Well ... I haven't kept up with the blog.

Hey, I got a mention.

http://howwastheshow.com/index.cfm/action/reviews.view/reviewKey/593

To me it was early. 9pm eastern. My Minnesota Public Radio work compatriots were already calling it a night. They’re the morning show crew. We had flown in to DC that afternoon. We took a long walk to overpriced food and a couple cocktails. It was the only night that we didn’t have to be up radically early for a broadcast the next morning. So, I walked with them back to the hotel, quick changed and marched out onto the streets of Downtown DC.

My goal was to find a dive bar with underground music and reasonable drink prices. From the looks of the hotels and bars all around me, there wasn’t much hope.

I walked up to a door that looked promising just as an elderly guy, white shirt, black pants, met me on the other side of the door. He was locking up the place. He peeked out, and in a heavy Latino accent said, “Closed. Can I help you find something?” I didn’t think I looked that transparent and desperate. “uh…yeah, no…I’m just looking for some live music.” He gave me directions to a strip down the way where there might be some action. I had a feeling he didn’t know what kind of place I was looking for, but I took his advice, not having a better idea. The street he sent me to did have a few music clubs. They were the discothèque brand. They were also closed.

At this point I was quite a few blocks from the hotel and foolishly determined. From a distance, standing on a typically old and beautiful DC staircase, I saw what looked like a couple of indie-hip-twenty-something-smoking girls. Hmmm…info. I walked up to the base of the stairs, looked up at them, smiled and noticed they were speaking French. Up close they were both tall and stunningly gorgeous in a way that is off putting in a random meeting. One blonde. One brunette. I was a little intimidated, but it was too late not to talk. I said “…excuse me…Do either of you know if there are any underground music clubs near here…that might be open on a Monday night?” The brunette pursed her lips in a thinking sort of way, “There are a lot of clubs around here. What do you like? Do you want to go dancing?” The blonde smiled. Clearly they were patronizing me. The blond kicked around with her tall boots, and said in an accent that made me a little week, “Five. Right up…” The Brunette cut her off, “No. It’s not open. I don’t think there is anything open. Maybe Wednesday or Thursday would be the earliest.” “Sorry.”, said the blonde, “If you want to try to go down this way (she pointed back the way I came) maybe there is something.” “Thanks a lot.” I said and smiled again. I turned and walked on, wishing someone had been filming that eighty’s movie exchange.

Now I figured the chances were really grim, but I decided to keep going in a direction away from my hotel. Two or three blocks went by. Then…like a flare…a beacon of hope…a grubby looking guy, late twenties, carrying a gig bag on his back was coming right toward me on the sidewalk. Jackpot. I put up my hand, “Excuse me.” He looked like he really didn’t want to stop. “Yeah?” he said begrudgingly. “I’m hoping to find some live underground music tonight.” I said, “What are the chances that I’m anywhere near it?” He blinked twice and said, “sure…The Black Cat down on S.” I liked the sound of that. “It’s kind of a long walk from here. Not too bad. Maybe fifteen minutes or something.” He then went into a quick description of how to get there. He seemed to have warmed up to helping me on my pursuit, like a fisher of men on the music scene. “Thanks a lot, man” I say and head for the Black Cat.

The neighborhood was getting noticeably shadier on my way there. I called my girlfriend. She’s a big smarty-pants who went to Georgetown University, so I thought she might know something about the neighborhood. She told me not to walk home alone. “I’m on 14th and Q.” I said. “You’re not going to listen to me, but promise me you won’t walk home.” She said.

I arrived at the Black Cat. It looked perfect, like the Turf Club and 7th Street Entry had an autistic love child. All of the familiars were there. There were the serious ID guys at the front door, one grumpy bartender, one friendly one, the small groups of bohemian friends in dirt shades from brown to grey to black, pictures of the favorite locals put up behind the bar, a regular drunk, a white guy with dreds, a Deerhoof poster, a bored too cool for school girl taking cash to lead to the live music room. I bought a whiskey on the rocks at the bar ($4) and paid the cover ($8). Behind the music door was a group of about fifteen people, a hunched sound tech, three photographers, a girl in the back with a cardboard box full of CDs, and a band on stage. “Why does this feel like home?” I thought. When the door shut behind me the entire room turned around like they weren’t expecting someone to walk through the door.

The band was between songs. I was prepared for music that would be disappointing after my trek. I looked up to the stage. There were the four college guys you’d expect to see. They called themselves “Capillary Action”. The keyboardist was shouting something inane sarcastically into his microphone. I thought to myself, “I don’t want to know that guy…why did I come here?... I wonder if my room has HBO.” Then they started playing. I was shocked. It was amazing. I went to the back of the small room where there was a seat and took in their brand of intelligent, soulfully executed, truly musical trash rock. How could this be? They continued to keep my attention through the rest of their set. I was happy. It was music that I’ve imagined making done better than I would do it. Life was good.

After that unbelievable display I stepped outside for a smoke. They’ve passed the fascist anti-smoking laws in DC. I overheard 4 young guys talking about how incredible that show had been. I stepped up, “Do you know that band?” “NO, MAN!” one of them said excitedly, “THEY WERE AWSOME!” As he gestured, I noticed his hand stamp was crossed out with an X. “Yeah. They were bangin’!” I said in an intentionally uncool tone for the sake of humor, “Do you know if they’re from here?” “I don’t think so.” he responded. We talked for a while. I looked at the poster for the show outside the door. “Joe Lally is up next. That sounds familiar.” I said. “NO, DUDE. THAT’S THE BASS PLAYER FROM FUGAZI! IT’S HIS NEW STUFF!” he said. “Wow” I responded, “Luck be a Black Cat tonight.” They laughed, and one guy looked at me like, “what a dork”.

Back in I go. More whiskey. I realize I’m maybe the oldest guy in the room besides Joe. He takes the stage and says into the mic, “I’ve got a band around here somewhere. Then, very not all at once, the members of Capillary Action join him as his band. Apparently they’d been touring together. Now I was excited. I found a spot up front and sat, even though everyone else was standing. It proved to be a trend setting move. Joe Lally’s set was really mellow and wonderful. There were some people still jazzed up from the other band yelling for them to turn it up. They were clearly not paying attention.

Both performances were inspiring. I wanted to immediately go on the road. Alas. I looked at my phone. It was time for me to get back to the hotel before I did something stupid, like stay out too late or get drunk. I was art-buzzing all the way back to room 1117, between The Black Cat and The White House. I didn’t take a cab. It still seemed early.

This blog activity isn't getting any better.

After that dismal entry about the Varsity show, it's only proper to tell you about the 400 bar show on Friday. This is one you shouldn't have missed, if you did. The indie stars were aligned. Kristof, Pete, and Tony kicked a serious amount of unsuspecting winter rump. Having never played together didn't seem to stop us. I was amazed at the knowledge of the tunes. Especially from Tony who had heard most of the songs for the first time that day and never played them before. I had much fun.

Plus after we played Charlie Parr made everyone happy, and Bjork let me come on stage and play a tune on acoustic guitar.

It was wonderful.

Well folks…Shows can certainly have their ups and downs. Last night at the Varsity Theater was a downer. It was for me at least. There were about 20 people there, and at the Varsity that is bad. I was playing solo and trying some material I don’t usually play out. It was uncomfortable and strange. I felt like it was one of my worst performances in a while. The Original Mark Edwards was excellent. They made it more worth while. He and his group have got their set together in a funky fresh way and you should check them out. Future Antiques were swingin’ too, though I felt bad being one o’ 5 people dancing. (Ok…I danced for 1 song. It wasn’t pretty) Overall there should have been many more people there, but I personally count it as a failure because I didn’t have much fun. The Varsity crew was sweet as always, which was nice since I’m sure they lost money. “Big ups” to Erik. Oh well. I’m through being bummed out about it now. It’s onward and upward. I’ll do better next time.

I had the pleasure of recording Jessy Greene and co. today for the Currents local show, and what a pleasure that was. They were tight. Good people, good music.

Her CD release is next Friday (Dec 15th) at the Triple Rock. You should go. (Omaur Bliss is playing too!)

The gears are in motion for a video for the song Periscope. The idea is pretty fun, and we have high hopes. Production should start sometime after the holidays. I'll keep you up to date on the progress here.

Hey look!

I just figured out how to make a new blog entry so the blog isn't one big string.

...wish I were smarter.

This is the place where we blog. A place for you to rant at, ask, tell us whatever you like. I'll start us out.

I don't like ketchup.
-Sam