Suddenly, the band was traveling in relative comfort. The bunks meant they could avoid motel expenses that eat up potential profits. They stocked up on toys such as remote helicopters to fool around with during rest stops. They even plan tour routes around disc golf courses scattered around the country, often driving miles out of their way to play. They're all skilled players, but Brown is the guy to beat.
Touring at this stage of their career means that gig money barely covers travel costs. The musicians take leaves of absence from their day jobs to play for short pay. Last year, they logged 30,000 miles to play 100 gigs in a dozen different states, mostly on the West Coast. Fort Worth saw only a handful of those shows.
Most local bands stick to the Fort Worth-Denton-Dallas circuit with occasional forays to Austin, Ardmore, or maybe Houston. Even those short trips can be money-losers when considering motel costs, fuel prices, and other expenses. Buying an RV, leaving day jobs, and living the road life are sacrifices that casual musicians won't make. Instead, they hit the same local spots over and over again, quickly becoming overexposed.
"Good luck sustaining that," Johnson said.
Telegraph Canyon prefers infrequent hometown gigs to keep them special. The next Fort Worth appearance is March 21 at Lola's Saloon on 6th Street. The band plays in March at South by Southwest in Austin, followed by gigs in Dallas, Denton, Oklahoma City, Tulsa, and Houston. Then it'll be time to embrace the romance of the road yet again.
"When we get out there, we all just look out for each other," Johnson said. "It's awesome."
There's always an element of danger when playing venues where people drink. A fist clinching a bolt of electricity is Telegraph Canyon's logo, but the musicians keep their own fists to themselves.
"Half of us have never even been in a fight before, but we've decided if one of us gets in a fight, we're all going to jump in," Green said.
They're grateful that, so far, that philosophy hasn't been called into action.
Gigs provide food and booze, and so even flat-broke bandmembers can survive a trip with a little help from their mates. That life suits the band fine for now, particularly the resilient and adventurous Johnson. Still, even he admits bad days are unavoidable. Some venues have narrow stairways or other obstacles that make loading equipment difficult. Occasionally gigs get double-booked or canceled without notice. And tasks taken for granted aren't always possible, such as doing laundry.
"Honestly, on tour you don't change clothes every day," Johnson said, recalling he once went six months without washing his bath towel.
But the biggest headaches are usually mechanical glitches.
Every one of the RV's six tires and the equipment trailer's two tires blew out at least once last year. "Every time we're in a rush it seems like a tire blows," Green said.
The first road trip in their new RV was barely under way when the generator petered out. Replacement cost: $5,000. For the next couple of weeks, income at gigs was measured in generator percentages.
"How much did we make tonight?"
"A fourth of a generator."
"Cool."
Three West Coast tours in 2009 were covered in an RV that gets 8 to 10 miles a gallon. During gas stops, everybody has a job: fill gas, air up tires, wash windows, check fluids, etc.
"We're like a NASCAR team," Johnson said.
Every few hours, they pull over and do it all again.
Even skilled pit crews can't avoid the inevitable. Brown was at the wheel and speeding from Portland to San Francisco to play at the renowned CafΓ© Du Nord when he noticed cars honking and motorists waving. He looked in the side mirror and saw the trailer's fender well flapping. A trailer tire had blown up and taken out the fender well, and he'd driven on the flat tire so long there was nothing left but the steel rim.
On a trip to Utah, the band arrived at a hippie commune to perform, but the head hippie had canceled the show. Based on his appearance and manner, the bandmembers guessed the guy had taken too many psychedelic drugs to cope. He promised to pay the band, though, and offered to let them stay at the resort for free and enjoy homemade burritos for dinner. The next morning, the band was ready to get back on the road, but the promoter still hadn't shelled out any cash. Johnson had to rouse him from his sleep and use some persuasion to collect. He got enough to fill up the RV with gas and head to the next uncertain stop.
Johnson relishes the challenge of planning a gig and then reacting when it all goes wrong.
"I'm kind of anal," he said. "You can't just be out there floating in the wind. You have to have a plan for everything."
This calculated and courageous approach has Telegraph Canyon inching ever closer to the ultimate goal - bigger venues and more records, money, and fame. Reaching cult status took several years. More years might pass before they become "overnight sensations." Or the whole rolling revue might blow up like so many trailer tires.
Regardless, Telegraph Canyon is doing everything it can to be the master of its fate.
"A lot of people wait for something to happen. We make it happen," Green said.
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