It’s been a fantastic week, hopping between Myrtle Beach, SC and Wilmington, NC. And yeah, I’m using the same damned adjective – but it really has been fantastic. Hey, my Life is pretty full of fantasy…. 3,683 miles and 31 days until Maryland.
That part. Not so hot.
The week really has been pretty amazing. Friday morning we got up early and headed back to Myrtle Beach for our second round with the Bike Rally. This time we were prepared, and we pretty much rendered ass. Which is like kicking it, except with the kicking of ass the most you can hope for is reducing it to a quivering mass of pulped flesh, where as rendering the ass, we could have drunk it by the time we were done… not to mention separating it into its constituent chemical parts.
Rendered Biker Ass Smoothie, anyone? No, perhaps not. Not even if we provided a sieve straw for the hairs.
We had arrived early, worried about the promised thunderstorms, and we baked in the intermittent sun, watching the other bands play between intermissions of jumping motorcycles and some sort of revving activity who’s apparent purpose was to create a smoke screen of burnt rubber around the participant. There was a lot of cheering over that.
We picked up our mandatory bike shirts and a new wallet chain (all with discounts cause the guy liked our music) and generally enjoyed the day. The Myrtle Beach Girls were back in force, with a bass player and a drummer, and ripped through an energetic set of stylized fiddle-oriented covers – we really need to get them doing THEIR version of “All Along the Watchtower” next to the Dreamscapes Project doing THEIR version with the cello. It’d be a pretty cool stringed-thing comparison. We were sandwiched between them and Carrie Stone and HER band – and it was the realization of one of my greatest fears – being the Acoustic Folk Duo between two full bands.
And so we turned up the djembe and worked harder, played harder, faster – like little bionic bunnies, we worked our fingers to the bone and rendered the above-mentioned ass. All in all, very pleased. Sold a lot of CDs, had a lot of people asking when we’d back. We even had to go back to the car to get MORE CDs.
And then the show ended just as the thunderstorms moved in. We sat on the beach and watched the black clouds roll in, and then retreated to the car to watch the storm hit the ocean, and then retreated again back to Karen’s house for the night.
We had arrived early, worried about the promised thunderstorms, and we baked in the intermittent sun, watching the other bands play between intermissions of jumping motorcycles and some sort of revving activity who’s apparent purpose was to create a smoke screen of burnt rubber around the participant. There was a lot of cheering over that.
We picked up our mandatory bike shirts and a new wallet chain (all with discounts cause the guy liked our music) and generally enjoyed the day. The Myrtle Beach Girls were back in force, with a bass player and a drummer, and ripped through an energetic set of stylized fiddle-oriented covers – we really need to get them doing THEIR version of “All Along the Watchtower” next to the Dreamscapes Project doing THEIR version with the cello. It’d be a pretty cool stringed-thing comparison. We were sandwiched between them and Carrie Stone and HER band – and it was the realization of one of my greatest fears – being the Acoustic Folk Duo between two full bands.
And so we turned up the djembe and worked harder, played harder, faster – like little bionic bunnies, we worked our fingers to the bone and rendered the above-mentioned ass. All in all, very pleased. Sold a lot of CDs, had a lot of people asking when we’d back. We even had to go back to the car to get MORE CDs.
And then the show ended just as the thunderstorms moved in. We sat on the beach and watched the black clouds roll in, and then retreated to the car to watch the storm hit the ocean, and then retreated again back to Karen’s house for the night.
The woman that Carrie Stone hooked us up to stay with in Myrtle Beach is a … I’ve tried a bunch of different words out on my tongue, but the adjective really IS “Lovely” …. Karen’s a Lovely woman. A lot of good conversations that went long into the night (I was so glad to be staying with a night person!) and two dogs – one insane and the other calm and more the demeanour of his owner (back to “Lovely”).
The insane one, Chauncy, knows that socks are often hid in the treasure caves that are boots, and rootled around in Heather’s boot for a second or two before retreating with his prize. Heather probably won’t tell the story, so I’m going to have to be the one to let everyone know about my heroic actions retrieving her footwear. After Karen told me that he wasn’t going to drop it, and Heather assuring me that I shouldn’t stretch her sock, Karen advised me that I was going to have to “go in his mouth and get it!” Slime-laden and covered in dog-hair, I returned with Heather’s dripping sock and proceeded to wrassle the dog for prolonged ownership.
I enjoyed myself profusely, and I think Chauncy eventually learned his place (sort of on top of me, but definately not WINNING).
Saturday afternoon we got up and out to Alligator Adventure – another great tourist spot in Myrtle Beach… (spot? trap?). Well worth the money, some 15 acres of alligators. Awesome. Simply awesome.
We got to pet gators, turtles, snakes, tortoises. I had a bird land on me briefly. I think that’s one of the best parts of the whole Trip – pettin stuff. Pettin all SORTS of stuff.
Saturday night got even better. Playing the Front Street Brewery was a lot of fun – this is the gig where the owner emailed me and asked “why aren’t you playing MY venue?”, and so first off, that was a great intro, and we went in with a really good feeling. Then, a little ways into the set, Lisa confided that we were one of the best acts that she’d ever booked, and after that – well, we had the energy and confidence to do ANYTHING. My solos were awesome, our voices were ON, and we even talked well without too much frighteningly psychotic babble – though we DID mention that whole “razorblade dispenser” idea, which always seems to leave the audience a little divided.
Attractive audience, which also helps – if I can flirt a little with people in the audience, that can help a lot – and since Missy and Mike were back in town (from the Rusty Nail), there was a lot of that kind of energy in the room. No space for dancing, but a whole lot of seat wiggling went on.
By the end of the night, I really felt like we’d found a home. It’s funny, the Soap Box, just down the street, really IS the place to see Live music. Their upstairs space especially has an incredible stage, a beautifully massive sound system – the whole place is eclectic and artistic.
By comparison, the Front Street Brewery is a much more typical “bar” environment with low lighting and just a clear patch of floor for a stage. We even improvised our “PA” with a mixer and two acoustic amps (worked really nice, though). But the energy there is sooo kind. I Loved hanging out afterwards with Lisa and Camille (the owner and bartender), the audience enjoyed us, and though there wasn’t a “dance floor” and space for that kind of movement, it was an intimate enough space that I could step over and talk to people while we were playing.
I mean, of course what it really comes down to is that the staff and audience really made us feel welcome, and it’s almost impossible to express how much of an effect that has on our performance. I felt WANTED, and responded with my voice and my guitar. It’s like arching your back into a good scritchin. You make it easier for the Lover to do the Loving.
After the show, I asked Camille to mix me up something “citrusy and sweet. you’d probably call it a ‘girly drink'”. I’d asked something similar of George at Costello’s a couple of nights ago – he turned up something called “Sex on the Beach with George” which I enjoyed profusely, but I wasn’t about to ask for sex on the beach with another man from this fine woman, so I let her have her way with my drink. she turned out something wonderful and pineapple-esque. She warned me belatedly that it packed quite a punch, and I fear I may have had my first flirtatiousness with tipsiness in the wee early hours of Sunday morning.
The night still wasn’t over at that point, as the Life of Front Street lasts well into the morning, and at 2.30am, when Lisa and Camille had finally finished cleaning up and closed out the Front Street, they found us still outside on the sidewalk with a couple of new friends just jamming in front of the local hot dog shop, continuing our flirting.
The eye-candy in Wilmington is like nothing I’ve seen anywhere else. I could sit and watch the people pass by for hours and be happy for the rest of my Life.
Yesterday found us finally getting out on the boat with Deanne. I was afraid that it wasn’t going to happen this time round, and I was glad that indigestion had gotten my up at 10am, because it allowed us to get out on the Cape Fear River at a reasonable time and motor around. I have a secret affection for maritime sunshine, especially when you’re moving at a pretty good clip. Everything’s just so crystalline.
Sunday night we played the Sweet and Savoury Café which was a little rough – a complete lack of an audience hurt my confidence badly, and I spent most of the time in the corner sulking and playing mediocre guitar solos. The food was both sweet and savoury, and what few audience members were there enjoyed us, but mostly kept their distance. It was a nice, easy end to the week, allowing us to go home and watch some crap television before turning in for the night. I was REALLY pleased that Heather remembered that it was Sunday, and she surprised me with some Aqua Teen Hunger Force and a new episode of Robot Chicken.
Life soldiers on.
Which brings us, in a rough and ready kind of way, to Interstate 20 in South Carolina, heading West at 70 somethin miles an hour. The highways here are white and concrete and poorly patched, and surrounded by haze and aggressively verdant vegetation. A while back we passed an old greenhouse that had collapsed, grown through and through with trees and vines, busily reminding us that we and all of our constructions are pretty impermanent and rapidly replaceable. The moment we let our guard down, the Ents will send their soldiers through.
The sky is that weirdly grey clear blue that results from heat-haze and humidity, and my sinuses are reminding me that the reason I like being out on a boat is because every time I’m out and about on shore I sneeze. We’re listening to disco and 80’s dance music, singing, jamming, enjoying the freedom of cruise control and a distant horizon. Clear roads and few curves, billboards that have been scoured clean by the elements and nothing much else. 140 miles to Georgia. We’ve already heard a couple of songs referencing the Georgia shoreline, Atlanta, and Satan’s various gambling activities in regard to our destination. 280 miles to our next turn.
*sneeze*
Ugh.
Heh, it’s funny. We pulled off on Route 1 to get gas, and it occurred to me that if we just hopped on that and kept on driving, we’d be at College Perk in a couple of hours. We won’t see such a familiar and direct route home for a while.
Tonight we’re playing Eddie’s Attic in Decatur, GA. I’m semi-intimidated by its reputation (though less so, perhaps, since our experience with Club Passim). As an open mic, it’s kind of funny (yeah, we’re just playing the open mic – don’t get TOO excited!) as we called about a month ago to get a slot, and have to call again in a couple of hours to reconfirm. Knowing for a month that one has a 9.20pm slot in an open mic booked from a kitchen as far from it as we are now from our destination in Kerrville, Texas. Distance is an amazing thing.
When we finally get to Kerrville, we’ll have to look at driving a little bit past it. Its distance from home is almost identical to that of Estes Park, in Colorado – which at 1,712 miles from home, was our previous furthest-from-home spot. Kerrville only comes in at 1,707 miles. Maybe we can find a gig in Ingram, TX, just to play a show a little further away.
