MOUNTAIN MUSIC | with Houndmouth, The Revivalists, Oliver Hazard, and The Last Revel

Touring in Big Sky Country

Words and Photos by Tommy Moore

Houndmouth by Tommy Moore

Tommy Moore's a Midwest fella who now lives in Livingston, MT. Paired with a love for the outdoors and Lake Michigan, Tommy’s creative roots prompted him to found DAYBREAK Magazine.

From painters to photographers to craftsmen, Tommy comes from a long line of creative genes. To this day, the main artwork on his walls are Midwestern landscape paintings by his great grandma, his favorite camera to shoot on is his grandpa’s old TLR, and the books on his shelves (other than DAYBREAK) are his librarian grandma’s cigarette soaked collection of classics.

Most of his days are now spent on the road, leading media efforts and creative direction for touring acts or tackling creative work in the outdoor lifestyle realm with studio DAYBREAK. Tommy’s mindset, style, and photo practices are rooted in gritty and honest simplicity.

The Revivalists by Tommy Moore

A day on the road, whether on a bus, in a van, or bouncing around in your buddy’s old truck, is long. It doesn’t matter where you are or where you’re going, but when you’re doing it day after day after day, the vanity of it dissipates faster than a glacier in the modern day. 

Though these days and drives are always long, some are more indulgent than others. Like anything, touring comes in waves. Some years, you spend every minute doing laps up and down the East Coast. Some years, you live in the Midwest and Southern loop. But every so often, you’re lucky enough to land in the Northwest.

Tour cycles fall into rhythms. Bands come on and off release cycles. Different-sized cities, regions, and countries are toured hard one year and then are left to yearn the next.

Dependent on who you’re working with, these cycles may align or may be polar opposites. In my case, this past year, I spent the majority of my time bouncing around the US and Canada with The Revivalists, Houndmouth, Oliver Hazard, and The Last Revel. One way or another, I hit every major city and every region of the States twice, if not three times.

Houndmouth by Tommy Moore

Cities blend together, but regions have their own character. The East Coast is brutal but beautiful. Especially Maine, and especially if, like me, you somehow get stranded on Nantucket with a place to stay. With that, though, people are overly blunt—which I can respect. The smell of old money that wafts around every corner, however, I have long lost my taste for. That said, this was the year I finally understood what it means to love New York City. After a sleepless night ride on the bus—the crammed, cracked, and hostile roads are also another tough sell for Northeast cities—I was wide awake at 6 AM. With nowhere to be for hours, I put my headphones on, tucked my phone away, and just walked. The sun slowly rose between buildings as I wandered around Manhattan. The streets were empty and quieter than I ever imagined New York could be. There, in that 6 AM sunrise, I understood that love.

"In the Pacific Northwest, time moves sideways. It's a deep place with a very specific energy. It feels like the horizon just at dawn in the quiet of the morning mist. And when it rains, the raindrops hit like Morse code on your windshield. It's slow. It's strange. 

It's like a dream you just woke up from, but still half asleep."

David Shaw (The Revivalists)

The Revivalists by Tommy Moore

What the East Coast has going for it is proximity. Everything’s an hour away. Drifting further south, everything’s still within a stone’s throw of each other. A quaint Wilmington, NC, blends into a dolled-up and fratty Charleston, SC, then down to Florida, which is… Florida.

From there, the South, depending on the clubs you’re playing, is special. Stubbs in Austin and  Longhorn Ballroom in Dallas are authentic spots. Southern nice—southern charm—is a real thing, it’s just unfortunately so often cloaked in hypocrisy and hatred. While Austin gets a lot of hate for its boom over the last few decades, it still has much more of a soul than its cousin up in Nashville, with the exception that is the grail that the Ryman Auditorium is.

The Midwest, my sweet Midwest, is angelic to tour in the summer, but desolate and depressing to tour in the winter. I hit the lowest of lows on a February run this past year. Lansing, Urbana, and Cleveland in the middle of February when it’s cold, grey, and dead everywhere? My soul can’t handle it anymore.

Houndmouth by Tommy Moore

Then you hit Colorado, the Gateway to the West. Whether you’re at Red Rocks Amphitheater or tucked away at the roadside gem that is Mishawaka Amphitheater, the Rockies cradle you in a warm—or potentially snowy—welcome. Wandering North and outside of the handful of cities, rolling plains flow into mountains, dry canyons turn into glacial rivers that flow freer than the roads, weaving under roadways and dancing alongside pullouts that are begging to be stopped at for a cool-off dip.

Load-ins move out of alleyways and onto ski chalets and winding gravel roads. Nightcaps transition from the corner dive bar to wherever in the woods, or in whatever pasture the bus is parked in. City lights transition to starlight. Damp, basement greenrooms transition to cabins in the valley. Traffic congestion transitions from cars to wildlife.

The road starts to feel like the road again—like how it used to, like how it did when you fell in love with it. It starts to feel like when you were 20 and sneaking off across the country with all your best friends. 

"When we first started out, heading west of the Rockies felt like a long shot. It never really made sense on paper, and we didn’t think the mountain states were in the cards for us.

But over time, a few right-place-right-time moments carried us out to the Pacific Northwest, the northern Rockies, and even all the way up to Alaska…twice. Those trips changed us. The landscapes, the quiet, the long drives…they found their way into the songs in ways we didn’t see coming.

Ohio will always be home, but something about being out there reminds us that music and nature have a way of meeting you wherever you land."

Mike Belazis (Oliver Hazard)

Ella and Annabel Skrocki by Tommy Moore

Touring in the West, time tends to feel like it’s yours again. No matter how comfortable your bus or campsite is, there’s a feeling you can breathe a bit easier. Like Delbert McClinton sings, “…but I’m sleepin’ in a warehouse out in West LA. Well, it’s alright cause it’s midnight and I’ve got two more bottles of wine.” But in reality, it’s in a bus somewhere on the outskirts of Glacier National Park, and instead of wine, it’s shrooms and Modelo. There’s space in big sky country to relax your shoulders and release the tension that each and every one of us has built up in our backs. There’s space to have a coffee by the sea, a brew in the snow, and smoke in the mountains. There’s space to remember why we’re here—whatever our own reasons may be. 

"Touring has always given me a broader perspective. Seeing people in other states and cities and small towns has continued to fill me with hope. At home isolation can be overwhelming in the sense of feeling alone and worried about the people and general sense of their well-being. When we actually get to see people and hang out and share stories, I feel much less like I’m on an island."

Lee Henke (The Last Revel)

The Last Revel by Tommy Moore

Mountain Music | with Houndmouth, The Revivalists, Oliver Hazard, and The Last Revel

Words and Photos by Tommy Moore