This past spring, Chris launched a solo project called Kid Haney. The name comes from his great-great-grandfather, a boxer born in 1888 who went by the name Kid Haney in the ring. He wrote a bunch of new songs, and is now gigging with the project. Go to kidhaney.com to check it out!

Will there be any new Juno Day songs in the future? Yes. We think so. Definitely probably, and it's possible.

In the meantime, there's Chauvet and Blue Milk on our bandcamp page.

My brother took some video at my last gig at Melodies a couple weeks ago.  Here are bits of Tuesday, Chasing Two Rabbits, and all of "Change the World/Rule the World".  Alas, he caught both of my lyrical flubs that night... 

Yesterday I did something that has for years been an unknown fear of mine.

I say "unknown" because I seem to have always reasoned my way out of this task without ever consciously facing up to the fact that the very prospect of it was entirely frightening to me.  Only recently, once I made it a priority action item with a tangible deadline, did I realize that I was scared to death by it.

But yesterday, at 4:27pm, I hopped on the R5 at Ardmore and made my way into Center City, to Suburban Station, where I would--for only the third time* in my life--open my guitar case in public and start playing.  

On the ride down, I tried not to think about it too much, but found my throat suddenly dry.  I read a few pages from a book, then took several nervous sips from my water bottle prior to disembarking.  

Getting off the train, I walked up the stairs to the main concourse, then across to the Paoli/Thorndale-bound platform, where I planned to set up.  The platform was relatively empty.  The next train wouldn't arrive for 15 minutes.  I planted my guitar case next to a bench where a man in a pinstripe suit sat with white headphones in his ears and nervously unzipped my backpack; breathing heavy, I fumbled around with its contents--Juno Day CDs, a notebook, and an 8 1/2 " x 11" white sheet of paper with a photo and bio I had made up an hour before.  I evaluated the audience on the platform, looking at each island of a person, noting their distance from me, their energy, their demeanor--would they be receptive or annoyed?  (Maybe they would be indifferent.)  I was stalling.  But eventually, after about a minute of waiting, I opened my guitar case, put a few CDs inside, propped up the sheet of paper that explained who I was, and started playing a somewhat timid version of "A Day in the Life" by The Beatles.  

I was a little nervous, but not too bad.  I had practiced the song dozens of times.  My voice was maybe quieter than it would be otherwise in the privacy of my home, or in an actual venue where I knew people had chosen to be there listening to me perform.  (I think it's partly the fear of being judged, and partly the idea of disrupting or bothering someone that has kept me from performing in public...probably mostly the former.)  By the end of the song, I was much more comfortable and delivered much more confidently.  I was feeling great.  A man wearing a navy blue SEPTA sweater vest smiled at me, nodding his head.

"Hey, sounds good," he said.  

"Thanks!" I replied sincerely.

"You can't play on the platform," he continued.  

"Oh," I said.  

"Yeah, it's not allowed.  You have to play upstairs.  There are four designated areas, but you need a permit to play."

I politely asked how I might go about getting a permit, and he directed me to the office upstairs, where I found out that it's free, but the office that does handles the permits had just closed.

Feeling good about my attempt, I decided to make my way to Rittenhouse Square and try again.

Upon arrival, I found a young man playing acoustic guitar and singing at the northeast entrance, an older man playing guitar and singing near the southwest entrance, and a man wearing a top-hat playing violin in the center.

I made my way through the center of the square, then toward the northwest entrance, where I contemplated playing.

But I suddenly found myself even more nervous than I was before at the train station.  It was a beautiful day and the park was packed.  Everyone seemed to be very much engaged in conversation with friends, or listening to music with headphones, or reading a book--in short, they didn't seem to be lacking any entertainment or leisurely, pleasurable stimuli.  

I stood watching the crowd for a minute, wondering if anyone could sense my hesitation.  Then I decided to move back through the center of the square toward the southeast entrance, where I found a nice empty space at the intersection of two paths, and sat down my guitar case once more.

The next hour and a half went by decidedly well.  This was the first time that I was ever committing to playing in public like this for an extended period of time, and, though it took a while, when the first person put a dollar into my case, I almost couldn't believe it.  I couldn't believe that someone I didn't even know had just put $1 into my guitar case, just because I was playing some songs on my guitar.  It was incredible.  The feeling of connection, recognition, accomplishment...this was something that had truly been outside my comfort zone for many years, and to have intentionally chosen to put myself into a position where I would have an interaction with a perfect stranger, and to share in that positive moment together, was really special.  

It wasn't all positive--a high school kid who was hanging out with a group of friends yelled at me on two different occasions from over 50 feet away, then turned smiling to his friends as if looking for approval.  I stared them down unemotionally while I continued to play, but it got in my head a little bit, if only for a few seconds.  They left without any further interaction.  

The overwhelming response from my audience of strangers was positive--a lot of smiles, a few people who thanked me, and one guy who, after the annoying high school kid yelled at me for a second time, said to me:  "Fuck that guy.  You sound great."  

Around 6:00pm, I was approached by a sketch artist--a starving artist, you might say--who asked if he could sketch a portrait of me...for a tip.  I offered to trade a CD for a portrait, but he politely responded, "I'm hungry."  I laughed, then eventually gave in and told him to go for it.  He sat and listened to my tunes for 30 minutes, interjecting conversation between songs while he sketched.  I considered the conversation to be an added bonus to what was already a particularly invigorating and exciting experience.

When it was time for me to pack up and catch my train, I gave the day's earnings--$6.50--and a Juno Day CD to the sketch artist.  He was exceptionally grateful, and said he was going to go buy some food.  

Walking away from the park, I felt free and light--unencumbered, awake, alive.  I had faced a significant fear, and had followed through with my commitment for the day.  It was wholly satisfying.  


*The first time was about a month ago, at the Ardmore train station, where I opened my guitar case on the platform to an audience of precisely zero.  As people started to show up and wait for the train, I continued to play--albeit suddenly self-consciously--connected on a few positive head-nods, and after 20 minutes or so, closed my guitar case and left with exactly $0.00.  A few days later, I went down to Washington, D.C. to visit Zac, and opened my case at Union Station while I waited for him to pick me up.  I got in about three songs before he arrived.

Had a great time playing two solo shows this past week.  So much support from old and new friends...feeling very lucky.  More soon, I hope.  

Friday, September 20 - Melodies Cafe - Ardmore, PA

Chalkdust Torture*
A Place for My Mistakes ∞
Montana
Days at Home ∞
Delphi
Legos
Interlude 2**
Tuesday
Chasing Two Rabbits
Change the World/Rule the World

*Phish
**alt-J
∞first time played


Monday, September 23 - Rockwood Music Hall - New York, NY

Penance
Prague
A Place for My Mistakes
Montana
Days at Home
Delphi
Legos
Tuesday
Chasing Two Rabbits
Change the World/Rule the World

We're very excited to be playing our first full-band shows in over a year, and our first since releasing Chauvet.  You can catch us at the following locations this fall--more show announcements coming soon!

9.20 - Melodies Cafe - Ardmore, PA (Chris solo gig)
9.23 - Rockwood Music Hall - NYC (Chris solo gig)
10.19 - Brew fest on American St. - Philadelphia
12.14 - Rockwood Music Hall - NYC

About a year ago, I watched a Werner Hertzog documentary called Cave of Forgotten Dreams.  Around this time, Zac, Tom and I had just played our first gig together in nearly three years.  We had old songs we never recorded, and new ones we wanted to record.  Over the course of the next six months, we planned for our first album and finalized the songs.  Back in August, we entered the studio, and over the course of 14 sessions, walked away with an album.

Zac and I met in the Simmons Hall piano lounge during the first week of the fall 2004 semester at Penn State.  We then didn't see each other again until January 2006, when I was suddenly in need of a new residence and unknowingly moved a floor above him in Beaver Hill Apartments.  Over the next several months, we jammed, experimented with some original song ideas, and eventually put together a band to play a daylong frat party called "The Meatball."  That was April 7, 2006.  Tom--who I met because the washer and dryer were broken on his floor in Beaver Hill and he consequently was on my floor and heard me playing guitar--was on bass, and Mike (although not Mike Mahoney) was on drums.  We played two sets' worth of covers, ranging from Cake's "The Distance" to Notorious B.I.G.'s "Mo Money Mo Problems."  Our set culminated (or dissipated, depending upon your perspective) with an abbreviated version of Phish's "You Enjoy Myself."  

That same month, we made plans to study abroad in Seville, Spain the following year.  Spain was the real birthplace of Juno Day, and it was there where we experienced the magic that set our dream in motion.  There are many amazing stories, incredible people, and bizarre happenings that make up that journey, but suffice to say that we came home with a sense of wonder and a mission to make Juno Day a reality.  We didn't know how long it would take, of course--and we're still learning a great deal--but all these years later, I can happily say that making music with Zac and Tom--and many others who have shared part of this journey with us--has been one of the most meaningful parts of my life.  I can proudly say that these tracks represent our own little cave of forgotten--and remembered--dreams, and we've painted the walls with our own story, for whomever or whoever might see it, now or at some remote point in the future.  

7/13/12 setlist:

Tuesday
Legos
Monorail
By Default, Onward March
Delphi
Up
Foxhole in Winter
Clouds

Setlist from The Level Room, 6/23/12:

Humanity is a Wave* >
Delphi
Foxhole in Winter
Monorail >
Dogwalker
Up
By Default, Onward March
The Home Stretch 
Molino de viento
Clouds
Tuesday
Legos
Folsom Prison Blues**

*w/ Don't Stop Believin' tease to start
**Johnny Cash

Set from Milkboy this past Saturday, 5/12:

Montana
Foxhole in Winter
Monorail
Delphi
Walking on the Moon*
Chasing Two Rabbits
Legos
Lawn Boy**
Up
Tuesday

*The Police, w/ Dave Joyce on vocals and Mike Wilbur from Moon Hooch on saxophone
**Phish

After not playing together for nearly two and a half years, Zac, Tom and I have played three shows in as many months.  Joining us on drums has been new member Mike Mahoney, a UArts grad from the Philly area.  The sets have featured mostly new songs, with some early material from 2008 and 2009 finding its way into the set, as well.  We plan to record a full-length album (our first!) this summer, with a tentative release date of early December.

As for the spring season now upon us, we're hoping to keep getting tighter and play more shows.  As always, we'll keep you posted on our happenings, and we would love to hear from you.

-Chris

p.s. Check out our as-yet underdeveloped and underutilized Facebook page:  facebook.com/junoday