Amish Stuff Etc.
Maybe it's the beer talking.
Maybe it's the hour of the day (it's 2:30 am).
Maybe it's that we're 8 1/2 hours from home.
But we're baffled.
It's been a baffling day. We were in our Toronto beds this morning and now we find ourselves in the Olde Amish Inne (I'm not kidding) in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. It's off the highway just past the store called Amish Stuff Etc. (Again, not kidding).
We're here playing at the Launch Music Festival and it's proven to be a wild ride so far.
The problem with playing these festivals is that they're run by musicians. Musicians don't tend to be fans of reading, logic or reality. So. When you tell a festival (that's 8 1/2 hours from home) that there are five of you in the band and that you need five microphones, five microphone stands and all the equipment that would typically accompany five guys who make music you're taking your life in you own hands. But you hope that they'll get it. You hope when you type a lengthy letter detailing (in detail) what you need for a show that SOMEONE in the festival will prove to: a) speak english, b) read english, c) live on the planet earth. So. When you arrive in said town (may I remind you that it's 8 1/2 hours from home) and find a stage the size of a postage stamp, with two mics, two stands, a hope and a prayer, you get baffled.
The story only gets longer, angrier and more quizzical from here. So. Let me summarize.
1. Everbody at a festival starts late. That means if you're playing at a Mexican restaurant (which is where we were playing) and you're last, you're going to get screwed after you get baffled.
2. Staff at a festival are akin to Tim Horton's employees. That is to say; simple, challenged and baffled.
3. When point #1 meets point #2, there is bound to be fireworks. In this case, #2 happened to be a youngish fellow who looked like Mitch Hedberg. (Mitch is a dead Minnesota comedian who isn't that funny, at least not since he died. Neither is his Lancaster doppleganger.) He decided to unplug ALL of our gear after 4 songs (and I'll take this opportunity to remind you that we drove 8 1/2 baffling hours to play here). This is what Mickle would call Triple Plus Uncool. That is to say that when five men drive 8 1/2 hours to play a rock and roll festival, they want to PLAY at said festival. If some young Mitch Hedberg who makes a career serving tacos unplugs your shit after four songs, you tend...well, you tend to lose your shit and get loud, angry (baffled, of course) and hostile. So. We got all those things because that's exactly what happened.
Needless to say, that was not cool. It sort of soured the delicious Pennsylvania/Amish Etc. taste in our mouth. But we headed over to a place called the Chameleon Club to see a Winnipeg band called The Duhks. After a few beers and some good, Canadian, music life got better.
This whole diatribe is slightly unfair, though. (But only slightly) Just before we played was an incredibly cool band called Parkwright. Really nice and talented lads from Philadelphia. One of the reasons you make these trips is to make new friends and find reasons to keep going. It's easy to put those guys in both of those categories. But beyond Parkwright, The Duhks and Yuengling Lager Etc, this place needs Billy Bob Thornton to come in and shit on it. And you know what that means. A lot of mashed potatoes. With gravy.
PS - We've just returned from a late sojourn to the Waffle House and just so we don't waste Billy Bob's time, he doesn't need to come here and shit. Some cows or horses have done a thorough job for at least two square miles around our Amish hotel. Of course I'm not kidding.
Maybe it's the hour of the day (it's 2:30 am).
Maybe it's that we're 8 1/2 hours from home.
But we're baffled.
It's been a baffling day. We were in our Toronto beds this morning and now we find ourselves in the Olde Amish Inne (I'm not kidding) in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. It's off the highway just past the store called Amish Stuff Etc. (Again, not kidding).
We're here playing at the Launch Music Festival and it's proven to be a wild ride so far.
The problem with playing these festivals is that they're run by musicians. Musicians don't tend to be fans of reading, logic or reality. So. When you tell a festival (that's 8 1/2 hours from home) that there are five of you in the band and that you need five microphones, five microphone stands and all the equipment that would typically accompany five guys who make music you're taking your life in you own hands. But you hope that they'll get it. You hope when you type a lengthy letter detailing (in detail) what you need for a show that SOMEONE in the festival will prove to: a) speak english, b) read english, c) live on the planet earth. So. When you arrive in said town (may I remind you that it's 8 1/2 hours from home) and find a stage the size of a postage stamp, with two mics, two stands, a hope and a prayer, you get baffled.
The story only gets longer, angrier and more quizzical from here. So. Let me summarize.
1. Everbody at a festival starts late. That means if you're playing at a Mexican restaurant (which is where we were playing) and you're last, you're going to get screwed after you get baffled.
2. Staff at a festival are akin to Tim Horton's employees. That is to say; simple, challenged and baffled.
3. When point #1 meets point #2, there is bound to be fireworks. In this case, #2 happened to be a youngish fellow who looked like Mitch Hedberg. (Mitch is a dead Minnesota comedian who isn't that funny, at least not since he died. Neither is his Lancaster doppleganger.) He decided to unplug ALL of our gear after 4 songs (and I'll take this opportunity to remind you that we drove 8 1/2 baffling hours to play here). This is what Mickle would call Triple Plus Uncool. That is to say that when five men drive 8 1/2 hours to play a rock and roll festival, they want to PLAY at said festival. If some young Mitch Hedberg who makes a career serving tacos unplugs your shit after four songs, you tend...well, you tend to lose your shit and get loud, angry (baffled, of course) and hostile. So. We got all those things because that's exactly what happened.Needless to say, that was not cool. It sort of soured the delicious Pennsylvania/Amish Etc. taste in our mouth. But we headed over to a place called the Chameleon Club to see a Winnipeg band called The Duhks. After a few beers and some good, Canadian, music life got better.
This whole diatribe is slightly unfair, though. (But only slightly) Just before we played was an incredibly cool band called Parkwright. Really nice and talented lads from Philadelphia. One of the reasons you make these trips is to make new friends and find reasons to keep going. It's easy to put those guys in both of those categories. But beyond Parkwright, The Duhks and Yuengling Lager Etc, this place needs Billy Bob Thornton to come in and shit on it. And you know what that means. A lot of mashed potatoes. With gravy.
PS - We've just returned from a late sojourn to the Waffle House and just so we don't waste Billy Bob's time, he doesn't need to come here and shit. Some cows or horses have done a thorough job for at least two square miles around our Amish hotel. Of course I'm not kidding.
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