After a wonderful lunchtime feast of eggs, breads, meats, salads, beer and wine (!), we made the short trek from Salamanca to Madrid.
But no relief from hellish ones.
Mike absorbed the task of driving during Madrid's Friday rush hour.
Our worthless piece of shit GPS took us through a tunnel that rendered her clueless and useless.
We were perpetually 10 minutes away, but never 10 minutes away.
30 of those ten minutes were spent squeezing between Madrid's closet-sized side streets.
50 of those ten minutes were spent sitting in traffic that made NYC look like Dodge City.
90 of these minutes were spent looking at ham museums, more annoyingly beautiful women, and the Puerta de Toledo through a windshield that was more bugs than glass.
Persistence and dumb luck got us to the venue as people began buzzing to get into the show.
The dressing room came equipped with an acoustic guitar, a drum set, a vibraphone, and a vibraslap, so The Bitter Tears recorded a one rehearsal/one take birthday song for our friend Gillian with a G.
Last year we played one of our best sets at La Faena, an art space that looks more like a storage space at first. We were happy to share the bill once more with Tostadas and their soundtracks to unreleased David Lynch films.
I tried a new outfit tonight courtesy of Reid: a tight green girl's shirt about shoes, bright yellow early 90's rain paints, a brown doo rag and sleeping nightshades. During "Grieving" my slide whistle got caught in my underwear, so I played it. It looked like that thing that every teenage boy has tried but few have succeeded in doing. The nightshade played a role in my new bit for "Moline", where I slowly fall asleep while playing the gradually disappearing beat. The Bitter Tears and Madrid both had fun, so it worked out.
Afterward, our hosts Eli and Helena whipped up some delicious magro con arroz, and everyone gabbed about Star Trek Next Generation into the whee hours. Around 2, our suitcases rolled through Madrid's Mardi Gras of club goofs and futbol hooligans. They wore all that style stuff and chanted drunken sports dirges until "San Tropez".
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