If I am earth, coffee is sun. If coffee became god of a new organized religion, I would be eyes rolled back in my head hopelessly devout cult member front row for mass 7 days a week. I’ll speak in tongues, get baptized, build a pyramid or a giant mug made of brick, whatever it takes. I like to take life completely straight. I don’t drink alcohol, take any recreational drugs or smoke cigarettes (anymore, though I would probably chain-smoke American Spirit yellows if it was good for you) but one substance I will happily give my life to without hesitation, reservation or thought is varying amounts of water filtered through the roasted and ground bean of the Coffea plant. It may sound basic, it may sound obvious, it may sound like a “don’t talk to me until i’ve had my coffee” sign in a Marshalls but I want to insure you that my commitment is so insane, even insidious that it scares you. As scary, bleak and useless as life would be without it. The name of the color paint on my studio walls is “French Roast” and I will smash my fucking head through it and eat the drywall. Throw me into a ballpit of cappuccini direct at the source. Why don’t all cars have espresso machines built-in in that little empty space below the radio? Sprinkle my ashes upon finely ground Ethiopian beans, drown them in a 10 foot tall French press and then pour one out for me by the homies into the ocean where I may drift and find my way to the mouth of sea-life that can consume me and experience the miracle of “java” for the first time.
It is sunrise, 75 degrees, I’m on a porch, in a chair, face getting hit by a sunbeam and I am a few sips in, all the ills of society stampeded by the the sensation of aliveness upgrade 2.0 coursing through the veins. This is the heaven religions only aim for and over-complicate.
I would go as far to say every action I make is somehow motivated by arriving at the next cup. All my travels share one goal operating under the guise of “work”. I may forget many things and wait until the last minute to prepare or pack, but if I’m going on tour in a coffee desert (which is majority of the US outside of the major cities) I will be sure our schedule and routing is focused around ideal coffee shop stops of a certain tier and aesthetic that guarantees an ample product will be available. Minimalist modern design, one word name, all white cups (no logo) ideally with rivets, or even better, all natural brown paper cups with rivets, the baristas are wearing leather aprons, there’s a polished concrete floor, some wooden accents, pour overs, too expensive, takes too long and a comically small pastry selection. That’s when you know you’re good. Chains, Drive-Thru’s, logos, a large selection of baked goods, some absurd extensive “Special latte menu” or even just a large menu at all, shabby-chic interior, located in a shopping center or any of the following means you are FUCKED:
Looks like a coffee sign but it’s really a sign you’re gonna have a bad day.
I’m not a fan of the pretentious (though sometimes I think the world maybe could benefit from a bit more of it) but when it comes to this I am the worst. No Starbucks motor oil or gas station brown water for me. When times are desperate and you just have to settle to avoid demonic possession or falling asleep at the wheel, resort to a less than ideal spot or a Keurig… we call this a “utility pot”. It is legal as long as it is purely mechanical, no joy derived and merely serves the purpose of insuring you arrive at your proper cup alive.
Thankfully, I always have a backup plan when there is limited access to high brow brew. We’re gonna source and fly-in some top-level small batch organic fair trade coffee bags from the best cafe in the country. We’re gonna pack a hand grinder, a gooseneck kettle, a scale, unbleached filters and a Chemex or V60 and convert this hotel room or Airbnb or even the car itself into the most supreme pop-up event in a 300 mile radius. If we are desperate, we’ll source and fly-in some high-level artisanal INSTANT coffee bags from the best cafe in the country. What cafe is that? I will keep it to myself. There are a few that come to mind.
People think I like to play music. Sure, it’s fine. But when I think about tour stops the thing that gets me in the van or on the plane is knowing what cup awaits me on the other side. We all need a motive. Recording is cool. Not as cool as the ritualistic breaks during. Instruments and recording equipment are cool. But you know what my favorite piece of gear is in a recording studio? The coffee pot.
No population of people makes me more sad than those that traded in coffee for tea for the sake of a “healthier alternative”. I’m all about health, sure, self-preservation is the highest form of resistance but unless it is necessary for their survival I would rather be dead than be a forced, exclusive tea drinker. I see it in their eyes when they say it. The deepest, most existential regret. They don’t even believe themselves when they say it. It just pours out, an automatic proclamation of the walking dead. Like when you see someone with the wrong person and they swear they’re happy. I may not pray often but I pray for them. There is no greater disappointment on this planet than having to settle for an Earl Grey (and I love Earl Grey) or a Green Tea (and I love a Green Tea). But when you’re standing besides the GOAT even the great look like a mistake.
When I open my eyes to yet another day of existence in this bittersweet symphony called life the thing that will consistently convert me from horizontal to vertical is the mere thought of the consumption of my king majestic warm brown liquid. The thing that will motivate me to go do the things I have to do is the potential of making a stop to get more. The motivation to come home is the espresso machine. The motivation for sleep is waking up. And so on…
Not many things are constant in this life, but one thing I know is that you can find me at 6:43am every morning with the kettle on in my kitchen hand grinding light roasted Ethiopian sourced coffee beans to hand pour the highway to my day. Black. We don’t ever need sugar or cream where we are going.
And so thank you, you beautiful thing. I have no idea how or why someone discovered to use you in this way but they should be sainted. If tariffs make your costs skyrocket I will live on the street if that’s what it takes. If coffee gets banned in the Orwellian nightmare, you will witness the birth of a cartel and network of cafe based speakeasy’s unlike anyone has ever seen. If climate change gets so bad that it makes it impossible for you to grow, I will cease to exist right beside you. I am with you now and forever. But for now, I must go refill my mug. I suggest you do the same.
