We just played a fabulous show at the Parallel Wine Bistro in Broadlands, VA. Unless it’s Ashland. But it could be Broadlands. Google maps, Parallel’s website, Heather’s GPS and Reverbnation all have differing opinions, but I can’t get them all in a room together to hash it out. Shame really… it’s a great place that deserves to have a concrete address.
When I think about the bar gigs we play, I slowly begin to understand how weird they are. In most places I find myself worried that we’re too heavy. One place recently wrote us back and said they probably wouldn’t have us back because we were too quiet. Sheesh! At Parallel we definitely balance between the dinner moments and later in the evening when you’re rocking hard for the staff and the bar, and a bunch of die-hards that not only come to see us, but come to see us for the full four hours. It’s flattering as Hell, and lets us get away with what we LIKE to get away with: the ilyAIMY mélange of quirky covers and whatever originals are currently floating our boats. We sail through the set, ignoring requests unless they line up with something we know and, beyond that, are in the mood to play – and our audience tends to Love us for it. We tease with song fragments and then barrel into this and that and sometimes even the OTHER.
It’s a fun night. Closer to the end of the night the kitchen staff come out and dance, family members of the owner and his wife come out and frolic, the bartenders are relaxing and it all seems like one big family. I’m constantly amazed at how familiar Jason and Claudia (the owners) are with almost everyone that comes in – it’s frankly the way a business SHOULD be run, like some sort of ritzy, high-end Cheers where everybody knows our name, and when we’re on the calendar. The Mackie Thumps encourage me, and we thunder through the end of the set with more energy that by rights I ought to have, especially having somehow FORGOTTEN MY FINGERPICKS, playing with naked nails through much of the night.
We’re making our way home, my fingers are exhausted and my throat feels brutalized by the sheer force of singing my little heart out. I’d like… to lie…. In ice.
Ugh. Lying down. It occurs to me that my bedsheets are all in the fucking dryer. FAAAAIL.
Wandering Baltimore w my brother and Del and my nephew Max – visiting the Walter’s to boot!
