of gear. Already gone through two thirds of the shirts I printed. Shoulda made a whole mess more. Hindsight, eh? The other half of our stock will meet us in Seattle, but I fear we’re gonna have very little merch to sell at the Minneapolis shows. A good problem to have, I guess.
Saw much-missed friends who are huge fans of Throwing Muses. Barry from Mass., and previous touring partner. Russ from New Orleans. Lisa from Boston, who, this morning posted this pic, saying, “The show was so good, someone shed their bra.”
Some clubs claim a percentage of merch sales, which I always thought a bit stingy and mercenary. Our first two gigs claimed some of the highest amounts, but in Rhode Island on the first night, I got chummy with the manager, and settling up at the end of the night, I pled for leniency on their take, citing that we’re just a ragtag bunch of broke-ass musicians and crew (not an untrue). She waived all merch fees. I hugged her and gave her a shirt.
Settling up last night, they never brought up their fee, and neither did I. I think we were all so amazed at the turnout and the energy of the Boston show. Giddy, even. On my previous tours, I’ve had rather good luck wheedling and whining our way out of paying these stupid fees. On only a few occasions did I have to deal with soulless, corporate types, and since there’s no getting through to such people, I forked over their percentage with a shrug. Can’t win ‘em all.
I think the reason we regularly escape these financial drains is that we’re all so NICE. So many musicians and crew are jaded and entitled pains in the ass. I’ve witnessed looks of shock and disbelief when some poor staffer slinks into the green room asking what we need, and Kristin smiles sweetly and says, “Oh, we don’t need any hospitality.” (I’ve never let her forget that line.) Once, in D.C. I think it was, a young girl came into the green room, saw Kristin washing dishes in the sink, and said, panicked, “Oh my god! Is everything okay?” “Oh yah! I’m just a mom. I do dishes.” Poor girl was almost in tears.
Life hack: when you’re kind to people, they’re sometimes kind in return. You heard it here first!
An hour and a half back to our home base in Rhode Island. Just after midnight, approaching our Airbnb, tons of rabbits darting around in the streets. Christine drove slowly, slaloming through the critters. We figured killing a bunch of bunnies five minutes into Easter would anger zombie-Jesus. We may need his blessing driving through the red states.
5a
Easter was luxurious. A whole day off with zero work or travel. The only day like this on this tour. Kristin suggested we go up to Providence and have a nice day out. We all opted to stay in the cozy, quiet house and read, sip tea, and nap. Rock n’ roll, baby!
Cello Pete and I picked up Thai dinner from the only place open on Easter. Zombie-Jesus hasn’t made it to Bangkok, it seems. Sat around the dining room table with my tour family, feeling holiday-festive and well-rested, probably for the last time this month. A bottle of red wine lifted from the green room last night. We have boxes of green room food and drinks to sustain us through the next week. Like, a stupid amount.
Tomorrow, not too hectic of a day. No show, but we’re driving to NYC to crash at Dylan’s house and be four hours closer to Baltimore for Tuesday’s show. I’m gonna miss our R.I. house where we’ve been for three days. I finally learned where all the light switches are, and tomorrow we leave. We won’t be anywhere for three whole days again.
6
Wednesday, 8 April, 2026
Baltimore, MD
“It’s four hours and change to Pittsburgh. When’s load-in?”
“1:00. Soundcheck at 2:00, need to be done by 3:00.”
“OK. OUR load-in takes seven minutes, soundcheck thirty. Let’s say fuck their call time and leave Baltimore at a more human hour.”
All agree.
As I’m loading the van, Kristin comes outside. “Why is it SO cold!!” It was 30° last night, colder than any night in New England, eight hours north.
“Because the farther south you go, the colder it gets. Don’t you know anything?”
“Stupid spring.”
—--
Third sold out show in a row, this time at Ottobar. My kind of club. After working dive bars all over New Orleans for years, I’m most at home amidst graffiti and overlapping stickers and goths and punks. Ottobar further ensnared me as I realized their logo was a black cat swatting a martini glass—precisely my vibe.
I found the manager and was about to ask him to sell me a shirt when he preempted my request. “Hey, tell everyone in your party if they want a shirt, it’s on me.” I’d spent much of load-in taking pictures of cat-themed art and texting them to Ben. “Why aren’t you here?! This is your dream club!”
The night was AGGRESSIVELY sold out. I heard many people talk about stalking stubhub for weeks, waiting to pounce on a stray ticket. The local Baltimore band Natural Velvet all wanted to come to the show, but hadn’t had luck getting tickets. A week ago the club called asking them to be the supporting openers and they screamed YES!
Baltimore people are the best. Self-deprecating and snarky. One girl’s shirt summed it up well. “Baltimore: Actually, I like it.” Several people at the end of the night passed our merch booth, waved, and said, “Thanks for coming to Baltimore. Nobody ever comes here.” Awww.
TO BE CONTINUED!
KRISTIN HERSH
THROWING MUSES
TODD PERLEY: ETSY
SUPPORT US VIA PATREON
By Todd Perley
Kristin Hersh is an indie music legend. Now based in New Orleans, she is taking her seminal band Throwing Muses on the road for April 2026. Out All Day: New Orleans writer Todd Perley is along for the ride, and reports exclusively from the coal face of the music industry for Out All Day: New Orleans. You can keep up, and get lots of extras every month by signing up to the free tier of our new Patreon, or choose to support local independent media with a paid subscription, from just $5 per month
(Read parts 1-3 here)
4
Saturday 4th April, 2026
Manhattan
Christine is joining us for the first half of the tour. She runs Kristin’s website and online store and has been helpful with some of my tasks. I’d never met her, but we’ve become chummy the last few weeks via 7,000 texts. She showed up yesterday morning after a red eye from the West Coast, and I immediately liked her as much in person as on the phone. Proactive, efficient, affable, and funny. The last quality is most important because this group is nourished from humor and laughter. No Grumpy Gus on this bus, s’il vous plaît.
We spent the morning prepping merch: assembling keychains, forming bracelets, peeling cellophane off records that would need to be signed by Kristin. We all went to pick up the van. The woman at the rental place seemed amused. “Can I join your band? I play
flute.” Kristin: “We don’t have one of those! Yes! Come with us!”
To K’s house to load gear and merch in Jenga-like towers in the van. I’m a pro packer, but this was a challenging level of Tetris. To the Odeum Theatre in East Greenwich, R.I. for the first show load-in. Christine and I flailing around, trying to figure out our setup and routine for merch presentation, prices, methods of payment, accounting, etc. We discovered we make a good team.
My heart was full as we were working and the band started soundcheck. I’ve been a huge fan of Throwing Muses since a dorm room party at Ithaca College in 1989 when someone put on their House Tornado album. I’d never heard anything like it. All I remember from the party was leaving whatever conversation I was in to go sit by the turntable, mouth agape, listening to an entirely unique kind of music that both confused and enchanted me.
This was twenty years before meeting Kristin herself. When we did meet in New Orleans, decades later, I found the person behind the music to be just as enchanting. We clicked, and chose each other as family. I am faux-uncle to three of her four boys, who were kids then. We’ve had high times together, and helped each other through numerous life crises.
I asked Christine how she met Kristin, and it was a similar story. Mega-fan from the beginning, met, fell in love, hitched her wagon. Also Cellist Pete: huge fan. He got the opportunity to play a few UK gigs with her some years ago, clicked, and stuck around. Everyone’s in this for the love of the game, and the love of the people. That flautist girl from the van rental place would probably have fit right in. I wouldn’t do this job for any other band. There are no egos, and the only fights are, “No, I’M gonna do the dishes!” “No, I’M gonna drive the next seven hours!” “No, YOU get the comfy seat!”
The show was electric. Christine or I sneaking off from our table in the lobby to lurk in the theater and listen, then returning, giggling like excited children on Christmas. During one of my sneak-aways to the theater, I felt a strange emotion: pure, uncomplicated joy. There has not been a moment of such honest happiness since we were pulled from our blazing house. I stood there listening, acknowledging this foreign joy, crying with gratitude that this moment could even happen, and ecstatic that this would be my life for the next month.
One of my jobs is playing interference between Kristin and some of her more, well, shall we say unhinged fans (of which there are many). She doesn’t do post-show meet-and-greets, but not because of any pretentiousness or diva complex. In fact I’ve never met anyone more un-diva-like. She’s just so painfully shy and nice, and gets scared and confused by gushing fans saying, “I saw you in 1993 at the 9:30 Club in D.C.! You were amazing!” “Oh, that’s very nice of you to say. Ummm …” Maybe she should travel with the dinner party conversation starter cards and follow up with, “Where’s your favorite place to picnic?”
5
Sunday, 5 April, 2026 (Easter)
Middletown, RI
Spring in Newport, winter sixty miles away in Boston. Tha hell? Load-in at the Paradise, Boston’s answer to CBGB’s, but they enjoy the advantage of still existing. Capacity about 960. Settling up with Manager Bill after the show, he said we were 19 shy of the fire marshall’s cap.
Bangin’ show, with ecstatic faces everywhere I looked. We’ve got our system sorted and we make one well-oiled machine. Only our second gig on the tour and we’re running out of gear. Already gone through two thirds of the shirts I printed. Shoulda made a whole mess more. Hindsight, eh? The other half of our stock will meet us in Seattle, but I fear we’re gonna have very little merch to sell at the Minneapolis shows. A good problem to have, I guess.
Saw much-missed friends who are huge fans of Throwing Muses. Barry from Mass., and previous touring partner. Russ from New Orleans. Lisa from Boston, who, this morning posted this pic, saying, “The show was so good, someone shed their bra.”
Some clubs claim a percentage of merch sales, which I always thought a bit stingy and mercenary. Our first two gigs claimed some of the highest amounts, but in Rhode Island on the first night, I got chummy with the manager, and settling up at the end of the night, I pled for leniency on their take, citing that we’re just a ragtag bunch of broke-ass musicians and crew (not an untrue). She waived all merch fees. I hugged her and gave her a shirt.
Settling up last night, they never brought up their fee, and neither did I. I think we were all so amazed at the turnout and the energy of the Boston show. Giddy, even. On my previous tours, I’ve had rather good luck wheedling and whining our way out of paying these stupid fees. On only a few occasions did I have to deal with soulless, corporate types, and since there’s no getting through to such people, I forked over their percentage with a shrug. Can’t win ‘em all.
I think the reason we regularly escape these financial drains is that we’re all so NICE. So many musicians and crew are jaded and entitled pains in the ass. I’ve witnessed looks of shock and disbelief when some poor staffer slinks into the green room asking what we need, and Kristin smiles sweetly and says, “Oh, we don’t need any hospitality.” (I’ve never let her forget that line.) Once, in D.C. I think it was, a young girl came into the green room, saw Kristin washing dishes in the sink, and said, panicked, “Oh my god! Is everything okay?” “Oh yah! I’m just a mom. I do dishes.” Poor girl was almost in tears.
Life hack: when you’re kind to people, they’re sometimes kind in return. You heard it here first!
An hour and a half back to our home base in Rhode Island. Just after midnight, approaching our Airbnb, tons of rabbits darting around in the streets. Christine drove slowly, slaloming through the critters. We figured killing a bunch of bunnies five minutes into Easter would anger zombie-Jesus. We may need his blessing driving through the red states.
5a
Easter was luxurious. A whole day off with zero work or travel. The only day like this on this tour. Kristin suggested we go up to Providence and have a nice day out. We all opted to stay in the cozy, quiet house and read, sip tea, and nap. Rock n’ roll, baby!
Cello Pete and I picked up Thai dinner from the only place open on Easter. Zombie-Jesus hasn’t made it to Bangkok, it seems. Sat around the dining room table with my tour family, feeling holiday-festive and well-rested, probably for the last time this month. A bottle of red wine lifted from the green room last night. We have boxes of green room food and drinks to sustain us through the next week. Like, a stupid amount.
Tomorrow, not too hectic of a day. No show, but we’re driving to NYC to crash at Dylan’s house and be four hours closer to Baltimore for Tuesday’s show. I’m gonna miss our R.I. house where we’ve been for three days. I finally learned where all the light switches are, and tomorrow we leave. We won’t be anywhere for three whole days again.
6
Wednesday, 8 April, 2026
Baltimore, MD
“It’s four hours and change to Pittsburgh. When’s load-in?”
“1:00. Soundcheck at 2:00, need to be done by 3:00.”
“OK. OUR load-in takes seven minutes, soundcheck thirty. Let’s say fuck their call time and leave Baltimore at a more human hour.”
All agree.
As I’m loading the van, Kristin comes outside. “Why is it SO cold!!” It was 30° last night, colder than any night in New England, eight hours north.
“Because the farther south you go, the colder it gets. Don’t you know anything?”
“Stupid spring.”
—--
Third sold out show in a row, this time at Ottobar. My kind of club. After working dive bars all over New Orleans for years, I’m most at home amidst graffiti and overlapping stickers and goths and punks. Ottobar further ensnared me as I realized their logo was a black cat swatting a martini glass—precisely my vibe.
I found the manager and was about to ask him to sell me a shirt when he preempted my request. “Hey, tell everyone in your party if they want a shirt, it’s on me.” I’d spent much of load-in taking pictures of cat-themed art and texting them to Ben. “Why aren’t you here?! This is your dream club!”
The night was AGGRESSIVELY sold out. I heard many people talk about stalking stubhub for weeks, waiting to pounce on a stray ticket. The local Baltimore band Natural Velvet all wanted to come to the show, but hadn’t had luck getting tickets. A week ago the club called asking them to be the supporting openers and they screamed YES!
Baltimore people are the best. Self-deprecating and snarky. One girl’s shirt summed it up well. “Baltimore: Actually, I like it.” Several people at the end of the night passed our merch booth, waved, and said, “Thanks for coming to Baltimore. Nobody ever comes here.” Awww.
TO BE CONTINUED!
KRISTIN HERSH
THROWING MUSES
TODD PERLEY: ETSY
SUPPORT US VIA PATREON