What if The Bitter Tears played some shows again, only this time we played them in different towns to different people? We posed this question to ourselves and created The B.Y.O.B.O.B.G.Y.N. Tour, a brief summer romp for women and men. First stop: Milwaukee.
It rained a lot for no reason. Nobody seemed to know why. The rain came down like it had a temper, enough to close the highway near the Wisconsin border. We took a detour by a dog track that dragged us through a lake. It was dark and forever but we made it to Milwaukee and the fabulous Sugar Maple.
We loaded our damp gear onto the stage, got pretty and began the show.
Good crowd that Milwaukee. Nice turnout for such a flake-friendly night. And polite, too. They engaged us in a mocking dialogue about America’s dairyland, which we blamed for getting our instruments all wet and dangerous. Alan supplied us with a new tooth rot color: green. Verdict: Thicker body, same great taste.
During “Moline,” Greg and Mike started a synchronized dance, and for a second they were the Famous Flames. With hemeroids. Alan’s audience-polarizing light stick eventually worked, paving the way for an observation from Greg about anti-semetic propaganda films that was almost polarizing.
Unfortunately, due to the soppiness we missed Pezzettino. But we did catch Scarring Party, who played tuba-tickled jim jams at 78 rpm. It was a good fit. We look forward to more megaphone crooning with them in Chicago soon.
Thanks to Bruno at Sugar Maple, we sampled lots of interesting beers that made us say funny, important things that we can’t remember. DJ from Ifihadahifi stopped by and we shared blurry anecdotes or opinions about vinegar and cilantro.
It was decided at 2am that for ninety minutes we should all eat omelettes. Except John, who remains unpredictable with a menu. I think he got a bagel for some reason. Isa from Scarring Party joined us and we talked about more memorable things that I don’t recall. I do remember that she was cool and the fluorescent lights were actually sky lights.
Shane Hochstetler put us up at his studio, Howl Street Recording. Too bad “Hitler Greg” wouldn’t let us record there. What a socialist fascist. On the walls hung tree bark from Europe, creating a rustic, cozy atmostphere for sleeping bag slumber.
I slept on a drum riser like a rock and roll animal in the wild; living, breathing, and snoring the Rock. I mean Country. I keep forgetting that we are a Country & Western band.
No comments:
Post a Comment