For soothe we slept and awoke like scattered buttons, our pants still wet with the night's rain. The skies had cleared and we made mountains of coffee, kissed our philly lass last goodbyes and got on the road shortly after noon that day. Only to discover that our second show of the tour, in Baltimore, had also fallen through.
I think we were booked in Baltimore more than any other city, one spot had actually gone out of business a month before an sent me an apology email. Now, en route, a series of half communiques, unreturned calls and emails, and then Abi is suddenly on the horn with someone at the Copycat, but he's getting on a bus heading to Richmond in an hour, fuddle. But we are going this way too, tomorrow morning sir, if you stay Minivan Morrison would happily take you. Agreed. And this was too prearranged to not feel like a miracle.
We arrived on a bridge outside the enormous warehouse that would be our home for the night. Feels like Brooklyn. What warm people, a collective, they are fragile and open, I'm shut up like a clam but can still shudder out a smile. And the space is a dream. We arrange the furniture to face the corner where we'll play. Leisurely we soundcheck and watch the sun sink from their tall windows. Everyone is making phone calls now and another band is booked and a time is set and aren't you hungry let's find food. We crawl out and around the city.
When the people start streaming in and the music starts there is magic in the air, the first band fantastic and poetic and Barry will be doing a set of Trust Fall's songs before we go on. Then, a cry, a bang, and a scutter (just like in the movies) and something has happened. A purse, someone was trying to steal a purse - who's is this? And it's Abi's and her wallet is gone and three take flight out the door to pursue.
Her wallet is found discarded in the stairwell, and in a small victory only the cash has been taken. She, like a knight, steps to the stage and backs Barry as he begins to howl, stepping in front of the mic into the milieu of human, flesh on flesh, acoustic hammer.
Three songs in the landlord calls. He's found out that there's a party and that admission is being charged, the police have been called, he's coming. The show better end immediately or you will be fined, you will cough blood money to me. I have not an ounce of bend in me for landlords. We are courteous and wait while our patrons sort the situation, no one leaves, but it's awkward, the music's gone. My blood begins boiling at this point, such a serendipitous perfect show has just been nixed, and for what reason? We tremble and talk and tremor and turn left and back and left again and in a series of minutes we find our hosts and get the word. The word is fuck it, let's play.
Baltimore oh Baltimore. Seraphim of anger and the disgruntled block of diamond. We played hungrily in your mouth with the resolution to be beautiful forever. You were our first breath, the bleating release of the lamb from its slaughterhouse, a sign for what will happen. We played dark sharp and angry that night, Fernelly and Or like writhing geometric shapes in rhythm. Barry was the trunk of an animal, Abi was glass, I was I but with thorns coming out of me.
We slept that night in the big hands of couches that cradled us like drunken babies.
I think we were booked in Baltimore more than any other city, one spot had actually gone out of business a month before an sent me an apology email. Now, en route, a series of half communiques, unreturned calls and emails, and then Abi is suddenly on the horn with someone at the Copycat, but he's getting on a bus heading to Richmond in an hour, fuddle. But we are going this way too, tomorrow morning sir, if you stay Minivan Morrison would happily take you. Agreed. And this was too prearranged to not feel like a miracle.
We arrived on a bridge outside the enormous warehouse that would be our home for the night. Feels like Brooklyn. What warm people, a collective, they are fragile and open, I'm shut up like a clam but can still shudder out a smile. And the space is a dream. We arrange the furniture to face the corner where we'll play. Leisurely we soundcheck and watch the sun sink from their tall windows. Everyone is making phone calls now and another band is booked and a time is set and aren't you hungry let's find food. We crawl out and around the city.
When the people start streaming in and the music starts there is magic in the air, the first band fantastic and poetic and Barry will be doing a set of Trust Fall's songs before we go on. Then, a cry, a bang, and a scutter (just like in the movies) and something has happened. A purse, someone was trying to steal a purse - who's is this? And it's Abi's and her wallet is gone and three take flight out the door to pursue.
Her wallet is found discarded in the stairwell, and in a small victory only the cash has been taken. She, like a knight, steps to the stage and backs Barry as he begins to howl, stepping in front of the mic into the milieu of human, flesh on flesh, acoustic hammer.
Three songs in the landlord calls. He's found out that there's a party and that admission is being charged, the police have been called, he's coming. The show better end immediately or you will be fined, you will cough blood money to me. I have not an ounce of bend in me for landlords. We are courteous and wait while our patrons sort the situation, no one leaves, but it's awkward, the music's gone. My blood begins boiling at this point, such a serendipitous perfect show has just been nixed, and for what reason? We tremble and talk and tremor and turn left and back and left again and in a series of minutes we find our hosts and get the word. The word is fuck it, let's play.
Baltimore oh Baltimore. Seraphim of anger and the disgruntled block of diamond. We played hungrily in your mouth with the resolution to be beautiful forever. You were our first breath, the bleating release of the lamb from its slaughterhouse, a sign for what will happen. We played dark sharp and angry that night, Fernelly and Or like writhing geometric shapes in rhythm. Barry was the trunk of an animal, Abi was glass, I was I but with thorns coming out of me.
We slept that night in the big hands of couches that cradled us like drunken babies.
