I saw a great band yesterday. I had random encounters with strangers. I discovered I can go back to MOTR without perforating my eardrums. It’s all here.
I’ve been confused for someone else at least six times in the last eighteen months. I know who my doppelganger is. She bartends at The Lackman. Strangers approach me, and after a short awkward exchange, ask if I work at The Lackman. At my negative response, the stranger suddenly understands why I was looking at them blankly while he/she was greeting me as a friend. I do bear a slight resemblance to this woman. We have big blue eyes and sandy brown hair. That’s where the similarities end. I have a few inches on her; she has a few years on me. Our hair styles are considerably different. There is one other commonality, that I think is at the root of most people’s confusion. We are both obvious lesbians.
I ran into her yesterday having drink, and decided to have a chat with my not-so-much double. When I relayed my experiences, she laughed and said she experiences similar things. Lesbian confusion. I’m pretty sure it’s a thing, and it’s happening to me. At least my doppelganger is pleasant. A really great conversation ensued, clearly, since I was talking to myself.
After a stellar chicken sandwich at The Eagle, I headed to MOTR to see Whiskey Gentry. I haven’t been to MOTR in a few months. While I love that they book great music seven days a week, the volume in there is at a 12,345 of 10. The noise level is high enough that my ears feel raped with ear plugs in. There is zero possibility of speaking to any human unless you want to shout centimeters away from their ear, and even then you will need to repeat yourself several times. Since it already feels like years of your hearing are vanishing by the minute, I usually resort to texting the person I am standing next to.
Last night, I had a most welcome surprise. MOTR got a new sound system. They got new lights. AND PRAISE BE TO THE GODS OF THE CILIA OF MY INNER EAR, the volume was at a reasonable level. It was loud, but not intolerably so. I was thrilled to discover this as Whiskey Gentry did their sound check.
I wanted to see these guys at Midpoint this fall, but they cancelled the day of their show. See blog post about that here. I would call them folk or alt country. There’s a little 50’s country, bluegrass, and folk in there. And unlike pop country, their lyrics are about more than trucks, tractors and women. Plus, there’s pedal steel, the fiddle, and banjo in their recordings. I’m a sucker for some pleasant banjo. The lead vocalist has a warm buttery voice; weirdness aside, I want her to sing me lullabies. Check ’em out.
They were worth the wait. The vocalist sounded spectacular. I was disappointed that the banjo player wasn’t out with them. It gave their performance a little more of a rock edge. Apart from this tiny bummer, they sounded tight. The guitarist and fiddler were full of energy, while the vocalist had a cool reserve. It created an interesting dynamic. The cool collected woman at the center of a couple of guys nearly off the rails.
Between the pleasant sound level, the great performance, and the excellent people watching, I had a super night. My partner wasn’t feeling well, so she took a pass on seeing the show. I like going out by myself. I enjoy keeping to my thoughts in a crowd. However, I’ve noticed that strangers, especially drunk strangers, like to talk to me. This rarely happens when I am out with friends, but when I’m alone I am often approached. Last night was no exception.
I sat outside after the show to enjoy a rare smoke. A pretty young woman teetered out of the bar and headed my way. She had hipster glasses and skinny jeans, coupled with a spectacularly ugly 80’s hand bag. She tilted her head, slow smiled and asked, “are you lonely?” It was cute. But I am taken, and I was thinking of how to respond politely to Flirty McDrunkerson while still communicating my lack of interest. I settled on, “actually, no, but you are welcome to join me.” That seemed to do the trick. We chatted a bit, before I headed inside.
I ordered one more beer and closed out my tab. After scanning the bar, I found a seat open in the corner where I could relax, and watch the drunken mess that was forming. Quiet time lasted exactly three minutes. A woman approached, and I was relieved when I realized her friends were sitting just ahead of me. After a few seconds of chatting with them, she abruptly turned to me and talked as though we had just left off a few minutes before. I got over my annoyance quickly, because this woman knows her local music. We had a great talk about the Bunbury line-up. Turns out she knows the person responsible for booking, and we debated the merits of this years line-up vs past line-ups. Our thirty minute talk was nice, but it earned me a stink-eye from her boyfriend. It probably didn’t help that she failed to noticed he called her 3 times while we were yammering on and on about Kishi Bashi and X Ambassadors. Hopefully, that didn’t result in too much discord.
So that was my day. I saw great music. I had random conversations with strangers. I took some pictures. It was a wonderful 18 hours.