26 September, 2008

They don't fuck around in Chicago!

Well we all knew that the real shit starts in Chicago. Bozeman was a respectable warmup. But the rock is here. The Abbey Pub, where we played tonight, is kickass. It is an Irish pub that is somewhere between Crocodile and Neumo's in size. Located in the Irving Park neighborhood.

High ceilings, large room with seating on main level and above, plus entire other rooms not attached to the stage room.

There was a fairly sizable basement where the bands can hang out. Chicago must have recently gone non-smoking which made the atmosphere much more pleasant than expected.

The food was decent. Actually after the horrifying lunch we all went for quesadilla or salad rather than burgers.

It as an interesting night right away because unbeknownst to us, it was the final championship of the citywide "rock, paper, scissors" competition. Can you believe they had a contest? With prizes!

We avoided that part of the evening.

The highlight was that we got to play with some great bands. Aloud was a trio from Boston who had excellent vocals, cool songs, and an iPod instead of a bass player. Very nice people too. Hoping they'll come to Seattle some time.

The last band was named Camera and they were a super-talented trio that sounded like The Cure.

Our first impression of the sound guy was not great, but it turned out me was just stressing because of the rock paper and scissors, and to be honest, I don't blame him!

So, the real fun began when we took the stage. First, Jim's bass amp won't come on. Standby is orange light. On is green light. Flip the switch? Light still orange. No bass amp. We lost about ten minutes on this and the sound guy was patient and helpful. Second issue? Loud buzzing noise coming from Jason's rig. That one was tolerable and unresolvable, so we lived with it.

With gear problems and all, we still kicked ass, and made it a great night of music all around, for the small crowd in attendance.

Too bad there were not more people.

The ended more bizarreness. A random Irish guy, very drunk, telling us about how he knows the neighborhood of Ballard and then he broke into Irish song. I wanted to escape but I was under the incorrect impression that be was the owner of the bar.

Then a couple of kooky girls wanted to offer us a place to stay, which sounded rather sketchy, and we escaped close to 3am, and drove far enough into Indiana to escape the madness.

And that is where I am writing to you now.

-- Post From My iPhone

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