Off to France!
One nice side effect of Jeff's misreading of the vacation rental's location was that we already had a head start to get to Toulouse in France. This came in handy. We started out relatively early, and the trip didn't seem that long. Once we were in France, the first thing I noticed was that the prices of everything in gas stations/convenience stores pretty much doubled. Spain is pretty ridiculously cheap, for Europe.
We were going to Toulouse, where we originally thought we might have a gig, but things didn't work out. Our friend Misty White lives there, and she hooked us up with a radio interview, which would allow us to play a few songs. I use the term "us" loosely, as this being an acoustic gig, it really didn't include me....well, maybe vocally a bit....but I did beat on things in the radio room. It was rather fun, though, and I tried not to destroy anything. At one point, somehow, I knocked a light bulb out of its lamp holder. Still not sure how that happened, but that was as destructive as I got. I sheepishly screwed the light bulb back in, as a good boy does when he's 57. My personal highlight was whispering "appelle," in the final break of "Driftwood." I'm almost as clever as Cody.
Before the radio gig, Misty shepherded us to a great restaurant. After all the bland Spanish food, I was ready for something more French. So, I had pizza.
We stayed in perhaps the nicest hotel of the entire tour that night. Not sure how we got that....well, I do, actually. Jeff booked it.
That's all I have to report about Toulouse. Le jour prochain, Grasse.
Sunday, October 20, 2019
Hickoids / HMT 2019 Tour Wednesday, August 14
The next day, Bilbao. Bilbao is also near the northern coast of Spain, maybe a little more inland than Santander, and to the east of that town. So, off we headed. Unfortunately, Jeff had misread an address where the vacation rental was booked for this night, and it turned out to be a bit over an hour east of Bilbao. Now, I'm a bit fuzzy as to what came first, if we went to the vacation rental and then drove back to Bilbao to do laundry and play, or if we did laundry, headed to the vacation rental, and then back to Bilbao to play, or what. One of these things happened.
At least, we had two vacation rental rooms this time, although the woman working the desk when we checked in was, I would say, "softly threatening" to us. She picked up on us a being a band right away. Flo did most of the talking with her, and she used the word "molestar" a lot, as in "they better not bother people at our quaint vacation rental." After staying at a few of these vacation rentals now, I can say that bands are generally not welcome at them, but the price is usually right. (I didn't write about the 2016 Euro-tour, and the funny goings-on at our Noordwijk vacation rental in the Netherlands. Our German tourist neighbors were not fond of us.)
So, in the midst of our Bilbaoing, we did laundry at a laundromat where the signs were in both Spanish and Basque. I'd been told Basque is similar to French, but I didn't see that at all. Good thing Spanish was around in most places. This sign might have both....I'm not sure.
While we were doing laundry, Tom found a tapas place that he really liked, but I suspect that had more to do with the cute barmaid than the food itself. (I was quickly souring on Spanish food.) Nevertheless, we had clean clothes some time later and could prepare for the night's rockin'.
The club was called Shake!, and if I remember correctly, this was another one closed for August that opened for them Hickoids. Not bad. I liked this one a lot, although the stage had a missing portion to the left of the drums that the show runner filled in crudely with a table. It worked.
Special guests at this show included some of Rice's British family - his cousin, her husband, and their two grown kids. It was nice to visit with them, and the husband was pretty humorous, and a drummer to boot! He did fall a bit on the racist end of the spectrum, interspersing comments to me about drum brands with anecdotes about what cowards the French are (I guess that stereotype will never fade away). According to Rice, he's a big Brexit fan, so I suppose the package is complete. It was rather funny to hear Rice apologize about him later; I thought he was kind of funny, and he had a wandering eye, which just added to the whole effect.
We had the long drive back to the vacation rental, and Cody was in full effect this night. By the time we got there, his inside voice was completely gone. He had to be reminded not to "molestar" people as we walked to our rooms.
At least, we had two vacation rental rooms this time, although the woman working the desk when we checked in was, I would say, "softly threatening" to us. She picked up on us a being a band right away. Flo did most of the talking with her, and she used the word "molestar" a lot, as in "they better not bother people at our quaint vacation rental." After staying at a few of these vacation rentals now, I can say that bands are generally not welcome at them, but the price is usually right. (I didn't write about the 2016 Euro-tour, and the funny goings-on at our Noordwijk vacation rental in the Netherlands. Our German tourist neighbors were not fond of us.)
So, in the midst of our Bilbaoing, we did laundry at a laundromat where the signs were in both Spanish and Basque. I'd been told Basque is similar to French, but I didn't see that at all. Good thing Spanish was around in most places. This sign might have both....I'm not sure.
The club was called Shake!, and if I remember correctly, this was another one closed for August that opened for them Hickoids. Not bad. I liked this one a lot, although the stage had a missing portion to the left of the drums that the show runner filled in crudely with a table. It worked.
Special guests at this show included some of Rice's British family - his cousin, her husband, and their two grown kids. It was nice to visit with them, and the husband was pretty humorous, and a drummer to boot! He did fall a bit on the racist end of the spectrum, interspersing comments to me about drum brands with anecdotes about what cowards the French are (I guess that stereotype will never fade away). According to Rice, he's a big Brexit fan, so I suppose the package is complete. It was rather funny to hear Rice apologize about him later; I thought he was kind of funny, and he had a wandering eye, which just added to the whole effect.
We had the long drive back to the vacation rental, and Cody was in full effect this night. By the time we got there, his inside voice was completely gone. He had to be reminded not to "molestar" people as we walked to our rooms.
Hickoids / HMT 2019 Tour Tuesday, August 13
And so, the parting happened. Michelle had wanted to spend some time in Madrid, going to museums and whatnot. She had a couple of nights reserved at a Madrid hotel near the Prado museum, and we needed to get her to the train station and headed that way. Flover was a huge help in this endeavor, talking an anxious Michelle in what to do, steps to take, etc. Once she got there, of course, everything was fine, and her hotel was near everything she wanted to do.
We headed on to Santander, which was the next stop on the Spanish Road. Santander is on the northern coast of Spain, in Basque country, and has a beach feel to it, for sure. We were staying at a vacation rental place a substantial walk from the beach. And we were all in one room. But this wasn't as bad as I'd feared, all seven of us in one place. A couple of folks slept in the van that night, and I confess to it being the only night I did not shower while on tour. But I'm getting ahead of things....
The show in Santander was at a place called Rock-Beer TheNew (sic).
As with many places in Spain in August, it had been closed for a couple of weeks but opened for our gig. And it turned out they had used the closure time to rebuild their stage and revamp their sound system. The stage was almost ready when we got there, and a little more work cemented its readiness. The sound system was another story. It had a long way to go, and unfortunately, after we were on stage and ready to go, it still had a way to go. Seriously, we were on stage about 45 minutes before we could actually start the show proper. It got pretty funny to me after awhile, but once we got cranking, we were fine. I felt bad for the club staff and the owner (whose name escapes me, but he was a great guy); they were trying any and every thing they could to get things going. It all worked out fine. I thought the gig went well, although memories are short on this one, for some reason....other than the long wait at the beginning.
Back to the vacation rental. Somehow, despite the aforementioned cramming of us all into one rental, I had a room to myself. Still not sure how that happened. I think the others think I need my space, due to the CPAP machine. That's really not true; I just need room for the machine, and an electrical outlet, and that's about it.
We headed on to Santander, which was the next stop on the Spanish Road. Santander is on the northern coast of Spain, in Basque country, and has a beach feel to it, for sure. We were staying at a vacation rental place a substantial walk from the beach. And we were all in one room. But this wasn't as bad as I'd feared, all seven of us in one place. A couple of folks slept in the van that night, and I confess to it being the only night I did not shower while on tour. But I'm getting ahead of things....
The show in Santander was at a place called Rock-Beer TheNew (sic).
Back to the vacation rental. Somehow, despite the aforementioned cramming of us all into one rental, I had a room to myself. Still not sure how that happened. I think the others think I need my space, due to the CPAP machine. That's really not true; I just need room for the machine, and an electrical outlet, and that's about it.
Hickoids / HMT 2019 Tour Monday, August 12
Up. At. The. Crack. Of. Dawn. We had a long hustle this day. First, we had to drive back to Madrid...about six hours. Then we had to pick up the van, equipment, and driver. Then all of us would hustle to Zaragoza and play there that night. Was going to be interesting.
The previous evening, before leaving for Grazalema, I had discovered a snag. In the office of the hotel where we were staying was a sign stating that the hotel was currently unable to process credit card payments and to "please arrange a bank transfer or pay in cash." I was pretty miffed at this, and Michelle was, too. I really didn't remember if that sign was in there when we registered; I didn't think it was. Now, they had undergone some hard times for sure, withstanding a major flood the previous fall, but this was an inconvenience, for sure. What it meant is I would have to pull as much cash as I could from the bank in Benaojàn (thankfully close by), and hope it would cover the bill. Frankly, I mistakenly thought that since we booked through hotels.com, that the bill was already paid. I found out that was not the case. And, after reading up on the situation a bit, I saw this was a common practice among smaller hotels in Europe. Kinda pissed us both off, but there wasn't much I could do. So, Sunday I had pulled out my maximum (around $362 - €300 with conversion), and I had enough to pay our bill. We left so early Monday morning, nobody was up yet, so I left the cash under some papers in the office with a note to please email me that they received the money. (They did, later that day.) And then, we went by the bank again before leaving to pull more money (thankfully, it was already the next day back home, and I could get some more). Minor irritation, and I wouldn't receive any rewards back from my credit card, but oh well.....
So, Michelle and I headed back on the road to Madrid. I spotted and followed the band vehicle, and we even made a common food stop along the way. After the looooong six hours, I pulled into the Madrid airport and made it to the rental car return. A woman checking in the cars instantly noticed the scratched side of the car from the night in Villaluenga del Rosario, but I was covered fully, so that wasn't an issue. Another whew.
The rest of the band arrived after we were already checked in; we waited in the airport exit. A few more minutes, and we were hooked up with the MVP of the tour, Mr. Bechito "Flover" Martinez. He was to be our driver, equipment hustler, translator, and everything valuable for the next few weeks. The Sprinter van we had was larger than the Transit van we were accustomed to on these European runs; there was plenty of room for folks, and certainly room for Michelle, too.
The ride to Zaragoza was around three hours, and we had just enough time to unload in the club (which was a basement bar, fomerly a prison in the 15th century!) and then check into our hotel, which was only a couple of blocks away. The rest of the band was staying adjacent to the club in some club housing.
We had a nice couple of sets, the HMTrio first, followed by the Hickoids. The audience area was nicely stocked with seating, making this primarily a "sit-down" show for the audience. Also, this was the trio's first appearance in Spain, and Patrick (Harvey) was particularly stoked. The Hickoids set went well, but the crowd was, by then, smaller. It was a Monday night, after all, but the seating arrangement, I think, had something to do with it. The HMT is perfect for a seated audience; the Hickoids not so much so. But there were still fun moments...
The previous evening, before leaving for Grazalema, I had discovered a snag. In the office of the hotel where we were staying was a sign stating that the hotel was currently unable to process credit card payments and to "please arrange a bank transfer or pay in cash." I was pretty miffed at this, and Michelle was, too. I really didn't remember if that sign was in there when we registered; I didn't think it was. Now, they had undergone some hard times for sure, withstanding a major flood the previous fall, but this was an inconvenience, for sure. What it meant is I would have to pull as much cash as I could from the bank in Benaojàn (thankfully close by), and hope it would cover the bill. Frankly, I mistakenly thought that since we booked through hotels.com, that the bill was already paid. I found out that was not the case. And, after reading up on the situation a bit, I saw this was a common practice among smaller hotels in Europe. Kinda pissed us both off, but there wasn't much I could do. So, Sunday I had pulled out my maximum (around $362 - €300 with conversion), and I had enough to pay our bill. We left so early Monday morning, nobody was up yet, so I left the cash under some papers in the office with a note to please email me that they received the money. (They did, later that day.) And then, we went by the bank again before leaving to pull more money (thankfully, it was already the next day back home, and I could get some more). Minor irritation, and I wouldn't receive any rewards back from my credit card, but oh well.....
So, Michelle and I headed back on the road to Madrid. I spotted and followed the band vehicle, and we even made a common food stop along the way. After the looooong six hours, I pulled into the Madrid airport and made it to the rental car return. A woman checking in the cars instantly noticed the scratched side of the car from the night in Villaluenga del Rosario, but I was covered fully, so that wasn't an issue. Another whew.
The rest of the band arrived after we were already checked in; we waited in the airport exit. A few more minutes, and we were hooked up with the MVP of the tour, Mr. Bechito "Flover" Martinez. He was to be our driver, equipment hustler, translator, and everything valuable for the next few weeks. The Sprinter van we had was larger than the Transit van we were accustomed to on these European runs; there was plenty of room for folks, and certainly room for Michelle, too.
The ride to Zaragoza was around three hours, and we had just enough time to unload in the club (which was a basement bar, fomerly a prison in the 15th century!) and then check into our hotel, which was only a couple of blocks away. The rest of the band was staying adjacent to the club in some club housing.
We had a nice couple of sets, the HMTrio first, followed by the Hickoids. The audience area was nicely stocked with seating, making this primarily a "sit-down" show for the audience. Also, this was the trio's first appearance in Spain, and Patrick (Harvey) was particularly stoked. The Hickoids set went well, but the crowd was, by then, smaller. It was a Monday night, after all, but the seating arrangement, I think, had something to do with it. The HMT is perfect for a seated audience; the Hickoids not so much so. But there were still fun moments...
After the gig, we went to eat a bunch of tapas at a pretty good joint and then went walking around (although it was getting a bit chilly and windy for ol' shorts-wearer here), checking out some of the architecture and statuary around. (Zaragoza is the birthplace of Francisco Goya.)
And then....Michelle and I headed back to our hotel for some rest and to prep for her departure from the group the next day. Waaaaaaahhhhh!!!
Sunday, September 29, 2019
Hickoids / HMT 2019 Tour Sunday, August 11
Michelle had been talking about wanting to take in a flamenco show while we were together in Spain. After some research, she found one in Ronda, and it turned out to be at a restaurant the band had parked near the day before. We recognized it right away. So, Michelle got our hosts to call and make reservations at the show for Sunday afternoon. (Our hoteliers had set up the caving expedition as well.)
The flamenco show (and lunch) was at a place called Restaurant Quinqué. The lunch was probably the best food I ate in Spain (I can't say a lot about Spanish food; not really great, but then we'd been to Italy the previous October), and the show was terrifically entertaining. I like the way the show seemed almost improvised but clearly wasn't. A guitar player came out and played about ten minutes; again, the piece sounded improvised. Then two people (singers, it turned out) and a woman in flamenco dancer garb came out and sat in chairs alongside the guitarist. All three clapped while the guitarist continued to play, and then each singer took turns singing while seated. At some point in the middle, the dancer suddenly popped up and went into flamenco moves. No warning, set up, nothing. She just popped up and went into it. Impressive. The entire performance was around 40 minutes. But from what I understand, the evening performances are quite a bit longer. Still, this was perfect and a great way to spend the afternoon.
After returning to our hotel for a bit, we headed out to the last festival performance which was in Grazalema, the second longest drive we'd have to make to a festival show....around 35 minutes. When we got to this one, everything was marked better than the first two had been. There was an obvious parking lot, and it was clear where the stage was. And it was equally picturesque to the night before in Ronda.
We were closing out this night, following our new friends' acts. By the time I got to the stage (and had already watched our pals play), I was met with this as a drum setup:
Yes, that is the drummer's view of......well, the drums are sitting on cement, with a rainbow-colored strap lashing everything together. A previous drummer explained to me he put the towel in there between the pedal and the kick drum to minimize clicking noise and perhaps even to help keep everything in place. The hardware was of that twig-thin variety that costs roughly $20 a stand. Cody told me later that when he first saw the drum kit, he thought "jeez, Lance is going to destroy that."
But I played with only mild restraint, and everything went fine. I took the gloves off a bit by the end of the set..."Donkey Lady," etc.....and everything was okay. We didn't have much of a crowd, being Sunday and the end of the festival, but I thought it was a fitting end to everything. We said goodbye to all the folks we'd shared the common stage with over the last few nights (Cives was not on this bill), and headed out....for Michelle and me, back to Benaojàn. We had an early call the next morning, and a lot to do. Hoo boy.
The flamenco show (and lunch) was at a place called Restaurant Quinqué. The lunch was probably the best food I ate in Spain (I can't say a lot about Spanish food; not really great, but then we'd been to Italy the previous October), and the show was terrifically entertaining. I like the way the show seemed almost improvised but clearly wasn't. A guitar player came out and played about ten minutes; again, the piece sounded improvised. Then two people (singers, it turned out) and a woman in flamenco dancer garb came out and sat in chairs alongside the guitarist. All three clapped while the guitarist continued to play, and then each singer took turns singing while seated. At some point in the middle, the dancer suddenly popped up and went into flamenco moves. No warning, set up, nothing. She just popped up and went into it. Impressive. The entire performance was around 40 minutes. But from what I understand, the evening performances are quite a bit longer. Still, this was perfect and a great way to spend the afternoon.
After returning to our hotel for a bit, we headed out to the last festival performance which was in Grazalema, the second longest drive we'd have to make to a festival show....around 35 minutes. When we got to this one, everything was marked better than the first two had been. There was an obvious parking lot, and it was clear where the stage was. And it was equally picturesque to the night before in Ronda.
We were closing out this night, following our new friends' acts. By the time I got to the stage (and had already watched our pals play), I was met with this as a drum setup:
Yes, that is the drummer's view of......well, the drums are sitting on cement, with a rainbow-colored strap lashing everything together. A previous drummer explained to me he put the towel in there between the pedal and the kick drum to minimize clicking noise and perhaps even to help keep everything in place. The hardware was of that twig-thin variety that costs roughly $20 a stand. Cody told me later that when he first saw the drum kit, he thought "jeez, Lance is going to destroy that."
But I played with only mild restraint, and everything went fine. I took the gloves off a bit by the end of the set..."Donkey Lady," etc.....and everything was okay. We didn't have much of a crowd, being Sunday and the end of the festival, but I thought it was a fitting end to everything. We said goodbye to all the folks we'd shared the common stage with over the last few nights (Cives was not on this bill), and headed out....for Michelle and me, back to Benaojàn. We had an early call the next morning, and a lot to do. Hoo boy.
Friday, September 13, 2019
Hickoids / HMT 2019 Tour Saturday, August 10
Saturday, August 10th. This was the day that shall live in Hickoids (in)famy for their first (?) Pueblos Blancos festival. What a night.
But what a day, too. Michelle and I went to a cave....oddly, not the one down the highway from us, Cueva del Gato.....but, Cueva de la Pileta, several kilometers away up a windy road. We had another GPS issue, the directions not accurate, but Michelle spied cars parked in an area some ways off the main road. Upon driving back, we found it. That was par for the course during the southern Spain stay - GPS was many times not accurate.
But the cave was not only a nice respite from the heat....sort of like being in a cool refrigerator for an hour plus....the cave had many paintings dating back, well, a long time. Michelle was quite stoked by it all; I was very impressed, too. And we weren't in the sun to absorb some culture. Since I had to have energy to play, this was important.
Later, it was off to Ronda, which is the largest town we were playing in for the festival. As the guys had their passenger van to park, I assumed I was going to have to find our own parking, and I chose a lot several blocks away. We had already driven to the site of the later performance, so I had some bearings down for a change. From the car, I had to bring my cymbals, stick bag, and kick pedal, and off we went. About halfway to the playing area, I thought I'd better message my bandmates to say I was on my way, etc., although there was plenty of time. Communication is good. So I set everything down at the entrance to a small park near an ice cream stand and wrote and sent a message. We continued on to the stage, running into Jeff and old friend Lonnie Layman along the way. This was the site before anything started.
Wow! But anyway, we hustled down the steps, got to the backstage area, and as I dropped my cymbals and stick bag, I thought.....where's my kick pedal? For a minute, I thought maybe Jeff or Lonnie might have taken it from me when we met up with them, but I feared the worst. Ol' Forgetful might have left the pedal where I sent that earlier message from! So I hustled back up went back down the road toward that park.....and there it was. My kick pedal sitting right where'd I left it. It did sort of blend in with the iron gate behind it, so it must not have drawn any attention. Or simply, no one cared much. Anyway, I had my kick pedal! And breathed a huge sigh of relief!
So, we took a look around the town:
It's purty. So's Michelle.
The line-up at this show was similar to the one on Thursday night, except there was an addition of Brian Ashley Jones (alt-country, I'd say), and another act before him who completely escapes my mind. So we were third this night, and man, what a night. We tore the roof (if there'd been one) off the place, and by the end, we most definitely had the crowd with us.
A moment to remember, for sure! Michelle shot that, but I had forgotten to turn the camera audio attenuator on before handing her the camera, hence the distorted audio. That camera normally captures pretty good audio.
The town of Ronda is pretty interesting in its own right. Orson Welles had an affinity for it, and his ashes were scattered there. There's also a monument to Ernest Hemingway there, but I forget the connection.
We went and got our food (I hadn't mentioned that we had meal and drink tickets each night). We stayed through Jake's band and Maf again....they were their always stellar selves. And then it was the not-too-long hustle back to our parking lot and back to our country digs.
But what a day, too. Michelle and I went to a cave....oddly, not the one down the highway from us, Cueva del Gato.....but, Cueva de la Pileta, several kilometers away up a windy road. We had another GPS issue, the directions not accurate, but Michelle spied cars parked in an area some ways off the main road. Upon driving back, we found it. That was par for the course during the southern Spain stay - GPS was many times not accurate.
But the cave was not only a nice respite from the heat....sort of like being in a cool refrigerator for an hour plus....the cave had many paintings dating back, well, a long time. Michelle was quite stoked by it all; I was very impressed, too. And we weren't in the sun to absorb some culture. Since I had to have energy to play, this was important.
Later, it was off to Ronda, which is the largest town we were playing in for the festival. As the guys had their passenger van to park, I assumed I was going to have to find our own parking, and I chose a lot several blocks away. We had already driven to the site of the later performance, so I had some bearings down for a change. From the car, I had to bring my cymbals, stick bag, and kick pedal, and off we went. About halfway to the playing area, I thought I'd better message my bandmates to say I was on my way, etc., although there was plenty of time. Communication is good. So I set everything down at the entrance to a small park near an ice cream stand and wrote and sent a message. We continued on to the stage, running into Jeff and old friend Lonnie Layman along the way. This was the site before anything started.
Wow! But anyway, we hustled down the steps, got to the backstage area, and as I dropped my cymbals and stick bag, I thought.....where's my kick pedal? For a minute, I thought maybe Jeff or Lonnie might have taken it from me when we met up with them, but I feared the worst. Ol' Forgetful might have left the pedal where I sent that earlier message from! So I hustled back up went back down the road toward that park.....and there it was. My kick pedal sitting right where'd I left it. It did sort of blend in with the iron gate behind it, so it must not have drawn any attention. Or simply, no one cared much. Anyway, I had my kick pedal! And breathed a huge sigh of relief!
So, we took a look around the town:
It's purty. So's Michelle.
The line-up at this show was similar to the one on Thursday night, except there was an addition of Brian Ashley Jones (alt-country, I'd say), and another act before him who completely escapes my mind. So we were third this night, and man, what a night. We tore the roof (if there'd been one) off the place, and by the end, we most definitely had the crowd with us.
A moment to remember, for sure! Michelle shot that, but I had forgotten to turn the camera audio attenuator on before handing her the camera, hence the distorted audio. That camera normally captures pretty good audio.
The town of Ronda is pretty interesting in its own right. Orson Welles had an affinity for it, and his ashes were scattered there. There's also a monument to Ernest Hemingway there, but I forget the connection.
We went and got our food (I hadn't mentioned that we had meal and drink tickets each night). We stayed through Jake's band and Maf again....they were their always stellar selves. And then it was the not-too-long hustle back to our parking lot and back to our country digs.
Saturday, September 7, 2019
Hickoids / HMT 2019 Tour Friday, August 9
On to Friday. During the day, Michelle and I took it pretty easy. Part of that "taking it easy" was exacerbated by the slow pace of restaurants in Spain. In particular, the restaurant across the road from our hotel, Las Banderas. We went over in the early afternoon for our second meal there and were probably seated for at least two hours. Nothing moves fast, but then we weren't, either. If I recall correctly, Michelle had a piece of swordfish that was roughly the size of my head.
Later, we headed over to Montejaque, and the second Hickoids show of the festival. The other Hickoids had been housed by the festival in a couple of rooms right next to the square/playing area in the town, meaning that those poor souls hadn't had much sleep. Folks (including them at times) were partying until the wee hours, and from what I heard, it was loud. Also, their air conditioning was apparently not the best. So it was a hot noisy time for the Hickoids, minus me. Our hotel was incredibly quiet at night, and our a.c. was kicking. And I had Michelle with me. It's a wonder they don't all hate me now; maybe they do.
Montejaque was just a few kilometers north of Benajoàn, which in turn was just a kilometer north of where we were staying. So, we just had a short drive to this one. Unfortunately, we had to park near an unfinished building of some sort (the guys' van was there, too) and walk a fairly long ways to the town square. This time, I was smart. I brought my cymbals. Of course, wouldn't you know it......they had cymbals there.....and they had them at every other festival show. Just that first one....well, we won't go there again.
There were a few shops and restaurants around where we were playing, so Michelle and I stocked up on a few snacks and drinks to take to our hotel room later. We were playing first this night, followed by the two acts who followed us the night before and then other acts, including Los Skarnales, from Houston. I was wearing my Astros jersey to this gig, and several of the Skarnales yelled "hey, Astros!" to me, giving me big thumbs ups. I was confused at first, because I didn't realize who they were!
Our set was okay. We played fine, but we're pretty unaccustomed to playing first these days, and the crowd just never really warmed to us, despite Smitty's best workings. That happens sometimes. Nothing to be ashamed of, but we just couldn't get the crowd on our side. Once the next acts started, things changed for the crowd, and they started getting into it. One regret I do have is that Michelle and I were getting a bit tired, so we went back to the hotel after Maf É Tulà. We missed Los Skarnales, who the guys were raving about the next day. I wish we would have caught some of them.
So endeth the Friday.
Later, we headed over to Montejaque, and the second Hickoids show of the festival. The other Hickoids had been housed by the festival in a couple of rooms right next to the square/playing area in the town, meaning that those poor souls hadn't had much sleep. Folks (including them at times) were partying until the wee hours, and from what I heard, it was loud. Also, their air conditioning was apparently not the best. So it was a hot noisy time for the Hickoids, minus me. Our hotel was incredibly quiet at night, and our a.c. was kicking. And I had Michelle with me. It's a wonder they don't all hate me now; maybe they do.
Montejaque was just a few kilometers north of Benajoàn, which in turn was just a kilometer north of where we were staying. So, we just had a short drive to this one. Unfortunately, we had to park near an unfinished building of some sort (the guys' van was there, too) and walk a fairly long ways to the town square. This time, I was smart. I brought my cymbals. Of course, wouldn't you know it......they had cymbals there.....and they had them at every other festival show. Just that first one....well, we won't go there again.
There were a few shops and restaurants around where we were playing, so Michelle and I stocked up on a few snacks and drinks to take to our hotel room later. We were playing first this night, followed by the two acts who followed us the night before and then other acts, including Los Skarnales, from Houston. I was wearing my Astros jersey to this gig, and several of the Skarnales yelled "hey, Astros!" to me, giving me big thumbs ups. I was confused at first, because I didn't realize who they were!
Our set was okay. We played fine, but we're pretty unaccustomed to playing first these days, and the crowd just never really warmed to us, despite Smitty's best workings. That happens sometimes. Nothing to be ashamed of, but we just couldn't get the crowd on our side. Once the next acts started, things changed for the crowd, and they started getting into it. One regret I do have is that Michelle and I were getting a bit tired, so we went back to the hotel after Maf É Tulà. We missed Los Skarnales, who the guys were raving about the next day. I wish we would have caught some of them.
So endeth the Friday.
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