° Yeah You Rob Blog °

Hello, friends!  Rob here.

The first thing you need to know is that we have been listening to the following song in the van, on repeat and virtually uninterrupted, for the last three days. I strongly recommend giving it a listen as you peruse this article, as it will greatly enhance the authenticity of your reading experience:

Sorry for the lack of communication. The internet has been an elusive commodity over the last few days. We finished our long and winding journey down the length of America’s most suggestively-shaped state at around 4:30 local time yesterday. Andrew and I have been hearing about Key West for about five months now, and yet we have been woefully underprepared. This town has an interesting vibe. In places, it has the distinctly old-world character of a city like New Orleans or Charleston, but it’s still a beach resort, so you’ll see the occasional knicknack store where you can buy oddly-shaped bottles filled with dyed sand. There is a sense of compactness, of intimacy, that comes from being on such a small island.

Plus, this place be straight crazy. During sound check yesterday, we had to move the van so that a parade of Civil War reenactors could pass by The Green Parrot. A few minutes later, they came into the bar, off duty but in costume and some still in character (at least, I hope that’s why an 84-year-old woman told Zack to “go fuck himself” when he said he didn’t like the confederacy), propped their replica swords against the bar, and rocked with us. If that’s not a good sign, then I don’t know one.

It’s been a good week so far. Golly, it’s been so long I’m having trouble with where I should start. I suppose I should, in good conscience, go back to last weekend and start with Boo Radley’s in Mobile last Friday, but, truth be told, I’m well into the tour time-vortex by now and I’m having trouble remembering details of things further behind me than breakfast. The stage was interesting. It was divided in two small tiers, the first of which was four feet above the dance floor, and the second of which was four feet above that. It was dangerous, and there a few close scrapes, but nobody died.

Saturday, we had all of 18 hours to enjoy the beginning of Mardi Gras New Orleans. Krewe de Vieux, the subversive kickoff of the parade season, was as entertaining as always. We had a good time playing afterwards at Blue Nile, right in the thick of everything, but we had to make it as early a night as possible so we could get up early and make it to our Pensacolan friends Pat and Tara’s house for their Super Bowl party. We had Monday night off in Pensacola, and we spent it celebrating our dear friend Kitt Lough‘s birthday. Tuesday, it was a short drive to Tallahassee, where we received a very warm welcome. It was a very promising first visit, and I’m sure we’ll be back.

Not enough motel sleep later, The Revivalists were Miami-bound. As we were nearing the end of the eight-hour drive, somebody (probably using some kind of newfangled tellyphone-internet) discovered an important piece of information: New Orleans’ own king and queen of the quirked-out dance party, Quintron and Miss Pussycat, were playing at a venue in Miami called The Stage. What makes this all the more fortuitous is that The Stage’s owner, Eric, had seen the band last time we (minus Andrew and me plus other dudes) were in Key West, and so we already had a standing invitation to come check out the space. The room itself is great, and there’s a decent chance I’ll have more to say about it the next time we come down this way…

As for Quintron & Miss Pussycat, well, what can I say? What can ever truly be said about a puppet show about “drops” and oracles that gives way to an organ-driven dance party and, speaking of “organ-driven,” the organ in question is a custom job styled so the side facing the audience looks like a vintage Cadillac, complete with working headlights?

Actually, that.

The next night’s show is Miami was challenging, but fun. We had to contend with pouring rain and the technical issues that are simply unavoidable when trying to put a large band with far too many instruments in a relatively small space, but the bartender, Mario, kept us in good spirits and Araka, the local band with whom we were sharing the bill, was absolutely fantastic. Our friends in New Orleans might be seeing them soon.

And speaking of soon, I need to eat some food and do some Key West stuff.  I haven’t done anything but type today, and, last I checked, I’m still in paradise. So I’ll be leaving you now. Even though I’ll be home next Wednesday, I can’t make any promises for the next few updates because we’ll be arriving at home in the thick of Mardi Gras, and somehow we’ll be shooting our first music video amid the insanity. But please know that it’s all for a good cause. I’ve got to get as much living done as I possibly can before the world ends in 213 days. Have a good one!

POSTSCRIPT: The Green Parrot streams all of its performances live over the internet. If you’re interested, you can watch us at 10:00 PM and 12:30 AM tonight and 5:30 PM tomorrow (ALL TIMES ARE EASTERN TIME ZONE TIMES) at http://greenparrot.com/index.php/bar-cam/

Hello, friends!  Rob here.

I’m going to go ahead and say that this weekend was an unmitigated success.  Friday proved to be our best show in Baton Rouge to date.  There must have been at least 200,000 people crammed into Bogie’s, and we all had a nice little surprise during “Hurricane Winslow” when we realized the audience was singing along so loud that we could hear them onstage.  It was definitely one of those “this is why I want to do this” shows, where it’s all about everybody getting together and feeling as one and just having a good time.

So after all that hippie crap, we still had enough leftover energy to cross the street and have an apartment dance party.  The apartment was set at the back of a complex which I can only assume is occupied exclusively by LSU students who don’t mind when their neighbors blast Michael Jackson at four in the morning.

PROTIP: “Well, it’s too late to buy beer, but we’ve got this bottle of rum that we can pass around” is a horrible idea.

Awesome diner breakfast the next morning was entirely necessary.  We were in a few different places when we woke up on Sunday, so, despite our plans to get up (relatively) early and experience Lafayette, we didn’t start to make our way out of Baton Rouge until after five.  Fortunately it was a short drive and our set-up at Blue Moon Café was relatively minimal, so we arrived in Lafayette in time to sound check, eat dinner, and even sneak in a few van-naps before the show.

We were surprised to find that we were not opening for Lost Bayou Ramblers, as we initially thought, but that they would be playing first.  It kind of made sense though, because we were so much louder than them and that tends to be the natural progression of music shows.  Which is not to say that the Lost Bayou Ramblers could be considered less energetic or awesome than we are.  They were perfectly suited for the semi-outdoor hoedown vibe at Blue Moon, and good heavens are they a great band.  At one point I actually ran away from a conversation so I could return to the stage area to watch them cover “My Generation.”  In French.

Then it was our turn!  According to a banner hanging over the stage, our friends Toby and Paige were both celebrating their 21st birthdays (call it a “soft 21″ for Toby, and oddly enough, we’ve seen Paige at a lot of 21+ shows in the past…), so it was a very friendly crowd by the time we took the stage.  We had heard whispers of some noise ordinance that would cause us trouble if we played at our usual volume or stayed onstage past midnight, but we were either lucky or misinformed, because we were able to play at a comfortable level until about 12:30 with no complaints.  As with Baton Rouge, the crowd was tightly packed and fiercely enthusiastic.  And since we had to stop relatively early, we were even able to get home before 4:00 AM, which, in our line of work, is pretty good for a Saturday.

All in all, this was one of the best weekends The Revivalists have ever had in “the rest of Louisiana.”  And now, 2012 begins in earnest.  This upcoming weekend will see us band-ponging from Mobile (Boo Radley’s on Friday) to New Orleans (post Krewe de Vieux at Blue Nile!) to Pensacola for a repeat of last year’s utterly ridiculous (in a good way) Super Bowl Bacchanal at the Baril household.  After that, we’ll be at AJ’s in Tallahassee on Tuesday as we start to work our way back down to Key West.  “Back,” of course, being a relative term, as Andrew and I missed the band’s previous trip to the Southernmost tip of the continental US.

Regardless, what this means is that we’ll be off in the wind somewhere and I may not be able to provide you with a Blog Wednesday next week.  Please don’t kill yourself over it.  Especially since the end of the world is going to do that for you in 223 days anyway.  Either way, don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll find time to reconnect with all of you wonderful people over the next week or so.

In the meantime, so you don’t get lonely without me, I’ll be ending this blog with a bit of freedia (not bounce superstar Big Freedia, but rather the combination of the words “free” and “media” for which he/she was undoubtedly named).  As you may recall, a few weeks ago we were visited by our dear Nashvillian friend Jonathan Pears, who joined Dave, Zack and myself in recording an acoustic version of “When I’m Able.”  Well, it is now currently available for your listening pleasure right down at the bottom of this here internet page, along with indisputable photographic evidence that at one point the four of us were all sitting down in front of microphones in the same room.  Enjoy!  See you in sunny Florida!

The Revivalists – When I’m Able (Acoustic)

Hello, friends!  Rob here.

First, a bit of entirely pleasant business to attend to.  We’ve been ironing out our next trip to Pensacola (late March!  Woooo!) and I realized that two weeks ago, in my hurry to brag about selling out Vinyl in Pensacola, I neglected to mention that we didn’t do it alone.  We were supported by a wonderful Pensacolan group called Timberhawk.  They’re a working band, and they’re capable of performing long cover sets at the local beach haunts, but their original music is also downright fantastic and boy, wouldn’t it be great if they’d play with us again sometime…

Anyway, hi!  How are you?  Good to hear it.  I’m doing great, thanks.  It’s been a crazy little blur of days for The Revivalists.  Green Bar in Tuscaloosa is always entertaining, and that probably goes double for Waffle House after a show.  Late night Waffle House is the kind of place where weirdos tend to come crawling out of the woodwork, and usually I have to spend a few minutes looking around for them before I  remember that I’m sitting at the head of their table.

Woke up in Brimingham on Friday (thanks to Leslie and Jodi for the floor space and clean towels!) and hopped over to Montgomery.  Montgomery, Montgomery.  What a magical place.  We played at a club called Alley Bar, which was an interesting mix of elements.  The venue space was a sort of repurposed parking garage/loading dock type of area with a good sound system, a limited bar and a nice big stage.  It was a pretty big room, and we had a good time filling it with people, sound and friendship.  But then, attached to this venue space, is the main bar area (barea?).

Alley Bar itself is a large, stylish bar with just enough of an upscale feel to not quite seem intimidating.  BUT!  There is even more!  For within this bar is yet another bar.  A sub-bar, if you will.  The sub-bar is a small room completely enclosed by mostly glass where the temperature is kept at a near-freezing temperature (don’t worry, the bar keeps a few gaudy fur coats outside in case you don’t have one) so they can serve shots of various liquors and liqueurs in shot glasses made out of ice.  MADE out of ICE.  And then, when you’re done, you get to throw your ice shot glass on the floor like a peanut shell at a Texas Roadhouse, where it will hopefully shatter in a sufficiently awesome manner.

Three sets and one bottle of cinnamon whiskey later, we were all packed up.  Before heading to our hotel, we decided to actually check out the nightlife for once.  Unfortunately, it was about four in the morning at this point.  Fortunately, that wasn’t a problem.  A mere block away from Alley Bar there was an underground jazz club called Sous la Terre that had all the grit and character of any number of seedy New Orleans dives, with one distinct advantage: When I said “underground,” I didn’t mean “obscure,” or “subversive,” or “illicit” (although at least two of those words certainly apply).  I mean it was literally under the ground, which, as any good geologist will tell you, doesn’t happen very often in New Orleans.

There were two musicians playing while we were there: a keyboardist who was probably in his fifties, and a trumpet player who could have been the other man’s grandfather.  Now, in my opinion, “really old jazz musicians” rank just below “avalanche survivors” in terms of the measure of respect they deserve, so I’m not going to sit here typing words and words about how old this guy was, but he probably didn’t ride his bicycle to the gig.  There was a mysterious blue concoction behind the bar that they served in shot form.  It tasted blue.  The band brought the house down with a rendition of “Lean on Me” and then we were tired and it was time to sleep.

Saturday probably couldn’t have gone much better.  After an uneventful drive back from Montgomery (which is really all we can ask from a drive these days), we arrived at the Howlin’ Wolf, set up, sound checked, and dispersed to clean up for a big night at home.  I admit I was a bit worried about having so many bands on the bill, but the entire thing went off, as far as I could tell, without a hitch.  Unfortunately, I was too busy selfishly attending to my own hygienic and dietary needs to catch some of the earlier bands, but Gold and the Rush, Sun Hotel and Habitat all killed, and then it was our turn.  All I am going to say about our show is thanks to everyone for showing up and thanks again for staying and keeping up the energy and one final thank you for catching Dave when he jumped off of that speaker.

Sunday and Monday were all about Liveset.  We were a bit wary about doing a full-band acoustic performance through two microphones because of how loud and complicated our shows usually are, so Team Liveset was kind enough to indulge us with a little tech rehearsal/run through on Sunday.

With everything in place, we arrived at the French Quarter house on a beautiful Monday afternoon and just had fun.  It feels weird saying this about a show where the audience was watching us from computers in different states, but it was a great way to interact with all of the friends who tuned in to watch.  Despite the lack of a physical audience (apart from eight Liveset people and a few passers-by who watched through the open front door), there was a great sense of togetherness and the show took on an almost conversational tone.  Thanks to Rachel, Ross, Ben the engineer (“Bengineer” for short), Ben the cameraman, Tyler, Sky (possibly Skye), Johanna and Hunter for making the event possible, and thanks to Liveset as a whole for providing such a wonderful platform for artists to connect with audiences.  Hopefully they won’t mind a repeat performance sometime down the line.

Speaking of “down the line,” shows this weekend!  Baton Rouge Friday!  Lafayette Saturday!  Done.  Alright, I’m outta here.  Keep it real.  But also remember that it’s only 329 days til the end of the world, so you’ll need to keep it real with an appropriate sense of urgency.