As we drive through Western Indiana, passing cows who are no doubt scientifically pointing in the wrong direction, we are optimistic in the gentle snow. Last night’s show at the Columbus Bar was everything I’d hoped it would be – a lot of fun, lucrative, exhausting and satisfying. The people there are great, fans and staff, the food is fantastic (though, note to self: Scotch eggs go in the category of bacon mushroom cheeseburgers i.e. things I do NOT eat on the road) and we always have a fun time. We took advantage of Earth Hour to allow ourselves to be the lone pool of light in the bar, playing hard over the heads of the patrons.
There isn’t much out there that’s near as satisfying as playing a really great gig. It’s sort of like sex but with a LOT more people… and without the social awkwardness that such a vast-reaching tryst would invoke.
I-70 unfurls ahead of stunning in its beauty. Farmland on either side, the grey ceiling broken by sudden shafts of golden sun reflecting in trenches of standing water in the fields on either side. The snow tapered off replaced by patchy sunlight and has now completely dissolved to blue skies with the sun shining warm at us from low on the horizon. Driving west for an evening gig puts the full glare of the beast right in our eyes but the red and gold is welcome after the monochrome of the last several days.
Last night’s gig had been punctuated by thunderstorms and drenched smokers had spent the night peering in at us from outside, silhouetted by flashes of lightning. Here, further west and later in time the traces of those stalking storms are swiftly vanishing, with nothing but the occassional puddle reflecting the bluing sky to remind us of the earlier precipitation.
I often feel like some of our favourite venues are our private secrets. Places that we’ve stumbled upon by chance that have become perfect homes to us, filled with the friendliest people who support us with all their might. Columbus Bar, Victoria Station, the Rocheport General Store, the Saint Charles Coffeehouse, our own home venue of Java Mammas… they are scattered around the country but I would gladly schedule tours solely around them.
As the light drains out of the graying sky on I-70 I’m getting kind of romantic. We’re listening to Big Head Todd and the Monsters, “Midnight Radio” has long been one of my favourite albums – it was introduced to me when Audrey and I drove up to Will Schaff and Mary Hentz’ wedding in her mom’s brown minivan a BILLION years ago. It reminds me of New England road trips and how beautiful a sloppily, passionately played guitar solo can be. I recommend you check it out.
By now we’ve listening to another hour of Harry Potter and switched on the radio to the inescapable presence of a classic rock station bringing us the inevitable strains of Tiny Dancer. Despite the fact that we’ve probably heard this song at least ONCE every time we’ve driven for more than four hours at a clip, there’s still a comforting familiarity to it.
