OUT ONE DAY - ON TOUR WITH KRISTIN HERSH AND THROWING MUSES (Pt. 4)
THROWING MUSES TOUR DIARY, PT 4 (chapters 10-12)
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 chapters 1-3 here
Read chapters 4-6 here
Read chapters 7-9 here
10.
Tuesday, 14 April, 2026
Minneapolis, Minnesota
Last show of what we’re calling the East Coast half of the tour. Minnesotans may disagree that that’s their coast, but they’re too nice to argue, so we’re sticking to it. The Parkway Theatre fellows have been nothing but MN-nice. EVERYONE’S been MN-nice. Our merch table has been embarrassingly sparse, having sold out of almost everything, but all who stopped by just said, “Oh, how lovely.” This is the opposite of Pittsburgh folks who lectured us angrily that we should’ve brought more records, posters, t-shirts, CDs, etc. It’s a little weird to have a rock show where everyone’s seated in movie theatre chairs, but then so many of Kristin’s fans ARE Gen-Xers, and we prefer to be comfortably seated now.
I failed K. the night of the first show. She got trapped by a couple fans as she was breaking down gear who wanted to get right in her face and yell a monologue about their own lives. She stood there smiling politely, not saying a word since they just wanted to hear the sound of their own voice. It’s my job to extricate her from those situations. I could hear the guy screaming his endless, pointless story at her all the way into the green room, and I didn’t go rescue her. That won’t happen again, but it’s gonna haunt me.
Just asked her if she has anything to add about that moment. “He smelled like beer. He was foaming on me.” Ahhh! More haunting! I’ll never sleep soundly again. I suck! We established a safe word when she felt trapped. Maybe if I had heard her say, “Pineapple, pineapple, pineapple,” at the guy, I would’ve leapt into action. Hard to work that into the conversation, but then he never gave her the chance to say any word, much less one of three-syllables. And I wouldn’t have heard her from the green room because she doesn’t yell obnoxiously loud…except when singing of course, but that’s her job, not an annoying pastime. [continues after photos]
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 chapters 1-3 here
Read chapters 4-6 here
Read chapters 7-9 here
10.
Tuesday, 14 April, 2026
Minneapolis, Minnesota
Last show of what we’re calling the East Coast half of the tour. Minnesotans may disagree that that’s their coast, but they’re too nice to argue, so we’re sticking to it. The Parkway Theatre fellows have been nothing but MN-nice. EVERYONE’S been MN-nice. Our merch table has been embarrassingly sparse, having sold out of almost everything, but all who stopped by just said, “Oh, how lovely.” This is the opposite of Pittsburgh folks who lectured us angrily that we should’ve brought more records, posters, t-shirts, CDs, etc. It’s a little weird to have a rock show where everyone’s seated in movie theatre chairs, but then so many of Kristin’s fans ARE Gen-Xers, and we prefer to be comfortably seated now.
I failed K. the night of the first show. She got trapped by a couple fans as she was breaking down gear who wanted to get right in her face and yell a monologue about their own lives. She stood there smiling politely, not saying a word since they just wanted to hear the sound of their own voice. It’s my job to extricate her from those situations. I could hear the guy screaming his endless, pointless story at her all the way into the green room, and I didn’t go rescue her. That won’t happen again, but it’s gonna haunt me.
Just asked her if she has anything to add about that moment. “He smelled like beer. He was foaming on me.” Ahhh! More haunting! I’ll never sleep soundly again. I suck! We established a safe word when she felt trapped. Maybe if I had heard her say, “Pineapple, pineapple, pineapple,” at the guy, I would’ve leapt into action. Hard to work that into the conversation, but then he never gave her the chance to say any word, much less one of three-syllables. And I wouldn’t have heard her from the green room because she doesn’t yell obnoxiously loud…except when singing of course, but that’s her job, not an annoying pastime. [continues after photos]
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11.
Thursday, 16 April, 2026
Portland, OR
The body and mind tires, but the pace doesn’t care and keeps riding at a gallop. Haven’t written in a few days. No time. Getting the luggage and instruments sorted at the airport, returning the van, walking the half mile back to the terminal, flying to Seattle, coordinating with my sister Sheraine and her husband Ken who picked us up in two vehicles in the pouring, dark rain, brilliantly bringing trash bags so the suitcases wouldn’t get drenched in the truck bed, shlepping our weary bones to her home in Auburn and getting everyone situated.
Fred’s been sick, but he’s a pro and muscles through drumming every night. Now Kristin is sick. I’ve been doling out Emergen-C and zinc pills like a bully nurse. Asked her this morning how she felt. “That doesn’t matter. As long as I can sing.” I felt a kinship. When people ask how I’m doing, I respond similarly. “Doesn’t matter. As long as I can do my job.”
Next morning, picked up the van for the West Coast portion of the tour. I had reserved a 15-seater, and it was all seats, no space for gear. The Fates smiled however, and a more appropriate van had just been dropped off. Waited two hours for the cleaning and processing, and was glad to do it, knowing our transpo would be secured for the remainder of the tour.
How has Kristin lived this life most of the year for four decades? This mere partial month is running me into the ground. I asked, and she said, “I don’t KNOW! Maybe it’s because I’m already dead. I think we survive on laughter.”
“Laughter’s good,” I said, “but the body and mind need other nourishment. Not just funny.”
Cello Pete added, “It’s funny like being run over.”
“We’re not big enough to have earned days off,” said Kristin. “Touring is expensive. The van, the accommodations, existing…”
Dreading the upcoming driving. There are only three rudely bloated states on this coast, and the distances are enormous, as opposed to the East Coast which has, I believe, 87 states within a six hour drive. We stopped at an Enterprise rental place in downtown Portland to put Cello Pete and Dylan on the contract as drivers because the next 36 hours are: get to the Portland club, sound check and set up merch, play show, break down and load out, return to the crash pad, sleep for three hours, drive before dawn all day long to get to San Francisco (I’ll need others to drive part time for that), go straight to the club and do it all over again.
I love the club part. The eager energy of the audience, talking to a hundred of them at the merch booth, and the music—the infectious music (never more infectious than now with two members sick, hardy-freakin’-har). Actually, I love all aspects of touring, but there should be laws that restrict booking agents from setting up back-to-back shows, 600 hundred miles apart if the members of the band and crew are over 50. There’re child labor laws, why no elder labor laws?
I shouldn’t even be writing this now. I’m squandering a precious 45 minute break where I could be closing my eyes in mock sleep before the marathon starts. We did have a little breathing space at my sister’s in Washington. Spent two nights there. The boys played pool. Kristin drank tea and rested, trying to overcome her cold. I caught up with sis whom I hadn’t seen in years. After the Seattle show last night, I sat in her hot tub at midnight, icy rain pricking my face, washing away the knots of muscles in my back. Of the hundreds of mental snapshots I’ve taken this month, that quiet moment may be the most memorable. [continues after photos]
Thursday, 16 April, 2026
Portland, OR
The body and mind tires, but the pace doesn’t care and keeps riding at a gallop. Haven’t written in a few days. No time. Getting the luggage and instruments sorted at the airport, returning the van, walking the half mile back to the terminal, flying to Seattle, coordinating with my sister Sheraine and her husband Ken who picked us up in two vehicles in the pouring, dark rain, brilliantly bringing trash bags so the suitcases wouldn’t get drenched in the truck bed, shlepping our weary bones to her home in Auburn and getting everyone situated.
Fred’s been sick, but he’s a pro and muscles through drumming every night. Now Kristin is sick. I’ve been doling out Emergen-C and zinc pills like a bully nurse. Asked her this morning how she felt. “That doesn’t matter. As long as I can sing.” I felt a kinship. When people ask how I’m doing, I respond similarly. “Doesn’t matter. As long as I can do my job.”
Next morning, picked up the van for the West Coast portion of the tour. I had reserved a 15-seater, and it was all seats, no space for gear. The Fates smiled however, and a more appropriate van had just been dropped off. Waited two hours for the cleaning and processing, and was glad to do it, knowing our transpo would be secured for the remainder of the tour.
How has Kristin lived this life most of the year for four decades? This mere partial month is running me into the ground. I asked, and she said, “I don’t KNOW! Maybe it’s because I’m already dead. I think we survive on laughter.”
“Laughter’s good,” I said, “but the body and mind need other nourishment. Not just funny.”
Cello Pete added, “It’s funny like being run over.”
“We’re not big enough to have earned days off,” said Kristin. “Touring is expensive. The van, the accommodations, existing…”
Dreading the upcoming driving. There are only three rudely bloated states on this coast, and the distances are enormous, as opposed to the East Coast which has, I believe, 87 states within a six hour drive. We stopped at an Enterprise rental place in downtown Portland to put Cello Pete and Dylan on the contract as drivers because the next 36 hours are: get to the Portland club, sound check and set up merch, play show, break down and load out, return to the crash pad, sleep for three hours, drive before dawn all day long to get to San Francisco (I’ll need others to drive part time for that), go straight to the club and do it all over again.
I love the club part. The eager energy of the audience, talking to a hundred of them at the merch booth, and the music—the infectious music (never more infectious than now with two members sick, hardy-freakin’-har). Actually, I love all aspects of touring, but there should be laws that restrict booking agents from setting up back-to-back shows, 600 hundred miles apart if the members of the band and crew are over 50. There’re child labor laws, why no elder labor laws?
I shouldn’t even be writing this now. I’m squandering a precious 45 minute break where I could be closing my eyes in mock sleep before the marathon starts. We did have a little breathing space at my sister’s in Washington. Spent two nights there. The boys played pool. Kristin drank tea and rested, trying to overcome her cold. I caught up with sis whom I hadn’t seen in years. After the Seattle show last night, I sat in her hot tub at midnight, icy rain pricking my face, washing away the knots of muscles in my back. Of the hundreds of mental snapshots I’ve taken this month, that quiet moment may be the most memorable. [continues after photos]
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12.
Saturday, 18 April, 2026
Sausalito, CA
We all knew Hell Day was coming. Thirty-six straight hours of working and traveling. You know that moment when you realize you’re sick—that first tickle in your throat? Mine came during the Portland show. My NOLA friend Gwen came to see us and be my merch helper. I was rolling a poster for a customer when I felt the tickle. I yelled the news to Gwen over the music, “I just got sick!” “Well, don’t yell it in MY face, asshole!” What crap timing, just before Hell Day really ramps up.
Remarkably, it was not a hellish day. Cello Pete was eager to do some driving. After about ten minutes of adjusting to driving on the right side of the road, he couldn’t be pried off the steering wheel and drove nine of the twelve hours to San Francisco, giving me the rare luxury of napping for a bit. The drive is one of the most beautiful in the country. The Oregon firs, Mt. Shasta and Shasta lake, crossing the Bay Bridge with the SF skyline, Alcatraz, and Golden Gate Bridge in the distance. Big smile on Pete’s face almost all day. Huge relief in my body for not having to drive it alone.
The effect on me of being sick was a very chatty and demanding bladder, so we made many stops. I apologized, humiliated every time. Kristin said she likes the stops. Well then, happy to oblige, my dear.
Left Portland 5am on the dot, arrived at The Chapel in SF at 4:57pm, three minutes ahead of schedule, to load in and start working. The cold I caught from Kristin never really dug its claws into me too deeply, but she’s having a terrible time getting over hers. Ginger and turmeric elixirs, endless cups of dandelion lemon tea, and all the zinc and vitamin C I can force feed her like a foie gras goose. She asked for nasal spray after sound check. “Does that help?” I asked. “No, but it makes you not sing like a six year old.” My friend Bat lives in SF and came to see me before the show. We walked the Mission District on a quest for nasal spray and cocktails. We found both.
Killer, sold out show at Chapel. Midnight drive to Kristin’s brother Dave’s house in Sausalito. There was only room for three of the five of us to stay with Dave. Cello Pete and I are annexed to a nearby Airbnb, but the most unique one yet, being on a houseboat.
After exploring our boat, we crashed with the blessèd relief of Hell Day being over. The seven free hours we have this morning feels foreign and somehow naughty, like we’re shirking some job. My biggest task this morning is to choose whether to have more coffee on the boat, or go to Dave’s for the hot tub/cold plunge. I much prefer this problem to those of the last few days.
TO CONCLUDE NEXT WEEK! 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
Saturday, 18 April, 2026
Sausalito, CA
We all knew Hell Day was coming. Thirty-six straight hours of working and traveling. You know that moment when you realize you’re sick—that first tickle in your throat? Mine came during the Portland show. My NOLA friend Gwen came to see us and be my merch helper. I was rolling a poster for a customer when I felt the tickle. I yelled the news to Gwen over the music, “I just got sick!” “Well, don’t yell it in MY face, asshole!” What crap timing, just before Hell Day really ramps up.
Remarkably, it was not a hellish day. Cello Pete was eager to do some driving. After about ten minutes of adjusting to driving on the right side of the road, he couldn’t be pried off the steering wheel and drove nine of the twelve hours to San Francisco, giving me the rare luxury of napping for a bit. The drive is one of the most beautiful in the country. The Oregon firs, Mt. Shasta and Shasta lake, crossing the Bay Bridge with the SF skyline, Alcatraz, and Golden Gate Bridge in the distance. Big smile on Pete’s face almost all day. Huge relief in my body for not having to drive it alone.
The effect on me of being sick was a very chatty and demanding bladder, so we made many stops. I apologized, humiliated every time. Kristin said she likes the stops. Well then, happy to oblige, my dear.
Left Portland 5am on the dot, arrived at The Chapel in SF at 4:57pm, three minutes ahead of schedule, to load in and start working. The cold I caught from Kristin never really dug its claws into me too deeply, but she’s having a terrible time getting over hers. Ginger and turmeric elixirs, endless cups of dandelion lemon tea, and all the zinc and vitamin C I can force feed her like a foie gras goose. She asked for nasal spray after sound check. “Does that help?” I asked. “No, but it makes you not sing like a six year old.” My friend Bat lives in SF and came to see me before the show. We walked the Mission District on a quest for nasal spray and cocktails. We found both.
Killer, sold out show at Chapel. Midnight drive to Kristin’s brother Dave’s house in Sausalito. There was only room for three of the five of us to stay with Dave. Cello Pete and I are annexed to a nearby Airbnb, but the most unique one yet, being on a houseboat.
After exploring our boat, we crashed with the blessèd relief of Hell Day being over. The seven free hours we have this morning feels foreign and somehow naughty, like we’re shirking some job. My biggest task this morning is to choose whether to have more coffee on the boat, or go to Dave’s for the hot tub/cold plunge. I much prefer this problem to those of the last few days.
TO CONCLUDE NEXT WEEK! 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
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