That's The Spirit.
The West Coast tour is no more. We are home for a few days and then we trek across the vastness of the Midwest. The shows went well overall. But there was a bug in the technology, a wart, a little splinter that kept cropping up. It took over the show in SF when the monitor amps blew out, so that we were playing in a sonic maze, no light. Then the bridge of my Guild was intermittently troublesome; unscrewed and loose and creating friction on my right hand; making me think too much during times when I shouldn't be thinking at all. And finally my own amp blew out at the BFD. The Fender not the Orange. The vintage '64 that is rebelling against life on the road. It wants to be at home on the hardwood floors, next to the window, where it can get sun and look out at the garden. And now, little amp, you will be home. I will replace you with a road warrior.
The BFD was our trip to the moon. No, it was actually a reality check in the ways of the earthlings. We were UFOS, Martians, visiting a strange planet with our too noisy, too loud, too unhinged brand of cacophony. Our sound guy told us beforehand that we should just do the jam. He was right. We should have just turned up and played, no song, just a steady stream of sentences that cohere at moments and then give way to lexical and structural ambiguity. Code switching.
There were kind folks in all towns. Santa Cruz was mellow with a warm enthusiasm. Laid back and sweet and just us saying hi to you in the form of a tune. We always like Pomona. And then Los Angeles surprised us by being the fire. It was the heat we always try to get to, the hot core where everything disintegrates into liquid and love and then when it's over it's like the whole structure has been reshaped and it's hard to remember what it looked like before.
We had a great time on all the stops. The live show is the live show and it is the live show that makes it the live show. Thank you for showing up.
-Carrie
The BFD was our trip to the moon. No, it was actually a reality check in the ways of the earthlings. We were UFOS, Martians, visiting a strange planet with our too noisy, too loud, too unhinged brand of cacophony. Our sound guy told us beforehand that we should just do the jam. He was right. We should have just turned up and played, no song, just a steady stream of sentences that cohere at moments and then give way to lexical and structural ambiguity. Code switching.
There were kind folks in all towns. Santa Cruz was mellow with a warm enthusiasm. Laid back and sweet and just us saying hi to you in the form of a tune. We always like Pomona. And then Los Angeles surprised us by being the fire. It was the heat we always try to get to, the hot core where everything disintegrates into liquid and love and then when it's over it's like the whole structure has been reshaped and it's hard to remember what it looked like before.
We had a great time on all the stops. The live show is the live show and it is the live show that makes it the live show. Thank you for showing up.
-Carrie
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