Let me tell you all about the wonderful things about last night’s show at the B#%#y #% in #%**#%. About three songs into our Blue Sky Riders set last night, a woman in the audience at the foot of the stage right in front of Kenny handed him a note that said, “Play your OLD stuff!” We have a line in our song “Dream” that says “As if all I’ve been’s all I’m ever gonna be for the rest of my life.” I would like to have that line engraved on a beautiful piece of wood, possibly Mahogany or Teak… and #%%* her across the ##^*%.
We have had a terrific run of great shows. But, you may ask, how do we know they’re great if there is nothing to compare them to? We need what’s known in the scientific community as a “control.” This is a show we can compare every new show to… and basically say…”Well, at least it wasn’t #%^%#!”
Last night was #%^*%#. First of all we were a million miles above sea level. Why is it that when we are at sea level the clubs are all on one level… or in subterranian caves? Last night we had three flights of stairs separating the stage from the dressing rooms. Three flights of gasping for the tiny bits of oxygen that was underachieving enough to remain hanging around in that altitude. “I left my phone by the stage? Screw it. I’ll buy a new one tomorrow.”
The sound both in the club and on the stage was challenging. “Challenging” in the same ways that Charles Manson was “Acting out.” Voices came, voices went. Great kudos to Matt and Vern for forever making us sound even remotely like a band in situations where we really are nothing more than six people all playing loud at the same time. Like the Grateful Dead in ’67.
Audiences in tourist towns like this are always hard to get to warm up to you. Like the lady with the note. She wanted two hours of history and was willing to crawl over our shattered self- esteem to get it. This was the exception. It’s not like 99% of the audiences don’t get what we’re doing out here. We have been warmly received (usually) from the first note of “Feelin’ Brave,” to the last note of the encore we sometimes get. They understand what the note lady (heretofore referred to as NL) didn’t. If all we’ve been’s all we’re ever gonna be…. then where’s the fun in being?
A tough night just makes us anxious to play the next show… to set the universe right again… to get back on the horse that threw us…. to prove to NL that there is beauty in discovery, joy in the unknown… that the songs you dismiss today because they’re not familiar… might be the songs you write on napkins requesting five years from now.
Getting too excited. Hard to breath.