It's hella windy today. My street and yard are now littered with evergreen branches. I guess it's not too big a deal that I didn't pick up from the snowfall a few weeks ago, because I would have just had another mess.
I've actually just arrived home from Everett, where Slow Goat Riot (the website has been moved to Greg's box, and seems ridiculously slow now; I don't know why) played a show at JimmyZ's. It was an interesting show; we knew it was going to touch and go since we had to do the lineup shift and some hasty rehearsals with Angel on drums. It was about as sloppy as you'd expect, but since we're a punk band, I don't mind too much. What did totally suck was that Rhiannon and I were really out of key. The vocals sounded good in the monitors when we were screwing around for soundcheck, but as the show progressed, I could hear myself less and less, to the point that eventually I think all I was hearing was myself bouncing back from the mains in the house. It was pretty hard to sing, and none of our harmonies came out particularly well. Actually, they totally sucked. Oh well. At some point I asked for more vocals in the monitors, but I don't think the levels ever got raised. I wasn't surprised nor particularly upset about it. The fact that we played at all given the circumstances of the last couple of weeks was enough to make me happy.
Now the way I understood this show, it was supposed to be us and two other bands. Since I had class in Olympia until 8pm, somebody was going to be playing before we did. We didn't know anything other than this, other than a band called Choice Fatal was going to be playing with us (we only found out because they linked to us on their website). But we were told that there would be at least one other band. So I get there at about 10pm, just as Choice Fatal takes the stage. All of a sudden, it becomes apparent that the promoter had not listened to the music on the website, and we were an amateur-ish punk band playing with a very well polished metal act. They (Choice Fatal) were from Yakima (or somewhere in the tri-cities) and had driven up for the show. They had more roadies than band members. We had....well, ourselves. Still, they were good guys. They put on a well polished and blistering set, and then quickly tore down. Their singer kept plugging us as the next band, with a band called "The Bedwetters" to follow. At this point I'm thinking, "dude, you're going to be pissed when you hear us."
So to make a shorter story of it, we get up and set up, and take fifteen minutes before we start. Nowhere is the equipment for the band that is supposed to be following us. The lead singer of Choice Fatal asks me, "Are you guys the headliners?" to which I emphatically reply with "no!" We then go on, play a ten song set, and tear down. The Bedwetters turn out to be a Bedwetter (singular). Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it was one guy with an acoustic guitar. He ended up playing about three or four songs before he called it a night. Choice Fatal left right after we finished. If I were those guys, I'd probably be setting my hotel room on fire right now. They sort of got screwed around; they should have been the headlining act. As it was, it was like playing an upside-down show, where the entertainment got shorter and progressively crappier as the night went on. I find myself wondering if Joe, the guy who booked us, knew that there would be no more bands, or what?
Whatever. I still had fun....