Post-Tour Blues

The whiplash of getting home after tour

At Leigh Sawmill Cafe - by Ryan Kothe

Post-tour blues usually hits me 48 hours after the last show of a tour.

The first day after the tour, I’m elated to be back home with my family and my own bed, something I’ve usually been pining for as the tour dates drag on and nights of poor sleep accumulate.

Day two, though, is usually when I feel the emotional whiplash. When the whirlwind of travel is suddenly over and the momentum I’ve been surfing for the previous weeks crashes to a stop.

This time, though, I spent the first few days post-tour suffering from laryngitis and then embarking on the long journey back from New Zealand to the US. So, it seems, the post-tour blues kindly waited their turn in the suffering line, and the comedown slump is hitting today, six days after our last show.

The New Zealand tour was incredible.

It was the first time Cy and I had been back on the road in New Zealand since Covid, and it was heartening to find that people hadn’t forgotten about us. In fact, our fans were more excited than ever to come out and support us and our new record.

We had to cancel a couple of shows due to “unforeseen circumstances,” aka a broken ferry and a road closure, but we also sold out six of the sixteen remaining shows, and that did help in making up for the lost income.

Spending countless hours in the car driving all over our beautiful homeland, we got to talk about the band and make plans for the future. There was a period during Covid I wasn’t sure if Tattletale Saints would even make it out intact, so it is exciting to have objectives and goals again.

I was also reminded of how demanding indie touring is, with long drives, setting up rooms, selling merch, and talking to wonderfully enthusiastic people at length after every show. I enjoyed it immensely, but it also made me grateful for the touring I do as “just the bass player.”

Being the artist and getting to stand in the spotlight and connect with the audience in such a profound way is an incredible feeling. Still, it comes at a far higher energy cost than working as a side player, and I’m not sure I could survive doing it all the time.

I really enjoy the balance between both sides of my touring work. I love being the “star” sometimes and coming out after the show to sign merch and chat with people, but I also love getting to walk off stage, talking to no one, washing off my makeup, and getting straight into my bunk with a book.

It doesn’t matter how great the tour is; post-tour blues are as inevitable as the seasons.

I’ve found the best way to deal with them is just to ride them out and try hard not to act on any of the self-doubt feelings that bubble up.

It’s the same as the understanding that every USA winter I will have hardly any touring work, and that will trigger the spiral of questioning, will anyone ever hire me again? Am I the only person with no work right now? Am I good enough? You know, that fun worthlessness loop we all fall into occasionally :)

I’ve been through both the winter-no-work and the post-tour-blues cycles enough times now that I can recognize the patterns for what they are and turn that knowledge into strategy.

Expecting the slumps helps me mitigate the fallout.

After many years of living by the financial motto of “hope for the best!” I’ve finally learned how much I need to save during the fruitful summer months to survive the winter work dearth, so at least the financial stress of the slowdown is lessened.

I try to embrace the lower energy period by actively enjoying the things I miss on tour, like cooking and regular sleeping hours.

I think of it like turning down a burner under a pot of boiling water. I bring my energy down to just a shimmer, ready to crank back up again for the next project or tour.

I accept that during these slower days, the most significant achievement of a day might be collecting the prescription food from the vet, emptying my suitcase, or - on the most challenging days - simply showering.

Most importantly, when I’m feeling rock bottom like today, I let myself sink into the feeling while reminding myself that this is temporary and expected.

I’ve come to learn that I can’t have the tour highs without the post-tour-lows; it’s that simple.

Learning to expect and accept them is the best way to survive this rollercoaster of a career.