New Digs

I finally moved home. Not home as in my Parents' house, but home as in MPLS. It's been since 1998 that I lived in the good old Murderapolis, and I decided it was time to get back to my roots.
FYI - I'm rockin' the Seward 'hood.

Rockin' Out

It's Monday, and that means it's time to start making plans for Thursday.
What's that you say? You don't have anything in the works? Well you do now.
Marshall Cretin are playing the Triple Rock Social Club, and that can only mean good times.

If you've never been to the Triple Rock before you are in for a treat. It's a rockin' bar, and pretty sweet venue. I've seen Lucero there twice. The second time I challenged Ben to a drinking contest. I did not win.

Plus, the cover is only $5, and the beer is cheap.

The Rugged

I was on spring break this last week, and spent my time in the luxurious setting of Oakland/San Francisco CA. The girlfriend and I stayed with my buddy Todd and his girlfriend (and their sweet dog Maya).
The itinerary was sparse. Tunes, booze, wine country, and some museums here and there.
We started off on the right foot, with Todd taking the lead role. And by lead role I mean dancing with Maya on his back.

That reminded us of the sort of shenanigans we've gotten into in the past.

(those are just clove cigarettes Narc!) (Photo by Ananda Wiegand)

Then we drank some wine in a cave.



Then I got to thinking about a new career path.



(Photo by Ananda Wiegand)

Return to Glory

First off, let me apologize for my long absence. I have no real good excuse, but I'll go with the tried and true "I've been busy with work and school." It's a bit of a cop out, but what can you do?

In my defense, I have been putting time to good use. I got a sweet vintage Rogers drumset for free and restored it to full operational glory. It's pretty much the best set I've ever owned, possibly the best I've ever played. Seems there's some truth to the notion that quality equipment leads to quality sound. Marshall Cretin should be recording again soon, so you will all have a chance to hear the sweetness for yourselves before too long.

Pass the Chonic- What?

First of all, let me apologize for my absence of late. The excuse I'm going with is that I have been busy with finals, even though that has only been true of last 2 weeks. I'll be adding some more stuff after the holidays are over.

For now, here's possibly the funniest thing SNL has done in a decade.

HUM

Those of you who know me, especially if you talked to me after I've had a few beers, know that I am huge fan of the band HUM.
Many of you also know that I never had the chance to see them live before they broke up a few years ago; a fact that was causing me some distress.
Well, a few months back they announced a reunion show to take place this last weekend.
After I caught my breath, changed my pants, and double-checked for accuracy, I set out to ensure my attendance.
The show was to be the culminating event of Rockfest, a festival hosted by the Highdive and sponsored by Budweiser in Champaign, IL.
Tickets were acquired. Plans were made.

It would go something like this:

Friday afternoon: Ben and I drive off to Madison to stay with my Sister.

Friday evening: We drink with Scandinavian exchange students to excess.

Saturday morning: We wake up mildly hung-over and return to the car.

Saturday afternoon: We arrive in Champaign. Check-in to the Red Roof Inn. It's classy.

Saturday afternoon: We eat at a joint called Guido's on the corner of Neil and REO Speedwagon Way. Really.

Saturday afternoon: We mosey on over to the "venue," which is a parking lot behind the Highdive. There is a tent, and a stage, and about 8 hours to kill before the main event.

Sometime later on Saturday: We befriend the Whiskey Daredevils, who are pretty awesome. They proceed to feed us tequila and give us hugs.

Sometime after sundown: I am getting pretty huggy myself. I meet two very nice women through some sort of attempted hug exchange.

Kim is the wife of the fella who sent me the tickets. Danelle is somehow friends with HUM. My heart goes a little mushy at this point. I explain the drive I made to see the show. I explain the many, many, drunken rants I've had about this band who is about to take the stage.
Do you want to meet the band? They ask. I manage some sort of response and am led to the greenroom door. I meet Tim Lash who plays guitar. I manage some similar sort of verbal exchange. He politely excuses himself to the stage.

Saturday evening: HUM takes the stage. People go apeshit. I go apeshit. I call friends who are not in attendance and leave them voicemails. It looks something like this.

Late Saturday: HUM is done. Fans are lining up at the side of the stage for autographs. I say to Ben, "let's go over there." Ben says something like, "No, let's go backstage." And I proceed to follow him. Next thing I know we are backstage. I'm shaking hands with Bryan St. Pere, Tim Lash (again), and Jeff Dimpsey. They look like they wonder what the hell I'm doing there, but they seem harmless. Mr. St. Pere, who currently works for Medtronic, seems pretty interested that my Girlfriend is in orthopedic surgery.
Finally a security guy gets around to asking what in the hell Ben and I are doing backstage. We explain that we are with Whiskey Daredevils, and does he know where they happen to be? No? Well, let them know that we're looking for them if you happen to see them.
A girl fan sees us leaving and asks for our autographs. Ben and I explain that we are not famous, then proceed to give her our autographs anyway.
Early Sunday morning: The overnight desk woman at the Red Roof Inn gives us the number for a pizza joint. We order a huge pie, garlic cheese bread, and chicken wings. Lethal Weapon II is on cable.

Later Sunday morning: We get in the car and drive for many, many hours in somewhat less than ideal condition.

Late Sunday evening: I get home much later than anticipated. I go to bed, very happy with the years I have taken off of my life.

Strange

I am a pretty big Pearl Jam fan. Some people may not think PJ is that cool anymore, but I don't like them because they're cool, I just dig the tunes. Then again, some people suck.
But I digress.
Last Spring I went with some buddies to O'Gara's Garage to see a Pearl Jam "tribute" band called Evenflow. Turns out tribute band means "all we play is covers and all the covers we play are by ______." This particular tribute band is so successful at covering another successful band that they actually tour the US. Typically I don't really like cover bands all that much, but I dig PJ and they weren't anywhere nearby so I went and ended up having a pretty sweet time.
Fast forward to this last Saturday night. Evenflow is back in town, and by town I mean a shitty suburb called Maplewood, playing a venue called The Rock, which is very comfortably situated in a strip mall across from the Old Country Buffet.
Have I set the scene for you? Do I really need to mention that there were mullets present?

So there we are, listening to a more than competent "tribute" when I get to thinking about what it is I am actually experiencing. I realized that there were some very strange things happening all around me.
a) Tribute bands exist.
b) Said bands play only the music of one other band.
c) People, myself included, go to see these acts...
d) ...So much so that they can tour the country.
e) When they aren't close enough people drive from Omaha to Maplewood to see them (386 miles for those of you playing at home).
f) Then those people sing along with the tribute band.
g) And scream out things like "EVENFLOW ROXX!"
h) Then the tribute band, who are themselves playing covers, plays songs that the original band whom they are tributing covers. A la Evenflow covers PJ covering "Rockin' in the Free World."
i) At which point you kinda stop having fun for a minute because the whole thing seems so bizarre to you.
j) Then you say to hell with it and have a good time because PJ rocks.