Of Rock, Brawls & Ladycops

On Saturday, Heather & I head out for a wee hike with Ernest in tow. Heather is driving Andrew's truck, and we get pulled over on account of Andrew's expired tags. The Policewoman is benevolent ( after a very serious show of sternness), and opts not to ticket Heather, but comments that two years is a REALLY long time to let the tags lapse. We sheepishly drive on. Heather calls Andrew to inform him.








We hike through some leafy, mossy, damp, autumnal woods by a creek. Nice.

Later that evening, we arrive at Le Voyeur in Olympia, load in our gear, then hang out in the bar whilst the excellent opening act Press On Randy sets up his laptop, pedals, effects, a Roland 1680 (perhaps), and tinkers & preps. Meanwhile, Halloween is making its presence known.










We go into the Le Voyeur's infamously gritty back room--it's a rectangle of cinderblocks that was decorated, one would guess many decades ago, and now glories in scabrous red & black paint in a generally geometric display of points, triangles, arrows, and shards. For Halloween the room has been desultorily festooned further with white sheets draped here & there--perhaps representing mummy wrappings...(??)



Press On Randydoes an electrifying set & we are all totally mesmerized. I had heard his tunes & loved them online, but live is even better!


Next up is True Margrit! We launch into our best set of the tour (thus far) and receive much love from the locals--which only eggs us on to make more rock harder & louder & funner.

Finally the night is closed out by the uber-talented Paul Mauer who has, possibly, the most hilarious stage banter ever. It would be hard for me to do justice to his voluminous manic vitriol--but suffice it to say, he calls swine flu "hamthrax" and he goes on one tirade that involved great ire at a disgruntled music listener, pulled pork, barbecue sauce, and various internal organs....whoa~

Afterwards we hang with the nice Oly folk, sell some CDs, and then load on up the truck. As we walk out into the alley behind Le Voyeur, an octet of young men come bursting out of the back door of a nearby bar. They commence waling on one another with fists and feet--and seem unusually focused on removing each others' garments. We are a little shocked and watch dumbly as this obscure ritual unfolds. The cops arrive in about a minute and break up the bizarre brawl.


We hit the road but barely make it one block before we are pulled over. Of course....the expired tags--oopsie! A cheery but firm policewoman greets us and warns Andrew to take care of his lapsed tags--and lets us go without a ticket.

Phew--ROCK ON!