Tuesday night we drove up to Blufton, South Carolina to play the Blufton Ale House.
My natural inclination in all things is to get places early, and even though I’d talked to the actual HOST this time, who’d assured me that nothing occured till 10pm, we still ended up aiming for about 9.30pm. Of course, it makes things easier in that I don’t actually want to leave the house. Chris and Star Wars, Battlefront II, and the dog and the cats and Pamela all combine into a powerful “oh, I don’t REALLY have to work tonight, do I?” kind of force. We end up leaving later than I desire with a nagging feeling that we COULD really stay just FIVE more minutes… one more mission? Hunt one more Jawa? Kill Luke Skywalker ONE more time?
We sigh, pat Artemis, Zorro and Spooky on the head and then, having run out of excuses, leave.
And of course, with my individual temporal aesthetic, even though we miss the place and have to double back, even though we’re a little bit worried that we’ve become lost in the dark backroads of South East South Carolina, we still end up waiting for about 45 minutes before the music starts.
John O’Gorman is the host and part owner of the Blufton Ale House, and talks about how before settling down here he’d made a Living for 10 years just playing guitar – and the more I listen to him play, the more I’m inclined to believe it wasn’t the meagre Living we’re making now. This guy is a BEAST.
So, after watching him and the first guy on the list perform about an hour’s worth of covers, Heather and I approach the stage – and we know that either things can go poorly – because the audience has been rocking out to covers and only likes familiar things… or they can go well – because the audience has been rocking otu to good music, and likes all good music.
Things went well. Very well. I was really flattered to find out later that John had been in back asking Chris and Pamela about us. You don’t do that about people you don’t like. Probably the musical equivelent to asking someone to find out a little more about that GIRL you like… you KNOW the one… the one with the long dark hair? Is she REALLY crazy?
After our set, we took some time to work the room, sell CDs, etc., and then John asked us to sit in and jam with him for another half an hour plus, and we went through every Jimi Hendrix tune I know. John and I swapped leads, and an amazing bass player (coincidentally from Largo, MD) sat in as well, inspiring all sorts of good chaos. Of course, all of this happening while being handed tequilla shots. It was a good night.
On the drive home we encountered a frightening number of deer. Staring. Peering. Bounding out of the darkness and retreating into the fog. Beautiful beasts. We creep back into the house hounded by Spooky and collapse into bed.
Last night we played the Bay Street Blues open mic in Savannah, GA. Strangely enough, though we’ve been here for almost a week, this is our first time actually playing in Savannah. Playing music, anywho. We’ve played with the dog, and played with the cats, and played a lot of Battlefront… but music? Psh.
The open mic was pretty successful, and we met a lot of cool people, but the homecoming was somehow the fun part. Chris was wise and stayed home to get some sleep (though there’s something about these bars with real, if tiny, stages and a LOUD sound system that make us play our best), but there’s something simply very homey to coming back to a house, greeting the dog and trying to keep her quiet, and having a sleepy voice asking how the night went. You sit and talk for a bit, exhausted and still glowing warmly with the tequilla that you got at yet another bar. Then there’s a bit of work to wrap up, and then finally bed. Life’s pretty alright.
