Monday, November 20, 2006

Saturday was a most amazing day/night.

I've been going pretty hard-core lately, what with school and work and band and all the other things that go into being a human resident of planet Eugene. I often think of my many friends who seem to also be pushing themselves into an exhaustive, cathartic state of art-worship and party culture that kind of defines the state of our intersecting music and social scene - Mr Random, Shawn Mediaclast, my girl Tina and many other bands and persons. Why do we do it? Work at our jobs to survive, spend precious few moments with our families some weekends, go out and play in our bands or dj gigs or performance stuff or whatever, only to return to school/work on Monday, frazzeledand burnt-out, only to do the same thing all over again the next weekend. That being said, I must tell you of my Saturday experience.
Saturday evening started out pretty well. After a pleasant family dinner of stir-fry and rice - we often enjoy a nice, healthy meal before going off to our various rock and roll events. I dropped Cosmo off at the McDonald Theatre, where the Cherry Poppin' Daddies were playing and then I was off to KWVA, where the Underlings were slated to play live, on-the-air.
Mike Z, Dylan and I played pretty damn well on the Baker's Ball show. It was totally fun; the fun was total. I think we sounded pretty good, also.
Later, I loaded some gear for Tina's gig at the Downtown Lounge and then made my way to John Henry's for my gig. Mikey and I hung at SNAFU club for a drink and then to D-Lo to hang with the Ov's a bit, finally making it back to our show, ready to play at 1 am or so.
When we hit the stage, it was like a sack of wet corn-meal splatting on a sidewalk. We played what was possibly the worst show ever - well, at least the worst show I've played since the Garden Weasel show at the Jambalaya club in Arcata circa October 1991. It was...terrible! We fucking bombed, worse than I can remember having ever bombed before. I couldn't even tell that drums were being played. Dylan broke a bass string. I forgot my lyrics and felt like I was in a vaccuum of suck-ness. What was to blame? The patron saint of unconcious drummers worldwide, alcohol? Or was it just that the stars mis-aligned and pulled is into the vomitrous nebula of anti-music? I gave up and lay down onstage and just let chaos reign. We couldn't even finish a song all the way through. It was either hilarious or disaserous or both. But at least it will make a good story for the grand kids.

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