We’ve fallen on our feet in a good place again. If you’re ever in St Louis and you have a craving for some late night Magic, or beer… or coffee, or pool… or us – check out Coffee on Grand where they have all of the above. I’m hanging out with the owner and a guy who can go round per round in Transformers trivia, and I’m hoping to trade a CD for a deck of cards… there’s just something really, really cool about a coffeeshop that’s open till 3am and sells Magic cards.
We’ve spent the last couple of nights in Columbia, Missouri and I think I’m finally coming to relax after so many rough days in a row. Columba was surprisingly comfortable, but I’ve got to admit that’s mostly thanks to ilyARCHangel Susan and her support and the support of her friends.
Columbia is a Lovely left-wing arts town in the middle of midwest America, filled to the brim with recycling bins and hippie chicks. We got in late on Saturday after a drive that went from 9am in Boulder, CO to almost 11pm in Missouri. Exhausted and feeling sort of like we’d been beaten with sticks, we were introduced to our host for the night and collapsed gratefully into bed.
Our stay in Columbia had originally been promising but dissolved into an exercise in miscommunication and frustration as venue after promised venue evaporated. We’d finally rolled in with lowered hopes and lower spirits and had expected it to be little more than a way-station. Sunday morning we got up early to do a radio show which and then made our way over to Cooper’s Landing to play a slightly low-energy show.
And we had the best time ever. We were just in time for the launching of the Plan B and got a ride up the Big Muddy on her illustrated back. A very distracting beast – Sunday was her first day of the year in the water and halfway through our gig she was slowly ratcheted into the Missouri River and I suddenly found myself looking into the right earhole of every audience member – it was impossible not to stare – Sparky’s Plan B is a beautiful house boat, painted and massive, with all the personality of the tattooed lady at the circus. After our show we were approached slowly, cautiously, and then offered a ride – there was no way we could say no.
Into the glowing sunset with us. Sparky is reknown on the river, it’s fabled that he can navigate the river in the darkness by sense of feel, and I’m grateful for this reputation as we push into the centre of this swollen, rushing monster. We catch resting pelicans in mid-migration and it’s warm enough that it’s comfortable and cold enough that there are no mosquitoes and the dying sun is beautiful….
The latter is really a rarity. We went over really, really well and landed ourselves some word-contract bookings, but when I saw some of the locals I was really blown away. A couple of acts after us was a four-piece old-timey sort of act with an upright bass player who sang and played with a violent passion that made me fear for his fingers and made me understand the duct tape on his instrument. They even attacked a swing version of “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak.
Enter Hooten Hollar. I have never seen anything like this unnatural howlng force. Everything that in my heart i’m against – drugs and feverish self-destruction and the wrecklessness of the Lifestyle that as a traveling musician I’m SUPPOSED to be embracing… Johnny made this brand of indendiary nihilism sound attractive…. With the hungry growl of George Thorogood crossed with the Love child of Brian Setzer (if he was a hairy MAN and not just a little swing kid) and Kurt Kobain’s guitars and a drummer of the “fuck you I don’t need a mic” school – this punk rockabilly was like nothing I’d ever heard before.