Last night – at the Rose Garden… It looked as if this was going to be a dead night. Even Matt Lindi, the host, made a comment along the lines of “Gee, where IS everybody?!” Apparently he’d expected quite a different turn out simply because a good number of people had remembered us and were excited to see us. With the open mic portion of the evening faltering because there was NO-ONE there, we went on maybe a full hour early, and played clear to the moment when all the people that had come to see us walked in, having figured they’d give the rest of the night a miss. Erf.
In any case, Matt let us go up and do an encore, and we had a great time keeping the place open late. It was a good night of good banter and the only bad part was when I asked the table in front of me what they’d been whispering to one another. They reported that they thought I looked like Jack Black… but that it was a good thing… and… well… Jack Black is FAT isn’t he?!!?
Sigh.
More in a bit. Something I ate HATES me for chewing it up so bad, and is now making my ass a warzone. Luckily, most battles are won through stealth nowadays, and I’m not frightening any nearby mammals… however, I fear that any creature that detects vibrations through their feet are probably pretty disconcerted, and I imagine dozens of frightened spider families preparing for evacution or Armegeddon, unsure of which.
Driving home from playing at Sweetwilliams Farm. Last night at the Rose Room, Matt mentioned another spot we could play the last night, and gave us the night at the Brown Bag Series at a little farm / general store type spot in Upton, MA. Not a lot of money, but a small, dedicated audience and a beautiful setting. We played completely acoustic under a tent by the light of candles and Christmas lights to a couple of children, parents and passerbys. I felt pretty On (mostly due to a small srory that Matt had told me the night before – I’m not going to try and retell it – I tried telling it to
Heather and the story… suffered)… and the sun went down the mosquitos failed to materialize, and we had a great night. We bought jams and mustards and I told lots of stories and a five year-old played shaker for “Crazy As A Good Thing”.
Now it’s night and dark and hurtling speed leaving Massachusetts and heading back to Mike and Ari’s. I’m wondering what friends we’re going to see tomorrow – crowds have been tiny but warm for the last couple of days, and I could Live like this.
The radio is throwing up dubious noise and I’m unsure of these bands today. They’re vomiting bile all day and I’ve always held that as lesser than spite. I’m angsty but these kids are angry over nothing and I’m listening to advertisements for things that are “like Friends but -random adjective-er”. Tried watching something that was “like Friends but edgier” recently and thought it was simply flat and flavourless. Are my tastes merely aging and set in stone? Or are most new bands, writers, artists, movies absolute crap?
And yet I could’ve listened to that song by the Killers that Heather just flipped past, and if she finds the new Christina Aguliera song again I might kill her.
I’m worried for my camera. I was really disappointed that I couldn’t capture more of the visual side of the farm tonight. I think the solvent that I used was a temporary fix, and now has probably just really, really gummed everything up. I’m not quite sure WHAT my next step is, and am hesitant to take it apart… but I guess it can’t get worse…?
Mewf.
Happy Connecticut!
