I play a game with a couple of friends as we’re traveling. Itext them exit names as we pass them and they write me back stories as if they were character names in their RPGs. We passed an exit with Wallingford goingone way and Meriden going the other – bios for Wallingford Meriden go somethinglike :
“Human captain of the gaurd thrust into office as mayor bythe will of the people he defended but desperatley hating it”
Guen – she’s a dungeon master and it shows. She’s a VERBAL person…
Our drummer Joey took more time in getting back to me, which I guess is fine cause he’s got a lot going on – but it was well worth the wait :
“From a wealthy town in the north, where the large city wasnot quite so big as to estrange the citizens of one neighborhood from another,her world was one of strict rules and planned engagements. One such event, her18th birthday, was to be a celebration the likes of which the town had neverseen. Her parents had been quite wealthy, as had been those of her recentfiancé.
But the wide world outside of the town knew and carednothing for the hopes and dreams of a provincial girl entering womanhood. Theworld cares for nothing that it cannot buy, sell, or otherwise exploit. Shelearned this when a legion of vicious orcs, under the command of humans clad inred and gold armor, ransacked her city the night before her party was to beheld. She was captured, sold, transported south, and in a few months time shefound herself the handmaiden of a benevolent noblewoman.
A year passed, pleasant compared to the short but brutaltime she spent under the dominion of the orcs and mercenary men. During thistime, she came to adore the noblewoman, though never forgetting she wasbasically a slave, and she grew familiar and comfortable with the customs ofthe south. Suddenly, her lady passed away in the night-foul play always asuspicion among those of the court.
Confusing, strained, and tumultuous weeks later, she wascalled from her new home at the city’s common living space to a courthouse.There she was informed that the lady, captor though she had been in title, haddone all she could for this young and troubled life she had taken in.Everything that the lady had owned was in no uncertain terms left to Wallingford. Now, nearly 20 years of age, far removed from her family, friends,and anything she had ever planned for her life, she found herself a noblewomanof a southern city with riches that would last her lifetimes even if livinglavishly.
In her gut, she knew instantly why this had happened. Assoon as she returned to what was now her estate she began barking orders,kindly but firmly to all her servants, as she had seen done for the past year.Armor. Weapons. She would serve the realm with her youth and her fire. Shewould spend her fortune in the defense of others, and her life in search ofthose like her who may continue and spread the spirit of justice.
Her first task, of course, was to find the mercenaries…andend them.”
And so we while away the miles…
We drove up to Connecticut on Thursday night to gut the Friday drive down to something easy –then Friday we rolled to Stoughton to play a bar gig. We owned the room despite the World Series Baseball game thing in which the home team was a contender – except for the loudest lady collective in the history of lady collectives.
I’d been struggling with the sound and though I was aware the room was fucking LOUD I hadn’t registered that this was NOT because the room wasn’t paying attention – when we got the sound finally squared away I slowly realized that the room was actually dialed in – it was this ONE FUCKING TABLE that was producing enough noise that I simply hadn’t realized that the entire rest of the bar was absolutely rapt. It was just this one table. They got hushed multiple times, and got really bitchy with the staff and perhaps this increased their desire to stick it out through the entire night being spectacularly unpleasant to all those around them. It sucks to let one table ruin the night but… voila.
Last night was the absolute opposite. The Westport Sessions, a new series put together by singer/songwriter guitarist extraordinaire Stephen Pelland, took place in a tiny coffeehouse in the dark woods of Massachusetts. Beautiful setting, absolutely focused audience, beautiful sounding room. Afterwards we went back to Steve’s little… well, it’s not a BEACH house though it sort of feels like one… was it a Marsh House? A Dock House? Not sure – but it was Lovely and cozy and perfect. The squalls of cold rain stayed with us through the night so we didn’t see the water till this morning, but Sunday’s greeted us with silver light and wet, fiery leaves. The drive from beautiful, rural Massachusetts back to Connecticut is a winding path of interstates and two lane roads punctuated by repurposed mill towns and churches, ponds and 18-wheelers. The patches of sunshine are getting fewer and further between, the sky is lowering. We’re off to ride a train and hopefully the weather will hold – but I have the suspicion that locomotives in the rain are just as picturesque as locomotives in the sun.
Steve Pelland’s Westport Sessions – this room was PACKED by the end of the night! Steve Pelland opening for us at his series Westport Sessions. Originally envisioned as a house concert, Steve has moved WS to a cute coffeehouse – the Wild Honey Cafe. A good crossing of paths, Jonathan was last seen at Bones Fest in Ithaca, NY – it was great to have him in the audience, though it would’ve been BETTER to rehearse a bones song or two with him!
