Tiberius are heading into fall with “Troubadour,” a record that catches them in the middle of pulling their lives apart and stitching them back together. Brendan Wright started the project alone, but it’s grown into a small community—Kelven “KP” Polite, Sam Blumenstiel, and Pat King joining in, giving shape to what they’ve half-jokingly named “Farm Emo.”
It’s a sound that wanders between indie punk, alt-country, Modest Mouse vibes, and psych haze, but the pull is always in Wright’s writing—confessional, funny when it needs to be, devastating when it can’t help it.
“For most of my life, I defined myself almost completely on who I was in relation to others,” Wright says. “‘Troubadour’ was written in a short period of time where these relationships changed significantly, and it felt as if I underwent complete ego death.” The songs reflect that state: sometimes blunt—“You don’t love me anymore / I don’t think you ever did.”—and sometimes gutted but still reaching for tenderness—“I hope they love you / Like I do / At least the way I wanted to / Not the way I did.”
The new single “Sag” points straight at the grind of being in a band, at that constant Boston-to-New York pipeline and the uneasy game of comparisons. Wright admits, “I was really playing the ‘comparison game’ in my head and asking myself what role I wanted music to play in my life.” That questioning circles the whole record—movement, self-definition, trying to hold on to something real as the context shifts around you.
This August, Tiberius took the songs out on the road for a compact run, captured in a tour diary that follows them from New England basements to midwest living rooms. It’s less about the clean arc of a band on the rise and more about the scraps that make touring human: broken bulletin boards, tequila doubles, Sunday scaries in Ridgewood, fish ’n’ chips in Fort Wayne, a 15-hour drive with Phil Collins looping on the stereo, and the kind of late-night conversations that only happen when you’ve run out of jokes.
Wright and King spent half their duo sets trying to crack each other up between what Wright calls “some of the biggest bummer songs I’ve ever written,” which might be the most honest description of their music yet.
The diary reads like a companion piece to “Troubadour”: stories of place, fatigue, friendship, and those rare moments when you feel everything all at once.
Friday August 8th @ The Stone Church with Sneaky Miles and Night Hawk
We loaded up my 2015 Nissan Rogue with all our gear, strategically placing Pat’s pedal stool seat on top of the merch box, effectively creating a makeshift divider for the backseat passengers. KP, as always, insisted on bringing his Markbass amp. Some might call it overkill—especially when the venue already has a backlined bass amp—but it’s what he’s most comfortable with. It’s reliable, and he knows exactly what tone he’s going to get. Honestly, it’s the same reason I always bring mine. That said, the car tends to get… cozy.
The Stone Church is an inviting little venue atop a hill overlooking the town of Newmarket, NH. We got in a little late, which meant we had to rush out to the stage and soundcheck. Not our tightest gig, but we made it happen for the people of Newmarket. Our pals Night Hawk, a rural Maine–now–D.C.-based pop-Americana project, played after us. It was great to see them and see them do their thing. They were embarking on a larger tour and had kindly asked us to help kick it off.
After that, locals Sneaky Miles took the stage. I knew Sneaky Miles were gonna be good, but what I didn’t realize was exactly how much New Hampshire absolutely fucks with Sneaky Miles. They were called back for at least a double encore—maybe a third. Usually I don’t really enjoy the whole encore thing, but when people genuinely want it, it’s pretty cool to see.
During Sneaky’s set, I got to chat with Peyton from Night Hawk for a few minutes. We’d played a few gigs together at this point, but it was nice to actually have a conversation lasting longer than the niceties of, “Hey, awesome set!”
At the end of the night, as we were saying our goodbyes, someone accidentally bought two shots of tequila for Sneaky Miles, and Pat ended up gulping down a double before we made the journey home. Per their request, we listened to Phil Collins’ Face Value the whole ride back. (Yes, that’s the one with “In the Air Tonight.”)
Saturday August 9th @ The Rockwell with Sneaky Miles and Night Hawk
The Rockwell is one of my favorite venues to play in Boston. The staff are always incredibly friendly, and the sound is usually—almost always—on point. As we were loading in, our pal Meredith from Chicago (Shoulderbird, Astrachan, Minor Moon) surprise-dropped by to say a quick hello. Minor Moon was playing a gig at the Lizard Lounge that night and saw our name on the marquee. Pat and I would be staying at her place later in the week for our Chicago dates. More on that later.
Before the gig started, my parents—who had made their way down from Vermont—and some of the band grabbed a quick bite at the Burren next door. It was really great to see them, especially my dad, who hasn’t been the most mobile lately. He was rocking a new walker that, personally, I thought was pretty badass.
The lineup for the night was the same as the night before, but in reverse. We ended up playing much better than the previous night and even got to squeeze in an extra tune at the end of the set. As we were leaving, Peyton offered me a homemade cookie from her mom. As a joke, I turned around and banged against the wall in an exaggerated, excited way (I don’t really know what the joke was—I was just trying to be enthusiastic) and accidentally knocked the Rockwell’s bulletin board off the wall. It took several of us to get it put back together.
Sunday August 10th @ Freda with Noble Beast and Dorée
Sunday marked the beginning of Pat and I’s duo trek. As opposed to our previous tours consisting of the full band, for the rest of our away shows we’d opted to take the guitar/pedal steel duo for a spin. It’d be a little lighter on gas, and a nice opportunity to break into the midwest before taking everyone out there next time.
I parked my car on Pat’s street, loaded up my gear—along with my Snoopy and Woodstock plushies—into Pat’s beige 2006 Toyota Camry, and grabbed some Dunks for the road. We made good time getting to Crown Heights, where we met up with a few of Pat’s college friends. The conversation drifted toward some local band drama as Pat sipped on a glass of ranch water, and I snacked on some dried mango slices. Traveling to New York was starting to feel easier, and I found a quiet sense of peace in the novelty of stoop sitting. It reminded me a lot of the early days in my first Allston apartment when I’d just moved to Boston.
Later, we headed to Freda, a cool dive bar with booths and ceiling lights draped in cotton to look like clouds. We stashed our gear in the basement. (Why are all New York venues pitch black?) They had Aqua Teen Hunger Force projected on the wall, which felt comforting. We chatted briefly with Noble Beast and Dorée while waiting for people to trickle in. New York has always been the place where people have something to do right up until the exact moment they’re supposed to be somewhere.
Noble Beast played a great set and made us feel right at home. As soon as they finished, the already light crowd started to thin out while Pat and I set up. We started playing a song for my one friend Noah who kindly showed up, and luckily a few folks filtered back in. I made a joke about having the Sunday scaries, which completely fell flat. Noah later told me I couldn’t make that joke in Ridgewood because no one has a job. It wasn’t our best set, but it definitely wasn’t our worst.
Dorée was incredible. I was blown away by their arrangements and deeply inspired by their songwriting. We didn’t make any money from the show—missed the door cut by five bucks. Noah walked us to our car, and we drove over to Pat’s friend Andrew’s apartment to crash for the night.
Monday August 11th @ Girl House with Henry Byrne and Sour Fiction
We hit the road around 7:30 to ensure we’d make it into Columbus with enough time to grab some food and breathe before jumping into the gig that night. Pat and I chatted about our work situations, growing up with working parents, and being grateful for what was happening in our lives. Having been at my job for the last six years, I’ve sometimes wondered if I was stunting my professional growth. Similarly, Pat—who had bounced around a bit over the last few years—wondered if they’d really been able to show depth through their work experiences. I reflected on how thankful I was for my current job, the community I was a part of, and how much it had given me—like the ability to go on tours like this and help shape the adult I’ve become.
After nearly nine hours in the car, we had our first real meal of the day at Skyline Chili. Pat reflected that its ritual of sit-down service—beans and slop over cheap dogs and spaghetti—felt like the result of late late-stage capitalism. We left feeling pretty gross, but couldn’t stop giggling. Their reaction alone was worth the stop.
Despite earnestly trying to secure a venue for a Monday night in Columbus, we ended up landing a show in the living room of a few recent post-grads who called the place Girl House. We were warmly greeted by Henry Byrne, who opened the bill with some energetic acoustic emo tunes. When we arrived, Henry was mid-setup with a PA system, but after a few piercing shrieks of feedback, they were convinced to scrap it.
Everyone was very kind, especially Jose—who performed as Sour Fiction—and helped organize the show. We didn’t make any money from this one either, but it was just nice to have a place to play on our way to Chicago. The chili wasn’t settling well in our bellies but fortunately we were able to pack up the car before going too crazy with the toots.
Overall, I really liked Columbus. A cozy suburban town surrounded by corn—it reminded me a lot of my hometown, Rutland, Vermont. I would’ve loved to bathe in the monotony for just another day.
After the show, we stayed the night with Evan and Julia, friends of our close friend Maddy, who offered us some cozy accommodations. They were incredibly sweet—and so were their cats. Despite their best efforts, Pat let out one final toot before we drifted to sleep.
Tuesday August 12th @ The Brass Rail with Bobcat Opossum and Denny and the Down and Outers
When we woke up, we had some coffee on the porch with our gracious hosts before heading off to North Market for some mornin’ bánh mì. The drive up to Fort Wayne was much more chill than the trek from Brooklyn to Columbus—and filled with more corn.
Before Pat moved to Boston, they spent a year in Fort Wayne working tech support for Sweetwater, which I learned was kind of a mixed bag. In addition to being during peak COVID times, Sweetwater apparently isn’t exactly the most ~progressive~ company out there. Probably won’t be doing much business there anytime soon.
That said, we did stop by Sweetwater’s headquarters so Pat could say hi to some old coworkers and soak in the corporate stank. Fortunately, we got a solid palate cleanser at a really sick shop downtown called The Guitar Exchange, where we ran into our pal Sam (of the one-man band SOOFLAY and Uncle Muscle), who had put together that night’s bill. I almost bought a ’50s Harmony Stratotone but decided against it—frankly, I just didn’t need to spend the money.
After the guitar shop, we stopped by JK O’Donnell’s for some fish ’n’ chips and a Guinness (Guinness 0 in my case). Then we walked over to Welcome Back Records, where we picked up some CDs and an ominous tape entitled TAPE 1, which I later found contained a fractured, dual recitation of Genesis 2:7. Creepy!
That night, we played The Brass Rail with some real-deal country folks: Bobcat Opossum and Denny and the Down and Outers. Before launching into the saddest song of the set, Pat cracked a joke that almost made me piss myself on stage. So much for mood-setting. (In all honesty, the duo set is basically 30 minutes of Pat and me trying to make each other laugh between some of the biggest bummer songs I’ve ever written—it’s not much of a vibe.)
One patron at The Rail described our set as “y’alternative,” which I really dug.
Bobcat and Denny were just incredible musicians—truly the kind of acts I’d love to see play at Club Passim in Cambridge. To our surprise, they also graciously donated their cuts to our tour fund, which at that point nearly saved the tour.
Before we left, a group of women came up to Pat and me, complimented our set, and invited us out for a cigarette. (Pat would later describe this moment as “a Midwest kiss.”) Instead, we ended up chatting with the other steel player for a good half hour.
Wednesday August 13th @ The Graveface Museum with Noah Roth and Max Morton
After a quick cup a’ joe at Sam’s house, Pat and I hit the road toward Chicago. Pat was pretty hungover from the night before, so I took the first shift. After a stop for some gas station brunch and a brief attempt to spot those Wilco-lookin’ buildings, we arrived at Ben Astrachan’s house (of the wonderful Chicago-based band Astrachan, and also roommate to Meredith—who visited us at The Rockwell).
Ben and Pat grew up together, and Tiberius had played with Astrachan a few times before, so seeing Ben felt like a little slice of home. After catching up—and giving a few well-deserved pets to Ben’s beautiful orange cat, Puccini—Pat and I headed over to the Graveface Museum: a small horror-themed record store/museum with a DIY basement venue not unlike the Allston basements we used to play back home.
That night’s show was another major homie bill. Max Morton, a friend from Boston, had recently stayed with us while prepping for a tour with my good pal and roommate Steve Kurz’s project, Kinship. I met Noah and their partner Rowan back in March at SXSW when we played with their band Hell Trash at The Friendly Rio Mart in Austin. Despite having never met before, Noah and Max discovered they had gone to the same high school. The world is too small.
We played an intimate set for a group of local folks—and, to my surprise, a few former Connecticut College students who had seen us play on their campus earlier this year. The store owners didn’t turn off the basement’s pinball machines which gave the sets a carnival like ambience that just felt perfect for the whole vibe. We sold some merch, and I picked up a pink Graveface t-shirt for my partner.
Overall, it was a 10/10 night.
Thursday August 14th @ Coles Bar with Astrachan and No Lonesome
For our second day in Chicago, Pat, Ben, and I met up with their other hometown friend Olivia for breakfast, where we chatted about the cult that operated out of the basement of Ben and Olivia’s former apartment. That’s probably all I’m going to say about that—but if you ever catch an Astrachan set, maybe you can ask Ben about it.
Pat and I hit some local music spots, including the very large (and honestly pretty overrated) Chicago Music Exchange, followed by Rock & Roll Vintage (which actually did rock), and Laurie’s Planet of Sound, where I picked up a copy of PJ Harvey’s Rid of Me on tape. (Jonah Evans—who interviewed me for their Spare Notes podcast this summer—told me there were places in Troubadour where he felt the same kind of surprise he did when first hearing PJ’s record. So I figured it was worth picking up. Upon listening, I take that as a huge compliment.)
Back at Ben’s, I had the chance to jam with Helen—Ben’s other roommate and frontperson of the band Butthole. I plugged my guitar into their 404 sampler, and they live DJ’d some riffs I was playing. It was hella fun. I suggested we do an improv set together next time Butthole plays in Boston. I really wish they lived closer—that shit was so fun.
Cole’s Bar was sick. It reminded me a bit of the Silhouette Cocktail Lounge mixed with O’Brien’s—both Allston staples. Despite not knowing any of the songs, Pat ended up sitting in on steel for Ben’s set. It was awesome to see them jam together.
I felt a little off going into our set—I just couldn’t get out of my head. I don’t think anyone noticed, except for Pat, who immediately asked if I was alright as soon as we finished playing. I was fine, but it meant the world that they know me well enough to notice when something’s up.
We both thoroughly enjoyed No Lonesome and ended up grabbing ice cream with the frontperson, Jeb—along with Ben and their partner. We shared some chuckles, then headed to bed to rest up for the big drive ahead.
Friday August 15th – The Big Drive
We left Ben’s place around 7:30 a.m. CT. Although neither of us explicitly said it, we both knew we were going to try to make it back to Boston in one shot.
Please enjoy this list of CDs that lived in Pat’s car, which we opted to listen to throughout the day:
- Phil Collins – Face Value
- Elvis Costello – My Aim Is True
- Squirrel Nut Zippers – Perennial Favorites
- Gillian Welch – Soul Journey
- Carole King – Tapestry
- Neil Young – Ragged Glory
- Marvin Gaye – What’s Going On
- Sheepskin – Self-Titled
- Dead Gowns – HOW (EP)
- James Taylor – JT
- Neutral Milk Hotel – In the Aeroplane Over the Sea
- Béla Fleck & The Flecktones – UFO Tofu
- The Beatles – Rubber Soul
- Phil Collins – No Jacket Required
- Phil Collins – Face Value (again)
- Phil Collins – Face Value (yes, again)
The drive consisted of 15 hours of bits, followed by a two-hour heart-to-heart about privilege, when and when not to give the benefit of the doubt, and the responsibility one holds when inviting others into their life.
One thing I really respect about Pat is that they’re willing to give it to you straight when they notice a blind spot. Any two pals can joke around for hours, but it takes a real friend to hold you accountable—even when it’s hard.
As we rolled into the city limits a little after 1 a.m., I started to tear up. I had something really special here.
Saturday August 16th – The Rat City Arts Festival
After a considerable amount of sleep, I arrived at the Rat City Arts Festival a little after 4 p.m. Probably the most notable aspect of the fest was the 35-foot-tall inflatable rat that loomed behind the main stage.
It was a great day of celebrating local music, art, and culture—and the perfect way to wrap up an adventurous week on the road. It was great to see KP and Sam again, though we definitely felt extra loud after getting used to the stripped-back duo sets. I couldn’t really tell if we sounded good, so I focused on just having fun more than anything else. During the finale of our track Moab, I ripped a few strings off my guitar and pretended to throw it into the belly of the rat.
I stayed until the end of the fest to catch our friends Beeef and Oldsoul (true Boston rockers), and then packed it up to catch some well-deserved zzzzzzzz….
Until next time! Thanks for readin’
-Brendan
