[WARNING – THIS BLOG FEATURES ADULT THEMES SUCH AS CURSE WORDS, LIQUOR, AND MARQUEE LETTERS BEING REARRANGED TO SAY THINGS ABOUT GENITALS]
Hello friends, Rob here.
It’s late. I’m curled up on an air mattress in a room in Dave’s awesome sister’s house. We had a day off today. They made pasta and mozzarella sticks. We watched football, then football, then a movie about football. We used a nifty iPad application (fuck the living hell out of the word “app”) to make beats that we’re never going to use. I stayed indoors all day.
We’ve managed to pack some pretty serious touring in since last time I checked in. Saturday we cheated on our touring partners, The Blue Party, to open for Rebirth Brass Band in Atlanta. That was a fun night, we played good notes, and I got to meet some very nice people, but none of us were really up to anything after what happened on Friday.
In order to describe Friday in a single word, I’m going to have to find a word that means “good,” but also means “bad.” And that doesn’t just mean Friday was “okay,” or “mediocre,” or anything like that. Friday wasn’t in the middle of the spectrum. It wasn’t on any spectrum. Last Friday does not exist in the physical realm, it does not fit onto a Likert scale. On a scale of 1 to 10, Last Friday was orange.
Last Friday was very orange.
First of all, it was a double header for both us and The Blue Party. It ended up being some tricky business where we opened up venue one, using mostly The Blue Party’s gear, then jetted off to venue two. While TBP headlined at venue one, we headlined venue two. Then, The Blue Party packed up, came over to venue two just as we were wrapping up, and played a late-night set, using mostly our gear. It sounds complicated, but for pros1 like us it was a fairly simple and well-executed2 process.
So that happened. We put on two great3 shows, and though we didn’t get to see The Blue Party’s first set, if their late-night performance was any indication, they killed it. We had a nice cross-band superjam featuring a groove The Revivalists worked out with T, the Blue Party’s enigmatic bassist, when he filled in for George on a summer tour a few years ago.
And then we stayed at the bar until seven in the morning.
I’ll spare my parents the indignity of having to absorb and rationalize a detailed summary of the evening’s bad decisions, but I will say the following about our very long evening at The Nick in Birmingham, Alabama: There is an aging biker named Jaguar who will not let you get drunk and grab his beard, no matter how much he claims to have enjoyed your saxophone playing. I tried to buy a t-shirt from the bar and, because the bartender wasn’t tall enough to reach the stockroom shelf where they keep them, Ed went behind the bar to get it for me. He wasn’t happy when the medium I asked for was too small and he had to go back for a large. Some wretched vandals who are totally not us did this (LINKED PHOTO IS POTENTIALLY OFFENSIVE) to the marquee. Also, The Nick is awesome because of this sign:
At one point I demanded a girly drink from the bartender and ended up with a tequila sunrise. By goodness (like goodness had anything to do with it) I was still drinking it when the sun came up. That’s probably going to be the wildest night of this tour. Blame it on The Blue Party, they’re bad eggs. The whole lot of ‘em.
We’ll be back with them tomorrow in Tuscaloosa. See you there!
1: complete amateurs
2: unnecessarily complex and repeatedly bungled
3: actually, yeah, they were pretty great