Monday, April 23, 2012
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Friday, April 6, 2012
The Dirty Yeti Bikini Beach Party: Eugene OR
The Dirty Yeti Bikini Beach Party: Eugene OR
“How do we prepare?” I asked Aldo over the din of
excitement.
“Line up bottles of your best whiskey and clear a corner. I’m
sure this is all we’ll need to do.” He said with a knowing glint in his eye.
I recruited a few native locals to start the work. Soon a
gleaming row of whiskey bottles lined the counter and several nearby tables.
Morning in the Strangled Darlings house brought coffee and a
few hours of conversation about bringing music on the road. Afterwards we met
Sarah, our neighbor from New York (now happily living in Portland) at a diner
for pancakes and such. She told us tales about her recent travels in Europe.
Soon we were piled in the van again and we were on the road to Eugene.
Bill Shatner got us a room. It was cheap. I mean for real
cheap. It was beautiful too. When we dragged ourselves and our stinking bags of
clothes to the front desk, the poor girl looked frightened of us. When we
explained that we were musicians, she calmed considerably. We took a shiny
elevator to the fourth floor, hurled our bags into the room, and took a shower
in the giant bathroom.
After some computer work and some cable TV, we ventured out
to The Black Forest. This venue is a small bar lined with neon lights and slot
machines. There’s a pool table in one corner and a sizable stage in the other.
Right away we meet The Mudpuppies, a blues duo (guitar and drums), and our bill
mates. After a long sound check, we jumped into an hour long set. It was pretty
tame. There was a little hitch when our power zapped out for a moment. The
small crowd threw us a little appreciation.
The Mudpuppies posted a set of gritty blues tunes with
tricky inside out drumming and killer guitar tone. They didn’t have the
audience they deserve. These guys would rock a dance party. We sat and chatted
with some bar patrons and the band for a while. Another group of guys got up
and did an impromptu set. It was at this moment that I started feeling that
feeling, a fevery, dizzy type of feeling.
By the time we had gotten back to the room, I felt downright
sick. We had been so careful during this trip to get plenty of sleep, drink
very little (mostly), and eat well. But eventually, when you start packing
shows in together, something catches up with you.
“Will this be enough?” I asked Aldo, who was dancing with a
few of the locals while the soldiers watched and laughed.
“Surely,” he shouted over the native drums. “They’ll be
pleased with the sight of it. We won’t know until they come how thirsty they’ll
be, and how far they will spread it.”
“They spread thirst?”
“Oh Yes. Everyone who hears them becomes thirsty as the
desert.”
Thursday, March 22, 2012
The Dirty Yeti Beach Party: Portland OR
Everyone was silent after the boom. The crowd looked around for someone to investigate. Fortunately they were spared the effort, for the door burst open, and a man from the village tore across the room, spouting Hindi and grabbing an army officer by the collar. Another man rose from a nearby table and calmed the now agitated officer.
“He is crying for help. He says a great foot crashed to the ground.” The man was still talking rapidly. “He says the leg reached into the clouds.”
I did not wake up healthy. Blythe shook me as Wesley was coming in the door. The generosity of the Horned Hand has morning consequences. We had breakfast at Wesley’s house. I said very little. It was good though. Wesley drove us back to the Hand, and we loaded out. Blythe drove while I tried to sleep. We retraced our path across the mountains to Portland. The journey took us deep into the afternoon. When we arrived in Portland, we didn’t have too much time to burn.
We found the venue locked up tight, so we walked the neighborhood for a while. When they cracked the doors, we sat down and had some awesome Thai food. We brought in our stuff, met Renee Muzquiz, our host for the evening, and the Strangled Darlings, our bill mates. Renee Muzquiz started with a set of tricky singer-songwriter stuff with complex chords. We stepped up next and started into an acoustic set. Though we sound checked, the venue kept telling us we were too loud. The truth is, our music has a very dense texture, so it always seems louder than it is. Anyway, after a few adjustments, we just unplugged and stood in the middle of the room.
The Strangled Darlings stepped up next and played a set of roots laced R&B stuff. With and electric cello and a mandolin, they created a sparse and elegant rhythmic pulse. It was a cool set. It was like David Holmes done by a roots duo. After that, Renee Muzquiz closed out with another set. These tunes were particularly tricky with bossa rhythms and jazzy chords and lots of energy, not to mention great singing.
The Strangled Darlings offered us a spot for the night. We toasted a nightcap with some cider we got in Chelan, and passed out fast and hard.
After the man’s frantic rant, the room erupted into conversation. Aldo just smiled quietly. “They’re coming.” He said to me.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
The Dirty Yeti Beach Party: Bend OR
My little Tea House had ever been so full. Soldiers and villagers who never meet my eye were ordering drinks. Jack watched me, bemused, as I openly poured hard spirits to men who would normally harass me about liquor laws.
Aldo was strumming a mandolin and chuckling every time someone walked up the narrow stairway. Sir Kent stood up and addressed the room. “What are all of you doing here?”
The journey to Bend OR is an epic one, requiring a zig-zagging pass over the Cascades. After leaving our truck stop motel, we jumped on a highway that had us winding through the mountains in no time. We went from a grey drizzle to snow-capped and sun drenched peaks in no time. View after view of mountains stretching to the horizon and cliff clinging roadways filled the windshield. Once we had crossed a few ridgelines, the evergreen forests gave way to high desert. Soon we were twisting through red rock canyons.
When we got to Bend, we found a town of sprawling commercial centers and green grassed parks. We sat down for a dinner of fish tacos at Parrilla Grill. When we found the Horned Hand, we were invited in warmly and great beers were slammed down before us in an instance. Wesley, owner and operator, chatted with us about some other bands on the circuit. When some people started streaming in, we loaded onto the stage. Local street musicians, The Wild Eyed Revolvers, played a quick set of original tunes. Afterwards we crushed 2 ½ hours of a mean set.
Nice beer kept flowing as we talked with some people after the show. I passed out on the couch. Wesley locked us in for the night. The next thing I knew, Wesley was unlocking the door in the morning and offering us breakfast.
PS – A fuzzy memory from the night surfaced. A friend of the establishment ran a food truck outside. The Codfather is a converted double decker bus that serves fish and chips and fish tacos. They cooked us up a late night dinner that I still dream about.
No one answered Sir Kent. The room, momentarily lulled by his command for attention, roared back to life with hurried conversation. Then a boom rang in the distance and everyone was silent.
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