Texas, it's not you, I promise.

Dearest Lonestar State:
It was brought to my attention days before my embarkation for this December run that there would be several shows that I actually would not be the supporting act for despite my previous belief of otherwise. This would leave me with a full 5 day hole that would be unfillable thus unprofitable. Fact: music isn't about money. Fact: I am not doing music just as hobby but as a profession. Fact: It isn't feasible to sustainably tour if you are losing money. Five days with no income while living on the road means the profit equilibrium becomes unbalanced thus resulting in an increasingly large hole in my pocket. The economy is hitting everyone hard...especially musicians who don't have a fixed salary. I am sad that I will not be in Texas starting 12/3. I was looking forward to meeting all of you and seeing some of your familiar faces. I was also looking forward to try your kick ass BBQ. I realize I owe ya'll a show or two and when the time comes where it makes sense I will give you a proper show. As we are all feeling economic pressures, though perhaps dissappointed, I am sure you will faithfully understand and not hold a grudge. If you ARE in the area PLEASE go see Benjy Davis Project while they are in Texas. They kick ass. I will be meeting up with BDP in Little Rock, Arkansas on 12/10 to continue on and finish the December tour.



11/29--Autumn Falls Into Winter

The leftovers have been consumed (perhaps so much so that roast turkey, gravy, cranberry sauce and stuffing won't sound appetizing until next year), the out of town family members have made their treks back to their homesteads, and the house has the uncanny whisper of lonely winter knocking on the double front door and the window panes...a few weeks early. It's the coming of darkness at too young of an hour that really reaches the senses dolefully. The Thanksgiving excitement weens away and the Christmas cheer has really yet to blossom. Perhaps what I need is the Christmas decor. The nutcrackers, the wreaths hung with their red bows, the carolers. It's always charming to drive through Fairfield, CT's downtown Post Road with it's dimly lit street lamps ornately swaddled with white Christmas lights and pine garland. The feeling becomes heightened with Brian McKnight's sultry vocals on his 'Bethlehem' album (in fact, I'm listening to it as I type this), perhaps joined by a hot apple cider riding shot gun in the console or a peppermint stick lazily resting on your lips and tongue.
I was driving home from the grocery store today and saw a mother and what I presumed to be her high school daughter decking their home with lights, bells, holly, and even faux Santa Claus figures. It was one of those excessively done jobs (a la Lampoon Christmas Vacation)--so much so that I sensed the teen's chagrin. I wonder if that's why her back was always turned to the street--never exposing her face, her identity. It was wasn't it? So she wouldn't be seen by her fellow school mates driving past. I would have done the same. It wasn't cold enough for a full on, burglar style, ski mask.


11/26/09--Thanksgiving Break.

Ah. Thanksgiving. The holiday for the aunts who concoct a lumpy, oily over salted sludge called "Gravy". Well, not in this family. My momma knows how to whip up a creamy, perfectly seasoned, rust hued sauce, perfect for moisturizing the often dried out bird (or hypodermic needle infatuated with a junkie's dosage of Tryptophan--ours was not dried out by the way). Our Thanksgiving spread provided for a plethora of good eats. From 'Roasted Fennel Soup with Hazelnuts and Cranberries' to a 'Grilled Turkey filled with a Granny Smith Apple and Sage Dessing' and the infamous influx of root vegetables (from the cinnamony turnip to the sweet n buttery butternut squash). I popped into the kitchen and satiated my culinary longing by fixing up an appetizer of 'Brie, Pumpkin Seed, and Cranberry Mousse on Wheat Toastlets with an Ambrosia Apple and Red Pearl Onion Chutney and a Fig-Wildflower Blossom Honey Aioli. Dessert? Pumpkin Pie. Pecan Pie. Sour Cream Pie (a family recipe...you would not understand it's wonder) moisturized with a cup of coffee dosed with Bailey's. Yum, Yum. The ambiance was set with with a warm, blazing, wood fire set in the slate stone fire place which my dad laid and tended with his pyro prowess. The Hoover's homestead is the place to be ya'll.
My phone was an inhibitor of family relations, so my sister stole my cellphone from me and is currently unwilling to give it back. Frankly, I am happy she did and hope she holds onto it for a few more days. Throw it in the ocean for sometime. Drown it in the bath tub. Tie it to the back of the Ford and take it on a disparaging trek through the multifaceted terrain; crack its screen, deafen it's ear piece and muffle it's microphone. Take me back to a simple life devoid of mundanely robotic ringtones full of their anticipatory retaliations.
None the less, my Thanksgiving started off on a high note. Why you ask? My cousin rolled into my parent's house slinging a holstered digital video camera with memory cartridges full of his 3-year-old daughter singing 'Saturday' and 'Secrets'...enough to leave me feeling full of joy...leaving me hopeful...leaving me satisfied... (as a chocolate flourless cake might--minus the guilt) and giggling like a piglet from her sheer adorableness. I was wholeheartedly impressed. Marketing wise? I wish I could bring her on tour with me--she could probably sell more CDs then I currently do. Kids are awesome. Let's leave it at that.
Here's to a less technological me (ha, yet here I am writing a blog)...a less technological you...a less technological us...let's be thankful for one another. Bring me back to the day of the ink filled quill pen and the previously readily available (and quite romantic) post card.

Happy Thanksgiving.


Song of the day?
Fuck that. Anything by Paolo Nutini will do today (tonight)...enjoy.


11/21--A Day In The Life: Tour Blog #6

The show at Cicero's in St. Louis, MI ended on a high note. The boys wanted to make the 12 hour trek down to Louisiana that night, post show, instead of using the following day off to do so. I understood this move. If I had a day off followed by a show in my hometown the day after, I would want to maximize my time at home, especially after having been on the road for just short of a month.
When we arrived in Baton Rouge, LA just after 12PM, I checked into a Marriott hotel. After sleeping on hotel room floors and the back seat of a turbulent van for much of November, I was worn pretty thin and needed my space to recharge my weary body and mind. First sign of exhaustion: your legs feel as if they are controlled by another force other than your body. Check.
Barely having put my bags and guitar on the floor of room 504, I took a hot shower as spending 12 hours in a van with five other guys tends to give you a musty stench of pure masculinity. I slipped on my old Miami University sweatpants and faded fast into a dream riddled slumber. Weird dreams actually. Dreams involving the hotel I was in, dreams suggesting the haunted reality behind this establishment. I remember glimpses of a cadaverous child no older than the age of 10. His pallid face was made to look more creamy due to his matted black hair and his wardrobe--tattered church clothes--an old black woolen jacket and knickers.
After sleeping off much of the afternoon, I spent the remainder of the evening in the Marriott's lounge reading and eating a nourishing meal of Cobb Salad (mixed field greens with hard boiled eggs, applewood smoked bacon, avacado, grilled chicken and Maytag bleu) and Louisiana's own chicken gumbo as well as a glass of jammy Pinot Noir; strawberries and black cherries filled its bouquet.
I indulged my body more by hitting the sheets by midnight. Erie enough, it was at this time that I heard two rounds of female screams. At first, as my pupil's dilated, I thought it was a woman reaching climax on the other side of the wall. However, the screams were too inconsistent, too few and too sporadic for it to have been a side effect of good sex. I wonder if this hotel really was haunted.
I had a day off yesterday, so I went to bed at 11:30 only soon enough to wake up at 4:30 this morning with the vigor and zeal of an un-neutered pit bull. I don't understand. I was given the gift of a day off to sleep and rejuvenate, yet my body refused to accept. I spent the bulk of the morning listening to the rain, writing a new song and reading.
We have the rest of the today and tonight off and then we drive 8 hours to Nashville, TN for the final show of the November tour. Looking forward to getting home. For my Thanksgiving dish I think I want to make Grilled porcini polenta cakes with shaved parmigiano reggiano and drizzled with black truffle oil. I'm looking forward to home life.


11/18-- A Day In The Life: Tour Blog 5

There hasn't been a night where my head hits the pillow and my travelling body and mind drift off into its obligatory state of slumber before the hour of 3 AM. Usually it's closer to 4. Last night was no different. After the show at the Frequency in Madison, WI we made friends with the night clerk at the Marriott we were staying at. At 3AM I asked "what time do you start to set up breakfast" -- "what time do you want me to start setting up". My man rolled out the waffle iron and I poured the batter to make myself a delicious warm, slightly crunchy on the outside and fluffy on the inside waffle. Breakfast food is good at anytime of the day. For some reason, it tastes even better at 3AM.

I've been mixing up some vitamin cocktails to try to keep myself healthy. Vitamin cocktail you ask? Why yes, it's a healthy dose of Airborne, Zicam, and multivitamins taken throughout the day. Sometimes I feel like it's my imaginary force field. I can picture it's supplemental blockade like a draw bridge in its upright position warding off bacteria to keep my immune system strong.

The microbeer of the night last night was Madison, Wisconsin's own "Madtown Nutbrown ale". A full bodied, smooth on the tounge with a carmel studded aroma and a creamy finish made this local brew a delight to drink.

We're driving in the bleakness off fallow straw fields, sunken grey clouds and sporadic, seemingly lonely, farms. From Wisconsin to Missouri this van rolls on and on.


11/17 --A Day In The Life: Tour Blog 4

Seven miles from Wilbert's in Cleveland, OH and all of a sudden the generator, which provides us the power to keep our computer's charged and wifi browsing, started making a cacophonous sound--squealing and metallic. The following moments provided us with a gimp car, banked on the side of the "on" ramp to the highway. It took over 90 minutes for AAA to the rescue and for us to figure out our next move. How are we supposed to get all of the gear, stored in an oversized, 13 foot trailer, to a gig when our vehical is devoid of life? We didn't. But the show must go on. Benjy and I took a cab (the cab driver's voice had the timbre of Sean Hunter's dad from Boy Meets World--a smoky, whisky dotted, sonerous voice) to the venue and put on an acoustic show.

After the show in Chicago on Sunday night, Mic hauled us 2.5 hours to the bordering state Wisconsin. We pulled in to the hotel in Madison at 6 AM and fell comotose in our beds (for me it was my sleeping bag and floor mat) until a little after 1. It was a joy to have a full day off--no show, no drive. After all this hustle and bustle, car break downs and late late nights, we all devoured this freedom from the road. We spent the night watching Monday Night Football, eating hot wings (10-pc, hot, naked flappers please.) and having some brewskies--basically acting all manly and shit.

Just a few more shows on this leg of the tour and I'm looking forward to some family time and of course Thanksgiving. Walking into stores and seeing the white christmas lights, the Thanksgiving coffee blend being brewed at Starbucks,
and the sporadic christmas carols in these stores, puts me in a wonderful mood and pretty much wraps me with a warm, home feeling. Benjy hung a stocking in the van for each member, me included. I think I'm going to quit the Andrew Hoover Band and join the Benjy Davis Project.



11/13 -- A Day In The Life: Tour Blog 3

Friday the 13th, shrouded in it's sinister hood, traipsed into town at midnight bringing the band and myself a little bit of road drama. After the Fairfield, CT show, while we were loading out of the club, the trailer ramp was fully extended on the pavement and some woman drove over it, snapping the cords leaving us with a tensionless door. We had to wait until 2:30 AM for the police to arrive to file the report for insurance purposes. We then had to drive an hour to Hartford, CT to drop Mic off at the airport and then drive an hour and forty-five minutes back to New York--where our hotel was. Along the way we hit some morning rush hour traffic and didn't arrive to our room until 8:00AM! We had a very short sleep until we had to checkout at 1PM. It's not so concerning to me the lack of sleep in itself, I am more concerned with contracting the flu or someother illness that I simply cannot afford to fall victim to. A singer without a voice is like a painter without limbs. With that said, all is well, we are still in good spirits and health. Driving to Cleveland, OH for tomorrow's show at Wilbert's.


11/8--A Day In The Life: Tour Blog 2

The white van and over sized hitch from Louisiana rolls on, out of Charlottesville, VA and onto Easton, MD. I'm sitting here in the last row of the van typing this here blog listening to some good ol' Ray Charles. I just finished a 12 oz redbull and a package of carrots and celery I found at a Sheetz we stopped at. It can be a pinch to keep up with healthy eating habits...especially when you want to experience each town's culinary specialties. For example: we had an early show last night.

I hit the stage at around 5PM and Benjy Davis Project hit stage at around 5:45. We were all loaded out by 8PM and had the rest of the night to gallivant around town trying to blend in with the University of Virginia students. As the night wrapped up, Mic of BDP and I rolled into the local eatery at

around 2AM called "The White Spot" famed for it's Gus burger, a ridiculous artery clogging 1/4 pound patty of beefy goodness topped with a fried egg and cheese and a side order of fries. Sometimes you've just got to eat to feed your soul. Soul food doesn't have to be delicious black eyed peas, collard greens and fried chicken--it's whatever your soul needs.

I got to see my sister yesterday; it's always wonderful when you travel and get to see family while on the road. We enjoyed lunch together and even saw a celebrity in the sandwich shop--Cherry Jones who currently plays President Taylor on the show 24.

Talk to you all soon!


11/5 -- A Day In The Life: Tour Blog 1


My 6:01 AM wake up call turned into a willingly painless 5:20AM awakening. The night before tour always provides a troublesome sleep for a hopeful sleeper. Pre-tour sleep looks something like this: The sheets become gnarled with my sleepless body's frustration as I weave in and out of consciousness as an ungraceful seamstress might with her cumbersome needle and thread. I couldn’t stop thinking about exceeding the 50-lb luggage weight limit imposed on checked baggage. The consequences of such extravagant, overindulgent packing would serve up a $50-$100 sentence. With the extra allocated time this morning, I unpacked much of the contents and condensed my suitcase to assure I wouldn’t exceed the quota.

I was unexpectedly abounded by a morning energy that I would assume was summoned by the zealousness of this tour’s initiation. Now as I sit in row 17A, Washington DC bound, I find my eyes starting to appear slightly glassy with an early afternoon fatigue—redbull? A must.

Airplanes are like time capsules. The passengers float in their own little worlds suspended above the hustle and bustle of the city—the tranquility of the countryside. As they are transported through time and space, on the ground life continues, awaiting for the plane to land, the cabin doors to open and for the passengers to rejoin life.


Wine Wednesday: 2007 Perrin Reserve Cotes du Rhone

Perrin & Rils
Reserve Cotes du Rhone
Orange, France

The blended varietals of 60% Grenache and 20% Syrah fill this bottle with pepper, cassis and black cherry aromas. With hints of smokey spice, blackberries, liquorice and subtle char notes this Cotes du Rhone makes for a wonderful pairing with traditional French classics such as Bouillabaise. Full, round and hosting pleasant firm tannins; it ends with a lingering smoky-almondy finish.


Dream 11/1: The Broken Carton of Eggs.

In my dream my shopping cart was abounding with groceries, produce and other products used to facilitate and satisfy our daily lives and needs. From eye level, the lattice steel work of the basket was not visible due to the amount of groceries crowding the cart. From all the items I had lifted from the shelves, the most conspicuous item in my cart was the carton of eggs--logically protectively sheltered and nestled comfortably in the top most compartment of the carriage; the part of the cart where if you had a child, he or she would most likely sit.

I was not alone in the checkout line. There was one other man, roughly my age with a plastic hand basket, for 12 items or less. Upon settling into this line it occured to me that there was one item on my list that I had forgotten. I left my cart and ran to the aisle, returning as quickly as I had left.

Upon my return, the man's face had transfigured itself from blank to an impish smirk. I also noticed that the egg carton had been removed from my cart and was in the hands of the man--broken, cracked with the damaged yolks drooping from the man's unapologetic finger tips.