The Dirty Yeti's Shotgun- Episode I: Vest Wars

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.

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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.

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“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.”

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.

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.

The Dirty Yeti Beach Party Seattle

"The Galt Line 'ere tonight? Thought so, sir."

The two soldiers bustled past and picked two stools at the counter. "Drinks sir!"



I eyed them suspiciously and stepped in front of the bottles that now lined the shelves. Everyone clearly had drinks in their hands. Liquor is not allowed in this area because of some local civil trouble with the native villagers. "We serve no alcohol here boys."

"Can it. We're not here to cause you trouble. We just want a dab of good ole English whiskey." He gave a rogueish wink and tipped his wrist back, miming a drink. "Our fellows told us this would be the spot for it.

"Well alright boys. Half price tonight!"


Bremerton was grey as ever in the morning. We snuck out of Gentry’s house and drove up the hill to a diner run by some folks who were at the show the night before. They kindly invited us to have breakfast, so we piled into a booth next to Kelly (former birthday girl and Hi Fidelity co-owner) and her friends. We had huge omelets and lots of coffee. Blythe also bought a painting by a local artist of John Wayne riding a Tauntaun through a psychedelic space background.

Afterwards, we took a ferry across the sound to Seattle. The ferry ride was beautiful, showing us some of the only sunshine we were to see in the Northwest. The boat glided past evergreen islands and marinas packed full of sailboats. Sea birds traced the ferry’s path while the Seattle skyline came into view around an island. The crystalline spires grew taller as the boat approached the dock.

We rolled off the boat and up the street and parked. With an afternoon to burn before our show, we thought we might explore downtown Seattle. We marched to the place all Seattle tourists go. Pikes Place market is hours of entertainment. With everything from fresh seafood and produce to full sized oil paintings and handmade instruments for sale, there were endless things to peruse.

Later we walked the streets, peering in the windows of coffee shops and boutique stores. Eventually we happened on the Utilikilt store. After the guy running the store handed us a beer, we had to stay and chat. Half an hour later we walked out with a kilt. Not long after we met Dustin and Natasha for dinner at a gleaming sushi restaurant. We talked for a bit about being on the road, and Dustin’s upcoming thesis, an account of a medieval labor dispute within the cloistered walls of the Catholic Church.

 

After dinner we drove a short bit to the venue, Comet Tavern, and began loading in. Aside from the door guy, everyone was very helpful. Before long all the work was done and we had met the other bands, decided on order, and launched into the music. First up was Weatherside Whiskey Band, a roots act with cool country tunes and a great upright bassist. We followed with a tight and fast set. After, Judd Wasserman put together a big band and played Dark Side of the Moon note for note.

After giving a goodnight to the bands, getting some unnecessary shit from the door guy, and loading out, we get a free hot dog at the cart outside (Italian sausage with grilled onions and cream cheese… wild eh?). We hopped in the van, hit the highway, and ate up an hour of rainy highway before turning off at a truck stop and checking in to a dirty little room.

Over the din of a roomful, an Officer poked his head around the door. "Oi, you two." He shouted at the two young soldiers. "What're you doin' here."

The soldiers had had a few, so they raised their glasses in unison and retorted, "Havin' a drink sir!"

"You're in trouble now boys. Drinking in town where its illegal."

They looked at each other and worried.

"Now!" The officer shouted. "Now, you owe me a drink! I hear The Galt Line are coming this way."