...being the observations and navigational extracts
from the ongoing expeditions of San Francisco Piano Pop trio
True Margrit

Wednesday, November 04, 2009

Hump Day

So. It's Wednesday, October 28th, 2009 and the gig we are to play tonight is the SEVENTH SHOW in as MANY DAYS. We know rationally that we get Thursday off --but today Thursday is as far away as Mars.

We once again require diner food to jumpstart the day's rock--this time Gary & I hit Old Milwaukee Cafe. Friends, I have one word, well ok two: homemade scones.
Yes ma'am. Split open before delivery at the table with a generous jam dollop already applied. Yes.Yes.Yes.


At 7:00 pm we arrive at Tacoma's fancypants jazz/blues supperclub, Jazzbones. On Wednesday nights they have been trying out a new series put on by XIL Records featuring rock bands, jagermeister specials, and suchlike. As we load in our gear we can overhear a particularly hammered foursome of women growing progressively rowdier. After we are done tucking our instruments away on benches & into corners, I hit the restroom. The hammered ladies are in there. One, a brawny blonde in a snug bustier, is telling her friends how much she has been working out.

She says, "Check out my biceps!" Her friends make a cursory glance at her arms. "No no no! Touch it!" she bellows, "TOUCH IT!!!" I chuckle and head for the exit. She whirls around, remarking, "I like your style". She leans in, pivots my shoulders, and I assume she's going for a hug, but she kisses me on the mouth--although, as my head continues in the arc I had started when she first turned me around, it's more of a graze than a smooch. Whoa, lady. I hardly know you--how about wining and dining me first? I make a hurried escape, amused.

They return to the bar shortly quickly getting even more sodden, making out with each other, cackling, and dancing while the first band bangs through some sloppy punk-garage-pop. Abruptly they take their uneaten birthday cake & disappear into the rainy night. Just in time for our set! We go on & the nice crowd, modest in size though they may be, eggs us on to new heights of piano-pop fury. We attack the songs as if they had been very naughty indeed. My keyboard is severely abused, of course.

After our set, Andrew's uber-buff trainer ( a lovely and gentle person, mind you) approaches me and says, sweetly, "Would it be wrong to say I want to..." and then he propositions me in no uncertain terms. Wow--so flattering! I guess it's my night to be popular. What is it about Jazzbones??

He also tells us we are "two notes past genius", which we all truly love to hear.

The final band plays some excellent punk rock, starring their lanky left-handed drummer. Amusingly enough, they have an answer song to "Member's Only" ( our tune from SEAWORTHY, if y'all recall, about my disturbing dream about having a penis). Their song is called--apparently--"Vagina". Hilarious.

It's pretty damn late when we load the gear back into the truck and head back to the ranch for precious precious sleep and a WHOLE DAY OFF!!!



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