Last night was delicious and I add Columbus after Columbus to my list of favourite places. It’s odd that such a historically contested figure should have so many awesome places named after him. Also, Columbia, MD really, really fails and either needs to be renamed something like Bowie II or get it’s ass in gear.
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OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA Sunday morning, after the Gateway Music and Arts Festival in Mount Sterling, Kentucky – Rowan and I took Heather to her FIRST Cracker Barrel where we proceeded to eat a LOT. Oh sweet, sweet breakfast – tasty, tasty grits. Oh Lovely, Lovely bacon… Using Heather’s ass as a desk while I record the events of the evening at the Gateway Music and Arts Festival in Mount Sterling, Kentucky.
The Columbus Bar was a happy accident. This spring, coming back from the West Coast, we hooked up with Sharif in Indianapolis on a Sunday and had nothing to play. We didn’t want him to sit idle for too long since he would probably sin in some spectacular fashion if not occupied properly and so we searched further and further afield in the Indianapolis area for someplace to play. monday night, an hour south of the city we found the tiny Columbus Bar in the tiny town of Columbus, IN, rolled in to what looked like a dead night and proceeded to have a most excellent night.
Columbus is by no means as small as California, PA – but there are some similarities. Apparently centred around a college and with a nice little river running through it, I’m eager to go back there and explore it properly. It’s the home of graceful bridges and late-night trains and the best tattoos of any town we’ve seen ANYWHERE.
Last night we found ourselves packed into a tiny attic stage and playing down upon lots of eager ears – even as the audience was treated to a magnificent view of our nostrils, we poured ourselves liberally down upon them and they Loved it. The response, the people, the food – all of it was exactly what we were needing and that one night will keep us fed (literally and spiritually) for a while to come.
The bar had been working hard on our behalf and word had spread. We showed up early in the evening to have a liesurely dinner before playing and as soon as people recognized us they were coming up and telling us how eager they were to hear us, or that they’d heard about us, or that they’d remembered us from last time and were SO excited to hear us again. Word spreads well here. Like buttah.
We stayed with our new friend Robin (one of the waitresses from the bar) at her exquisite little Halloween house – we were exhausted but she treated us to the Family Guy Srtar Wars special and couldn’t sleep till it was sone. I could SO Live in Columbus.
Ah…. Billboards that say “Saturday, the true Lord’s Day – changed by the Antichrist.” Ahhh… Kentucky.
Huh. So… what if someone threw a festival with 60+ bands, three stages, a LOT of good lighting, really decent sound, nicer bathroom and shower tents than I’ve seen in ANY other festival and… no-one came? Rowan was saying “I guess a certain amount of resistance is good” as I typed that. I think my soul has been stained. The Nappy Roots are echoing around the practically empty fairground – and I DO mean echoing – they’ve got a sound set-up that rivals the smaller stages at a big stadium festival and the bass thump is ricocheting around the countryside. Even our little ole stage 3 had fantastic sound support.
But no-one came. Apparently, other than Seven Mary Three and Nappy Roots, we had the biggest crowd of any act of the festival – and I think we MIGHT have had 20 people in the audience. It was rather pathetic. And for as much sympathy as I have for all the artists, like ourselves, who really deserved good audiences (the Nappy Roots are apparently singing “Like a DONKEY in the CLUUUUWB”. Heather hypothesizes that this is a reference to the Democratic convention “So whack it! So whack it!!! WHACK THE DONKEY!!!” –
No close to these parantheses. It’s a fucking weird night. I can hear other bands giggling in their tents and I’m typing on Heather’s ass. Rowan is laughing and the Nappy Roots won’t shut up about the donkey that they appear to desire abused in a club environment (discotheque).
What
The
Fuck!?!?!?
ANd we’re not even high. We’ve turned down fistfuls of narcotics and alcohol, have been approached by WEIRD people and though we had an AWESOME jam session with some really cool people, mostly… what the fuck?!!?
The Nappy Roots have compared 9/11 to the death of Tupac and suggested that a proper celebration of both events would involve pot and grand marnier. That’s cool. I’m aight with that. I’m impressed with their professionalism – re: playing through sound debacles, lighting outages and a teeny teeny audience. I guess it’s not SO bad, when you bring your own bitches.
SMACK THAT DONKEY
