You lit the town in candlelight, flickering half bright
Thursday, July 14, 2005
So last night I saw Richard Buckner and Anders Parker play live music to a crowd of live people. I'll type about it, howsaboutthat?
Picked up my friend-- the indestructible Greg --and we glided skatelike into Pittsburgh. There was a police party on the expressway, too; cruisers of all shapes and colors (and flavors?) were zipping by, hiding under bridges, slipping by my window at 90 mph. The five-oh was letting other, select friends into the party too; you could see all of them hanging out on the berm covered in a blinking wash of primary colors.
So the show. We make it to the South Side of the 'burgh and head into Club Cafe. As much as the South Side is a New Urbanism fantasyland, it's still a pain to find parking, especially since every conceivable space (including Mrs. Feenie's yard and the bored-out wall of that condemned building over thataway) is taken by automobiles. But we found a place RIGHT NEXT TO CLUB CAFE and I parked there and we paid ten dolla (two dolla less than I had thought) to amble past the pug-faced burlyman at the doors.
So back to the show. How did I get off topic? I take a breath and walk around the corner and size up the room and what the...there are seats? We got there as Anders Parker was tuning his guitar, getting ready to perform, and there're seats? We find a nice table fairly close and plop down. Not packed! WOO!
(See, as we discovered latter, and as Anders Parker mentioned, it was Wednesday night, and Wednesday night is anything but Go See Scary Men With Acoustic Guitars Night).
Just before Anders starts playing, a gal sits down in front of us, looking awfully like a member of the Peruvian Womens Soccer Team. A waitress glides around and gets my drink order, Sam Smith Oatmeal Stout BUT WAIT they don't have Sam Smith Oatmeal Stout on the menu anymore so I frown and mumble something ("ummmwutohhhhh"? maybe?) and randomly pick Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. I've never had it, but since I've not heard of it it must be good.
Anders plays, and it is good. He was in some rock and roll bands before, but now he's doing the one-man acoustic guitar and piano thing. He's got a big beard and a flannel shirt. If he had a hat on and an axe I'd be making lumberjack jokes, but I'll pass. I picked his new solo album up, and I just listened to it, and it's awesome. It's much more fleshed out (as in Anders plays lots of electric, acoustic, bass, piano) and there's drums too. Excellent stuff. But the waitress floats up and gives me the ale and I taste it and it is good.
Trend I noticed about the Club Cafe waitresses. A few years ago, when I first started going there for shows, the waitresses were normal middle-aged woman who took your order and so on, very nice-restaurantish. But with each visit, something happens. The waitresses have gotten smaller. More elfin. Pixielike. Shorter hair. And...tighter clothing. So two years ago it was like my mom serving me chili and drinks; now it's a 4'6" robot woman wearing toddler apparal. I'm scared that a year from now the serving staff will be consist of muscular men carrying a tiny case to your table, where they open it and Tinkerbell wisps out and asks if you want Becks or Becks Dark? Either that or you'll be able to see the waitresses' internal organs.
Then Buckner comes up and does his insane one-man band thing where basically plays one consistant song for an hour and ten minutes. The guy has written, like, at least 100 tunes, and plays a bunch of stuff connected by an orchestra of guitars he assembles by using a looping pedal and a battered Fender Jaguar and a ratty acoustic 12-string and a classical guitar and an e-bow. It's insane. He's an imposing figure, too. His head seems like it's going to touch the ceiling at one point, and he's got huge arms and cryptic tattoos and long hair and this INSANE DEEP STARE, a stare that rends your souls and makes you go into a coma. But he's shy and quiet, mumbling only a few words at the end of his set.
So it was a fun night. A fun Wednesday night with guys that tour the States in rusting station wagons.
posted, with grace and poise, by Jason @ 7/14/2005 04:10:00 PM,
5 Comments:
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At 4:27 PM,
RZ said...
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The evening you describe sounds like awesomeness. naturally.
Your descrption of the waitresses is more than a little disturbing - like, did they EAT the mommish pleasant middle-aged ladies? hmmm... -
At 7:53 PM,
Rebecca said...
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Two things. Maybe three.
One. You said last night twice in the first sentence, and you said you picked your friend. Does this mean you chose him to be your friend yesterday or that you picked him up?
Two. Sierra Nevada Pale Ale? And you liked it? I applaud your first choice, but Sierra Nevada Pale Ale? Hmm....
Three. Sounds like a good time. I haven't been to a show in a long while. I should make time for live music. -
At 10:41 PM,
Jason said...
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I totally fixed those errors.
Also, I like pale ales, especially IPAs. -
At 1:37 AM,
Rebecca said...
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I suppose everyone is entitled to their own opinion even when it comes to (bad) beer. :-)
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At 9:56 AM,
~greg said...
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Added this post to my links, a lot better review than I did, nice sum up of some of the conversations to and from...
