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.”
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