, , , , , , ,

The South is weird, but in the most charming way. Also, I bet anything it’s only weird simply because I’m so use to how the North-East is. On the other hand, the show we played in Johnson City, TN was so odd that even the band from Nashville could relate with us. Surreal stuff, like I mentioned in my last post.

We played our Easter night set at the Acoustic Coffeehouse, and the entire time we played the audience kept hootin’ and hollerin’ and coming up to ask us questions. Now you need to understand, it’s not only a Sunday night, it’s Easter. On this big empty street that looks as though it had it’s hayday back in the 1940s; most things are boarded up and run down. But this little cafe is packed! People I guess just know that this is the place to be.

After our set this guy who’d borrowed my headphones earlier in the night and told me all about his college studies bought the painting:

The Nashville band that played after us is a brother/sister band with an amazing vaudeville/gypsy sound calling themselves Fable Cry. They are seriously so talented, so tight, and so entertaining. We had a great time watching & listening.

Besides the surrealness of the venue itself, midway through their set this extremely large tall ex-con (really) walked in and gave them hugs, and another guy put a bag of weed into their tip jar. I feel as though practically everything that happened that night made me turn to either Eric or Fable Cry’s merch girl (Emily, really sweet) and whisper “What is this place?!”

The guy who’d bought the painting had offered us a bed & showers (we hadn’t gotten to in days now) but was gone for a few hours. Which was fine, because this guy with a mandolin with shell inlays of unicorns was playing for me and telling me all about a bar he owns in Iowa:

Close to 1 in the morning our potential host came back, but he wasn’t really able to drive, had locked his dog in his car, and couldn’t find his keys, and we couldn’t understand his directions. We said goodbye, wished him well (I hope to goodness he didn’t drive home), and ended up spending our third night in the car in a parking lot. You can’t make this stuff up.