Traveling with On A High Note isn’t much different from traveling with the circus. I’ve never traveled with the circus, but making baseless claims is kind of my forte, so the comparison totally works. Frankly, if drugs, nudity, incessant weed smoke, and screaming women doesn’t sound like the circus, then I’m glad I’ve never bothered to travel with the circus. I wager it wouldn’t take much effort to gather a small army of people anxiously jumping at the opportunity to hit the road with this gang of talented, mic-hungry freaks, but it’s not for the faint of heart. If you’re at all closed off to the possibility of passing out with your shoes on in a hotel room packed wall to wall with sketchy ass people you’ve never met doing sketchy ass shit you’ve never done or promised yourself you’d never do again, you might consider just staying home and following these guys on Twitter.
Let’s go ahead and state the obvious or the not-so-obvious depending on the size of the rock you might be living under: Self Provoked is famous as fuck. On A High Note is famous as fuck. I’ve been around this scene for quite some time now and I’ve witnessed buzz either come and stay or come and go for many. But I’m pretty sure I can count on one hand the number of us who could drive a few states away and be greeted by a long line of adoring fans all wearing our name across their chests. It didn’t come so much as a surprise to see fans show up for people whose multitudes of videos consistently average half a million plays (quite a few have actually passed the million mark), it was just refreshing – almost reassuring – to see that digital stardom still does translate to physical meat and bones life. That having been said, the best part by far was being mistaken for a “somebody” myself. When you pull up to a venue and hop out of the van with Tha Ynoe, people promptly get the fuck out of your way. When you’re trying to blend in with the crowd in order to get photos and Linoskiii blows your cover by shouting you out on the mic and telling everyone you’re a dope emcee, girls suddenly want to fuck you. You can move 3 feet from standing with the fans on one side of the merch table to standing on the other side between Exsr and SP and watch all of the expressions change. I’m not delusional (I kind of am). I don’t honestly believe any of this makes me cool (it actually does) and I don’t want you to think any of it went to my head (it really did).
As most people who’ve been on the road will tell you, the real memories are made off stage. It’s the camaraderie you remember most, the friendships you develop and the bonds you come away with. The jokes, the piss-stops, the conversations. It’s waking up in the van to a dozen pictures of you sleeping with your mouth open. It’s the drunken photo shoots in the hotel room and the vicious insults constantly thrown back and forth about each other’s moms or clothes or rhymes or musical preferences. It’s being hungover or still drunk at the continental breakfast, laughing with your group of tattooed animals about the stares you’re getting from all the regular people who thought this was a nice establishment. That’s the shit you never prepare for but wish would last forever.
This post has 387 pictures in it and I totally just made that number up because it’s not like you’re going to count them all, but there’s a lot. Only the real fans will take time to look at every photo. Fortunately, OAHN has gobs upon gobs of real fans.
- Other details I don’t feel like working into this write up because they’ll fuck up the flow of the article are as follows: We were primarily in Salt Lake City but made a brief stop in Vegas to gamble and drink just as heavily as we already had been the whole time we were in the van. My friends the Soul Providers and the god Besatree were also there. The whole trip was organized and made possible by the good bad people at Stay Illuminated.