Can you believe one fan actually drove them 22 straight hours just to get them to a show in New York City? This dedication is but a small demonstration of the devotion and hard work exemplified by all those who participate in the project that is I Decline.

Like some kind of insane dream I Decline and members of its street team plowed across the country from their gritty Southside Chicago origins to the unforgiving streets of the Big Apple. A few weeks before while headlining Chicago's MOB Fest Showcase, Pat McLaughlin (bass) had run into a rock star that had recently retired from playing with a nationally renowned band that I Decline greatly respected. He convinced Pat that the band should play back down in his hometown where he promised a sell out crowd. I Decline could not wait and immediately booked the gig and took to the road.

Along the way John Doyle (Drums), blasted hour after hour of stoner rock style music thru the shorted out and static filled speakers of their beat up ford van. Not more than an hour into the trip Dustin Harnish (vocals) was forced to pull over when it was discovered that a cooler had leaked water over the entire floor of the van. This event was yet one more reminder that the band should have broken up long ago. Still they would not learn.

That tired and long night brought them to a forest that was nestled just a short drive from the city. There they erected a mammoth tent for the band and its posse to sleep in. In the early morning Michael Pesavento (Rhythm Guitar)and a few others went to retrieve breakfast for the group. They returned a short while later in a torrential down pour. At the campsite they saw the remaining members of the group huddled in one of the smaller cars and the giant tent collapsed one the ground with all their wet belongings trapped inside. Cursing their luck they donned garbage-bag ponchos and salvaged what they could, however, the wetness soaked into their clothes never did fully dry until the trip was quite over.

Later the next night at some discount motel, and with little money to spare, they packed into their room and waited while one of the members grilled burgers, hotdogs, and beans outside in the open-air hallway. That night they slept on what little space they could find completely exhausted from the journey.

They awoke stiff and agitated the next day, but hey it’s about the music right? Eventually they found themselves at an underground club reminiscent of one of their old haunts like Chicago's Metro, Double Door, House of Blues, The Big Horse, Champs, or O'Malley's where they were veterans. As they were setting up, their lead guitarist realized he had not brought his guitar strap so one had to be made out of rope and duct tape in order for him to play. In the hours before the show some of the street team members and the manager went and did a radio interview at some college campus while the band found some grease pit to indulge their taste buds, and await the retired rock star who had convinced them to come down there in the first place.

Their wait proved futile as he never showed. Time quickly went by and people trickled into the venue, but none was the man who had enticed them down there. With no hope, no inspiration, and down on their luck they started to play. Like most underground clubs that cater to new bands the crowd was nowhere near the stage when they began. They were disinterested and talking among themselves. However, as the songs kept coming and the half stacks warmed up people began to step over and take a listen. It was not long before the crowd was gravitating around this new opening act. They became captivated by the smooth 70's style guitar tones emanating from the orange and marshal amps. The thundering dynamic bass work that complimented loud and progressive drum beats. And the gritty punk quality singing that seem to just cut thru the thick guitar riffs. It was quite obvious that all chatter had ceased or been rendered impossible when the band began improvising outros into smooth psychedelic transitions. When all was said and done the crowd was heartily impressed and many new additions to the mailing list were made.

Shortly after they returned home they parted ways with their lead guitarist. While they sought out a replacement someone passed along a review of one of their albums in the local paper, which turned out to be less then complimentary. Yet, after many auditions they would find a new lead guitarist. A hungry young Southsider. When he jumped aboard this demon hell ride they found that they had developed a slightly more solid sound. Soon the time came to record a new album. As the process wore on he found the band not well suited to him and jumped ship. Another soul lost at sea.

For in then end that is all there is. That is all I Decline has: their music. They do not have connections, they do not have respect from the critics, and they do not have hundreds of teenage girls following them around. They do not even have good luck. Just pure determination, and a raw rock sound that hooks whoever hears it. Many ask them why they haven't yet given up as a result of the unforgiving rock scene and hardships on the road. They tell me that when they look back, they themselves don't even know.

-Ryan S. O'Reilly (underground critic)

I_decline@hotmail.com