Intervention at Warped Tour

How Two Punk Icons Confronted My Habit

My band participated in the Vans Warped Tour in the summers of 2004 and 2005.

Despite having multiple connections to and on the tour, we never quite fit in. Our label, Atlantic Records, heavily suggested it was the right business move.

We were merely a group of iconoclast kids with all-access passes to the circus, fulfilling our 30-minute set-per-day obligations.

I’m not suggesting that there were not good people involved on the tour, but for the most part, it was a traveling summer camp of bureaucracy and corporate sponsorship framed and promoted as a punk rock event.

Long travel days or back-to-back shows in the heat for months on end—neither great for your physical or mental health.

In ‘04, at the Riverbend Music Center in Cincinnati, I was trying to impress some of my old high schoolmates who had made the trek from Illinois to see the festival and became intoxicated immediately following our set.

We didn’t travel on a bus like most bands; we stuck to our 12-seater van-and-trailer. The band could not afford a Prevost on our $30 to $100 daily merch and non-existent album sales. This posed a problem when we would have guests come and visit, as the only spot we could all hang out at was the merch tent. Sometimes, 12-15 people would be under the tarp while we tried to hawk CDs, t-shirts, and stickers. It rained off and on at the Riverbend that day, so the tent was packed shoulder-to-shoulder, with only a few chairs for the crew.

The band and sponsor merchandising areas were set up in predetermined areas with tents lined back to back, typically in rows of two.

Our tent happened to be butted up against Avenged Sevenfold’s that show. After deciding that the porta-johns were too far of a walk and wanting to avoid the rainfall, I slipped between the two tents and inadvertently urinated inside Sevenfold’s merchandise bins in a near blackout.

They must have heard my stream and grabbed me before I could finish. I was nearly beaten to a pulp by their crew mid-piss. I still do not believe this was done intentionally—I was simply looking for a safe, hidden spot to empty my bladder, and on top of their t-shirts seemed like as good of a spot as any other.

A spectacle was made, and I was forced to exit the show. It looked like an old cartoon, with the characters fighting, and all you could distinguish were fists and dust.

While escorted out, one concertgoer yelled, “What happened to you?” as my tour manager zig-zagged me back to the van post-ass-whooping.

”Avenged Sevenfold fucked me up!” I said, with the front of my jeans still soaked in pee.

The 2005 Warped Tour was a different animal. We had been touring nonstop for years without a break—300+ shows a year, still no money to speak of, still traveling by van, exhausted, bored of our own music, and annoyed with each other. We had introduced a few new songs into our set but mainly played the same block of tunes since before the album was released the year prior.

There were some heavy hitters and recognizable names in ‘05: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, All American Rejects, and The Offspring. Our labelmates, The Transplants, were also on the tour, which included Tim Armstrong from Rancid and Travis Barker, who signed us to his imprint with Atlantic, LaSalle Records.

At the Colisée Pepsi in Quebec, Good Charlotte joined the tour for a one-off performance.

After the show, I found my way to the artist area to seek out more of the free beer that catering sometimes provided. As usual, I wasn’t in good shape, and my consciousness was being held on by a thread. I remember walking up to Tim Armstrong and blabbering to him about nonsense. Other bands, crew, and guests surrounded us. Some I knew or recognized, others I didn’t.

Moments later, Benji Madden from Good Charlotte skipped up to Tim and me and said, “Hey Kinison!” I had never met either of the Madden Twins before.

He emphatically said, “I have an idea,” as he held up three fingers. “Good Charlotte, Transplatns, Kinison tour next summer. Our three bands.”

Before he could finish his pitch deck, I interrupted and placed my middle finger on his forehead.

I began saying, ”I wouldn’t do that fucking tour…” right as members of Tiger Army, who were nearby, saw what stunt I was pulling and jumped me. They got a few punches and kicks before Tim broke up the brawl. It wasn’t much of a fight, as I didn’t swing and was only on the receiving end.

”This guy is Travis’ brother,” Tim said, referring to me. “Travis’ brother is my brother. He’s messed up. Help him stand up.”

I still don’t know which of the members of Tiger Army assaulted me, but I was told later that the “one with the pompadour” was in the mix. That information didn’t narrow it down.

The following morning, I woke up in a heavy cloud of guilt and heart palpitations. It was the kind of hangover where your skin aches, and when you try to smile, your bottom lip quivers, signaling to those around you that you’re not OK.

I knew I had fucked up, but it wasn’t until our tour manager, George, explained the escapade to me that I understood how much of a scene I had caused. Every detail increased my feelings of self-cringe and heightened anxiety.

”Middle finger on his forehead? Come on, really?”

My outburst wasn’t an isolated incident: two years prior, I told the guys from New Found Glory that they “ruined music” while they attended our show at the Palladium in Hollywood. It turned out, they were there to see us perform, per a mutual friend’s recommendation, and we also shared an entertainment attorney. A fact I wasn’t privy to until after my remark.

Our lawyer, Lisa, called to ask with a concerned, motherly tone, “What goes on inside of your head when you do these things?“

I didn’t have an answer.

George finally finished the play-by-play rundown of the night before, and I took a stroll to shake off the anxiousness and try to walk off my hangover. As I reached the main stage area, I saw Benji sitting on a large speaker box with his legs dangling off the side. I decided to express regret face-to-face.

”Hey man, I was fucked up last night, I didn't even know where I was, I’m really sorry.”

He replied, ”I don’t know what you’re talking about. Do I know you?”

That was the moment when we both realized that I was apologizing to Joel, the wrong twin.

”Ah, you’re the Kinison guy. You’ll have to apologize directly to my brother, not me. That was messed up, though.” Joel said.

”Yeah, sorry again. I’m gonna go look for your brother.”

The mistake only compounded my uneasiness, so I headed to the catering tent for some orange juice to replenish my electrolytes. I spotted Tim sitting at a clothed round table near the back, sipping on coffee. He beckoned me with a few silent “come over here” waves.

When I arrived, I realized that Lars Frederiksen, also from Rancid, was sitting at the table. It was just the two of them.

”Sit down, man,” Tim said. “Lars, this kid was fucked up last night.”

Lars didn’t look up from his plate but said, “Oh yeah?” and shoveled some food into his mouth.

”Honestly, Tim. I don’t remember much, but I heard the Tiger Army guys tried to kick my ass and you stepped in and stopped it. Thanks for that, you didn’t have to.”

”Yeah man, Benji had heard good things about your band. Travis is my brother, so I had to end it, but you should apologize.”

”I tried to earlier,” I explained, “but I apologized to the wrong brother. Joel instead of Benji. I got them mixed up.”

Tim shook his head.

”You know, me and Lars,” he then paused. “We don’t drink no more. We used to get fucked up and cause trouble just like you did last night. You ever think about not drinkin’? At least for a bit?”

Then it hit me: Tim and Lars from Rancid were staging an impromptu intervention on me in the catering area on Warped Tour.

Lars eventually looked up from his plate, fork still in hand, and said, “I haven’t had a drink in over ten years.”

There were no mentions of the Secret Society or meetings. Only some words of encouragement and things don’t have to carry on how I had been conducting myself. Lars got up, didn’t say goodbye, and walked off.

Tim and I sat silently for a moment. I held my shame while he tore a paper napkin. Then he stood up, playfully whacked me on my head, and left.

I eventually found my orange juice, but to this day, I have never apologized to Benji.

My band members must have wanted to murder me. I can’t even fathom what a Kinison, Transplants, and Good Charlotte tour could have potentially done for our music career, let alone for us financially.

Who knows, I could have ended up doing guest vocals on “Lifestyles of the Rich & Famous II (feat. Chris Kinison).”