Ugh, my stomach progressively got worse over the course of the night, and though I’m taking a whole lot of pride in the fact that everyone was saying I was coming across as even MORE comfortable than I was at our friend Lori’s last house concert, I’ve got to admit it was kind of a rough night. Stomach pains aside, I was feeling feverish by halfway through the first set and then at the beginning of the second set Heather broke a string, which developed into a broken bridge pin… the show sort of stumbled at that point. What with the crazy weather shifts and everything (it was 80 some degrees today) I had a nosebleed at the end of the show that I think I successfully concealed. Crazy to think how much stagecraft goes into not having a stage.
Keren joined us again, but only for a couple of songs, as the house concert format isn’t really conducive to bass guitar (though having it there meant I got to steal it to play No Place is Home after Heather stole my guitar after she broke that string). Choke Cherry especially felt really good under the influence of his additional low-end chug. I miss Rowan and Sharif, but Keren’s making my full-band-ilyAIMY pangs a little lesser.
I’ve just GOT to type for a sec so I can claim I was typing from Valhalla. Today we drove to Tryon, North Carolina to play at the Trade Street Gallery Coffeehouse. We didn’t know what to expect out of a small town on the edge of South Carolina on a Sunday afternoon, but we had an amazing afternoon which slowly elongated into a wonderful night.
The drive was beautiful, heading into south western North Carolina, stretching our driving legs into the Appalachian Mountains, and we finally found ourselves on a winding creation of the NCDoT that took us into Tryon – a tiny town that reminded me of nothing so much as Estes Park, Colorado, but without the associated breathing difficulties.
Just a couple minutes north of South Carolina, and maybe an hour short of Tennessee, the land out there is exquisite – and the coffee house itself did nothing to bring down our high.
The Trade Street Gallery Coffeehouse is friendly and warm in the midst of wind-howling streets, glowing in the sunshine as we drive up. Just a couple of people inside, huddling over their mugs for warmth, but the pictures on the wall and the people working there make me feel at home almost immediately. It’s perfect – tiny coffeehouse, big speakers! Artsy while being well-worn and wooden, even if there wasn’t going to be an audience, I was in Love with the venue.
And yet audience there was. One of the most intent audiences we’ve ever had. There’s simply a difference in quality – these guys were still very, very quiet, and it wasn’t like every person was tapping their toes or something – but they were intensely intent, drinking in everything. That synergy helped us play extra hard for them, and all-in-all, this was one of my favourite shows ever.
We hung out till close, then went next door for dinner, partaking of the best cheese steak I’ve ever had (Heather had catfish – so very light and flaky! and DILL!!! ohgod) and then drove to meet our friend Windy in Asheville, to stay the night. With Keren in hot pursuit, we wended our way from Tryon and in the dark, didn’t see what we were headed into: Just as I’m looking at the map and I say to Heather “well, the road looks a bit wiggly” we strike the most intense set of mountain switchbacks we’ve hit since the Rockies. Winding and doubling back every couple-hundred yards, losing Keren’s headlights round every turn, I actually had to ask Heather to slow down for the sake of my fearful sensibilities. Ambient light showed us glimpses of the rock walls caging us as we climbed higher and higher into the night sky. It was exhilarating and scary and spectacular. We finally met up with Windy and her boyfriend Johnny in Asheville at her new house and patted her cats and made our beds and craaaassshed.
