Well, our two shows in San Antonio sure were different. The first night we met up with Kristen’s Uncle Joe and headed over to the idyllic environs of Fralo’s Art of Pizza. We were playing outside with low-scudding clouds and good breezes, apparently right on the edge of some storm clouds. The manager said it was one of those awkward nights where the weather turns OUT beautiful but if you look out the window it sure LOOKS like a storm is on its way – and indeed the whole night it seemed we were right on the division. A little squinting and a bit of imagination could convince you that the rain was just on the other end of the street – but where we were, lit by overhanging and tree-bound lights, on the Fralo’s stage – it couldn’t have been nicer.

Plus or minus the fact that I was beginning to feel really, really ill. Limbs heavy, head pounding, sweating despite the temperature and stomach roiling… the fact that the sparse audience wasn’t really giving us anything was only part of the problem and I struggled to give what I had before we retreated back to our bed for the night. Vicious cramping and stomach issues kept me up till five or later and I was NOT really ready for the next day.

Well, or so I thought. We met up with Joe for lunch and I went light – probably the only time I’ve ever ordered just a fruit salad, and there were moments when I was worried I wasn’t going to keep it down…. But over the course of the next 4 hours or so of walking and boating around San Antonio I persevered…. I’m glad I did. It’s rare that we’ve got a guide and I’m glad Joe was there to show us around. We did touristy things – took a boat tour of the River Walk, went to the Alamo, took pictures with the Predator… you know, same old same old, but it was a great day. We retired for a much welcome nap before then heading out again for a very different show.

Cobra on top, cocks below. Above – glad we were following Uncle Joe who was suddenly waving at us pointing out this beautiful Shelby Cobra on the streets of San Antonio, TX. Below – while searching for parking for our gig at Sanchos ran across this cock-fighting mural on the back of the building…

So Fralo’s, despite it’s location, felt like being back in Austin again. Outdoor venue, hanging lights, beautiful twisted trees… Sancho’s on the other hand felt more… Texan. (Yes, Austin is Texas but it’s kind of its own thing). Corrugated metal walls, huge open bar that confused open and outdoor space, dim lighting, margaritas – the first woman we met was a flamenco dancer, the second the pig farmer that supplied all the pork for the venue and the third the bartender who owned the bar. Now THIS was my kind of place! Once we took the stage, Mexican Mule in my hand and a frozen avocado martini in Kristen’s, the house crowd here was a LOT more enthusiastic than the night before and good times were thoroughly had. I fought back my physical laments and found vim AND vigour, even some pep – and I felt like we were really doing what we DO – wailing loudly into the night on a weekday in the hot nights of Texas… I need to learn to play a little slide.

Today we’re finally east-bound – and mostly because my body’s still fighting me I think there’s some semblance of relief. Tonight we join up with Sharif and get to be a trio on stage at JP Hops. This may be a bit of an adventure because we’ve been toying with this foot percussion and we might be a wee bit sloppy. On the other hand I think it’s going to be such a good time that it’s not going to matter.

White poofy clouds, blue sky, Led Zeppelin. I-10’s a straight shot to Houston and New Orleans beyond and all we have to do is hit the cruise control and point the wheel. We pass through people’s very, very complex Lives – just getting a taste of relationships and worries, concerns and small, personal catastrophes. I feel like we’re riding a strange, thin bridge over chasms of other peoples’ despair. We get to be a distraction for them and I’m so very grateful that for us, and at least for this moment, things feel very, very simple.

Crossing Woman Hollering Creek as we return from our western-most point on this trip – a not-so-local legend gives colour to the name of this creek – the tale of a woman who, after who Love spurned her due to her pregnency, throws the child into the rushing waters. Horrified by what she’s done, of course she doesn’t win him back and when the woman finally dies, alone and bleak, Saint Peter says that she actually CAN come to heaven – IF she goes back to Earth and finds the soul of her slain child – and so she wanders the waterways of Mexico and Texas calling for the babe…

upComing & inComing

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