St Louis is a strange town. It’s an intense combination of burnt-out hulk and meticulous care, collapsed roof and finely painted wall, falling-down drunks staggering out of the most beautiful bars in the country – and all of it swirls around that beautiful, enigmatic arch of metal. The gateway to the west is incandescent in the sunset and fades in and out of reality in the mist. Clouds flow under it and over it, through and around it. It shifts in colour and in tangibility and sometimes it’s velvet and warm and sometimes it’s steely, cold and brutal and sometimes it’s almost invisible and sometimes we can practically see it from Belleville.
We’ve been spending the week braving the rain and poking ourselves into different venues, different open mics. Columbia treated us well, playing radio shows and television shows, capping it all off with a gig at the Rocheport General Store. Such an unlikely oasis, we play in the window and I worry slightly that my flaming boots will end up going right through the old wood holding us up, but they like us loud and growling and it’s my favourite kind of space – something we fill with our souls – and by the end of the night I’ve whispered and screamed all of my dirty little secrets, packed the room tight with them – and you can hear the place creaking at the seams with us.
Last night we played the Shanti, deep in the heart of the Soulard District in St Louis, MO. I don’t completely remember how we first landed here, but it was at the request of Theresa, the owner and we play here every time we come through. It’s always a long show, some nights it’s grueling, it’s always tiring. By the end of the night we were exhausted but satisfied. It’s funny how even playing the same venue is different time after time. Usually we are playing to a large, rowdy crowd at the Shanti, but last night it was veritably deserted and the people who WERE there responded much more strongly to the slow material. Later in the night we had some more traffic, sped things up, got growly at them and pounded out some heavier tunes, but the first hour or so saw us being surprisingly gentle. It was a really gorgeous mix and by the end of the night, the bartender told us that she thought we’d never sounded better.
It’s funny. The employees always Love us – and though we endeavour never to just be playing to the bartender, or just the sound guy, or just the waitresses and the owner – there’s something pretty satisfying about knowing that we’re appealing to the what has GOT to be the most jaded, calloused ears in the room: the people who are stuck there night after night listening to band after band. It’s got to be about as satisfying as impressing ME!