Slothbear's big weekend has finally started winding down. Amps and drums were brought up scores of flights of stairs, time and time again, listless audiences abounded. Sure, there were pretty faces along the way, those whose names only appear in harsh, un-click-able, black fonts or spend their time in hazy pastures, gnawing away at the flora, never to be bridled or tamed. It started with the former, as Slothbear got ready to play a set at Kenny's Castaways, a lousy little place that my cousin saw the Ramones play at twenty five years ago, with a sound guy who apparently liked us in addition to looking like a Bauhaus loving, at least bi-curious version of Alan Rickman's Severus Snape. We huddled in a clamour of teen-boy whisperings and eventually took the tiny cluttered stage after wistfully bathing in the nostalgia never felt for the lot of bands who soundtracked Mallrats. We played a set that looks a lot like the others we've been playin: White Xmas, Olio, D, Spacey, No D, Tiger, Fluoxetine, Lil Qid. And had a good time doing so. We played for my mom, Craig's parents, lanky undeserving boyfriends of lovely girls and several coked-up (according to my mother) baby boomers who would occasionally make their ways to the stage to do strange shuffles, as their ear buds howled Steely Dan into their aging ear-holes and into and out of the folds of their brains. Sure I ended up sick to my stomach in a parking garage, but who doesn't.
The next day Doug, Ian and I made a trek out to Stony Brook for an appearance on WUSB's Oprah's Handbag, hosted by none other than Krissy, our dear affiliate. We played White Xmas, Olio, Tiger and an encore, actually solicited by Krissy, of Djam. Doug came up with a new pseudonym, "Wawn," and we shot the s-word with as little lewd language was we could manage. On the show several things were determined. Ian is Cutebear, Doug Smartbear, Myself Softbear and Craig was dubbed Useless Liar, though on second thought, I renamed him Ornerybear. We then got Green Cactus with Ross, and Ross and I got some Ice Cream. That night ended with South Park and slumber and the next day began with lugging amps, though not before Craig made me my very own Slothbear sharpie shirt, "Fierce 34" etched across my shoulders.
The lugging of amps up and down flights of stairs several times over the course of yesterday, justified Craig and I in eating our something short of healthy dinners. We played KellyFest, an outdoor show that at no given moment had much of an audience. Contrary to the warm spring air, which wafted around Craig, Ian and I (Doug was at work), like the smoke from Ian's menthol cigarette, which he smoked pimply as we began our set, the audience was somewhat less than tepid. We played Xmas, Olio/D, and ND/Tiger. Shows without bass are lame, but I had fun, sweat blinded, sending bent guitar notes out into the open air.
In the evening the lugging of amps resumed, and Slothbear brought our amps to the TAC, where we were recorded for a college radio, itunes podcast of sorts. I don't know the details. What I do know is, Patrice recorded us after we were subjected to two of the three most depressing musical ensembles on a shithole campus replete with them. We did an interesting set, which was meant to be one lengthy take but ended up two. A Fall-esque "Exceptional Bastards" gave way to "Little Qid/Swamp Boogie/Roll Over John Peel," the latter of which was a lengthy take of "Little Qid" complete with a truncated version of the interlude I play before "Little Qid" live. I don't know what is to become of this song. This recording, if we like it, might be offered as some sort of stop gap live EP. It was very off the cuff in nature. We fucked around and had fun.
That's all for now.
broccoliman1: 3:06 AM
1 year ago