The Galt Line

TGL's Hoity Toity Tour to The NE Day 3: The Lemon Grove in Youngstown, OH

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 18 Jul 2012 14:53:00 +0000

Youngstown is a pretty place. The Lemon Grove is purportedly the best spot in town and we believe it- it fulfills our first 2 requirements for loving any place: great beer & great food. Also good people. And a small but excellent crowd danced for our whole set! What else could a girl want?
We spent the daylight hours prowling around a huge park, falling, and getting caught in an epic thunderstorm...
(For pictures, check out our photo album on FB.)

Here is Classical Revolution:

And here's a sampling of our set. It is posted n its entirety on our Youtube channel.

TGL's Hoity Toity Tour to The NE Day 2: Boozarama Fest & Super Predator CD Release at AE Sculpture Studio in Canton, OH

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 15 Jul 2012 19:45:00 +0000

Day 2: Boozarama Fest & Super Predator CD Release at AE Sculpture Studio in Canton, OH
Canton is a great town with a vibrant music scene largely spearheaded by Chris Bentley of The Most Beautiful Losers and Buzzbin Mike of Buzzbin Magazine. 14 bands, 2 stages. It was a wild time.
Here's the fb event page so you can check out the bands on the lineup:
https://www.facebook.com/events/342918945769569/

And here's our photo album if you prefer stills to these durnblasted moving pictures!

Part 1:

Part 2:

And I got video of some of the bands:

Jagermonster

Sweet Spot

The Most Beautiful Losers

Super Predator

The Said So

Yet to Define

TGL's Hoity Toity Tour to The Northeast Day 1: Hambone's Pub in Pittsburgh, PA

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 15 Jul 2012 19:29:00 +0000

We are video blogging instead of regular blogging this time around. Here's Day 1 of our 6th tour through the US, this time to the Northeast. It's our first time playing up here aside from our roots in NYC and 1 show in Burlington Vermont a couple years ago.

This is our first foray into video blogging. It's pretty casual so far, but who knows what madness we shall come up with as we get used to the format? Or maybe we'll just keep talking and driving...

Day 1 is Friday the 13th (of July), 2012. Hambone's Pub in Pittsburgh, PA with fiddler Max Ward.

(For pictures, check out our photo album on FB)

And here is Max Ward:

The Dirty Yeti's Shotgun- Episode II: The Tall Bike Strikes Back

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 18:41:00 +0000

The Dirty Yeti's Shotgun- Episode I: Vest Wars

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 22 Apr 2012 19:17:00 +0000

The Dirty Yeti Bikini Beach Party: Eugene OR

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 06 Apr 2012 04:04:00 +0000

The Dirty Yeti Bikini Beach Party: Eugene OR

“How do we prepare?” I asked Aldo over the din of excitement.

“Line up bottles of your best whiskey and clear a corner. I’m sure this is all we’ll need to do.” He said with a knowing glint in his eye.

I recruited a few native locals to start the work. Soon a gleaming row of whiskey bottles lined the counter and several nearby tables.

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Morning in the Strangled Darlings house brought coffee and a few hours of conversation about bringing music on the road. Afterwards we met Sarah, our neighbor from New York (now happily living in Portland) at a diner for pancakes and such. She told us tales about her recent travels in Europe. Soon we were piled in the van again and we were on the road to Eugene.

Bill Shatner got us a room. It was cheap. I mean for real cheap. It was beautiful too. When we dragged ourselves and our stinking bags of clothes to the front desk, the poor girl looked frightened of us. When we explained that we were musicians, she calmed considerably. We took a shiny elevator to the fourth floor, hurled our bags into the room, and took a shower in the giant bathroom.

After some computer work and some cable TV, we ventured out to The Black Forest. This venue is a small bar lined with neon lights and slot machines. There’s a pool table in one corner and a sizable stage in the other. Right away we meet The Mudpuppies, a blues duo (guitar and drums), and our bill mates. After a long sound check, we jumped into an hour long set. It was pretty tame. There was a little hitch when our power zapped out for a moment. The small crowd threw us a little appreciation.

The Mudpuppies posted a set of gritty blues tunes with tricky inside out drumming and killer guitar tone. They didn’t have the audience they deserve. These guys would rock a dance party. We sat and chatted with some bar patrons and the band for a while. Another group of guys got up and did an impromptu set. It was at this moment that I started feeling that feeling, a fevery, dizzy type of feeling.

By the time we had gotten back to the room, I felt downright sick. We had been so careful during this trip to get plenty of sleep, drink very little (mostly), and eat well. But eventually, when you start packing shows in together, something catches up with you.

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“Will this be enough?” I asked Aldo, who was dancing with a few of the locals while the soldiers watched and laughed.

“Surely,” he shouted over the native drums. “They’ll be pleased with the sight of it. We won’t know until they come how thirsty they’ll be, and how far they will spread it.”

“They spread thirst?”

“Oh Yes. Everyone who hears them becomes thirsty as the desert.”

The Dirty Yeti Beach Party: Portland OR

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 22 Mar 2012 15:36:00 +0000

Everyone was silent after the boom. The crowd looked around for someone to investigate. Fortunately they were spared the effort, for the door burst open, and a man from the village tore across the room, spouting Hindi and grabbing an army officer by the collar. Another man rose from a nearby table and calmed the now agitated officer.

“He is crying for help. He says a great foot crashed to the ground.” The man was still talking rapidly. “He says the leg reached into the clouds.”

I did not wake up healthy. Blythe shook me as Wesley was coming in the door. The generosity of the Horned Hand has morning consequences. We had breakfast at Wesley’s house. I said very little. It was good though. Wesley drove us back to the Hand, and we loaded out. Blythe drove while I tried to sleep. We retraced our path across the mountains to Portland. The journey took us deep into the afternoon. When we arrived in Portland, we didn’t have too much time to burn.

We found the venue locked up tight, so we walked the neighborhood for a while. When they cracked the doors, we sat down and had some awesome Thai food. We brought in our stuff, met Renee Muzquiz, our host for the evening, and the Strangled Darlings, our bill mates. Renee Muzquiz started with a set of tricky singer-songwriter stuff with complex chords. We stepped up next and started into an acoustic set. Though we sound checked, the venue kept telling us we were too loud. The truth is, our music has a very dense texture, so it always seems louder than it is. Anyway, after a few adjustments, we just unplugged and stood in the middle of the room.

The Strangled Darlings stepped up next and played a set of roots laced R&B stuff. With and electric cello and a mandolin, they created a sparse and elegant rhythmic pulse. It was a cool set. It was like David Holmes done by a roots duo. After that, Renee Muzquiz closed out with another set. These tunes were particularly tricky with bossa rhythms and jazzy chords and lots of energy, not to mention great singing.

The Strangled Darlings offered us a spot for the night. We toasted a nightcap with some cider we got in Chelan, and passed out fast and hard.

After the man’s frantic rant, the room erupted into conversation. Aldo just smiled quietly. “They’re coming.” He said to me.

The Dirty Yeti Beach Party: Bend OR

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 18 Mar 2012 06:00:00 +0000

My little Tea House had ever been so full. Soldiers and villagers who never meet my eye were ordering drinks. Jack watched me, bemused, as I openly poured hard spirits to men who would normally harass me about liquor laws.

Aldo was strumming a mandolin and chuckling every time someone walked up the narrow stairway. Sir Kent stood up and addressed the room. “What are all of you doing here?”

The journey to Bend OR is an epic one, requiring a zig-zagging pass over the Cascades. After leaving our truck stop motel, we jumped on a highway that had us winding through the mountains in no time. We went from a grey drizzle to snow-capped and sun drenched peaks in no time. View after view of mountains stretching to the horizon and cliff clinging roadways filled the windshield. Once we had crossed a few ridgelines, the evergreen forests gave way to high desert. Soon we were twisting through red rock canyons.

When we got to Bend, we found a town of sprawling commercial centers and green grassed parks. We sat down for a dinner of fish tacos at Parrilla Grill. When we found the Horned Hand, we were invited in warmly and great beers were slammed down before us in an instance. Wesley, owner and operator, chatted with us about some other bands on the circuit. When some people started streaming in, we loaded onto the stage. Local street musicians, The Wild Eyed Revolvers, played a quick set of original tunes. Afterwards we crushed 2 ½ hours of a mean set.

Nice beer kept flowing as we talked with some people after the show. I passed out on the couch. Wesley locked us in for the night. The next thing I knew, Wesley was unlocking the door in the morning and offering us breakfast.

PS – A fuzzy memory from the night surfaced. A friend of the establishment ran a food truck outside. The Codfather is a converted double decker bus that serves fish and chips and fish tacos. They cooked us up a late night dinner that I still dream about.

No one answered Sir Kent. The room, momentarily lulled by his command for attention, roared back to life with hurried conversation. Then a boom rang in the distance and everyone was silent.

The Dirty Yeti Beach Party Seattle

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 06 Mar 2012 12:00:00 +0000

"The Galt Line 'ere tonight? Thought so, sir."

The two soldiers bustled past and picked two stools at the counter. "Drinks sir!"

I eyed them suspiciously and stepped in front of the bottles that now lined the shelves. Everyone clearly had drinks in their hands. Liquor is not allowed in this area because of some local civil trouble with the native villagers. "We serve no alcohol here boys."

"Can it. We're not here to cause you trouble. We just want a dab of good ole English whiskey." He gave a rogueish wink and tipped his wrist back, miming a drink. "Our fellows told us this would be the spot for it.

"Well alright boys. Half price tonight!"

Bremerton was grey as ever in the morning. We snuck out of Gentry’s house and drove up the hill to a diner run by some folks who were at the show the night before. They kindly invited us to have breakfast, so we piled into a booth next to Kelly (former birthday girl and Hi Fidelity co-owner) and her friends. We had huge omelets and lots of coffee. Blythe also bought a painting by a local artist of John Wayne riding a Tauntaun through a psychedelic space background.

Afterwards, we took a ferry across the sound to Seattle. The ferry ride was beautiful, showing us some of the only sunshine we were to see in the Northwest. The boat glided past evergreen islands and marinas packed full of sailboats. Sea birds traced the ferry’s path while the Seattle skyline came into view around an island. The crystalline spires grew taller as the boat approached the dock.

We rolled off the boat and up the street and parked. With an afternoon to burn before our show, we thought we might explore downtown Seattle. We marched to the place all Seattle tourists go. Pikes Place market is hours of entertainment. With everything from fresh seafood and produce to full sized oil paintings and handmade instruments for sale, there were endless things to peruse.

Later we walked the streets, peering in the windows of coffee shops and boutique stores. Eventually we happened on the Utilikilt store. After the guy running the store handed us a beer, we had to stay and chat. Half an hour later we walked out with a kilt. Not long after we met Dustin and Natasha for dinner at a gleaming sushi restaurant. We talked for a bit about being on the road, and Dustin’s upcoming thesis, an account of a medieval labor dispute within the cloistered walls of the Catholic Church.

After dinner we drove a short bit to the venue, Comet Tavern, and began loading in. Aside from the door guy, everyone was very helpful. Before long all the work was done and we had met the other bands, decided on order, and launched into the music. First up was Weatherside Whiskey Band, a roots act with cool country tunes and a great upright bassist. We followed with a tight and fast set. After, Judd Wasserman put together a big band and played Dark Side of the Moon note for note.

After giving a goodnight to the bands, getting some unnecessary shit from the door guy, and loading out, we get a free hot dog at the cart outside (Italian sausage with grilled onions and cream cheese… wild eh?). We hopped in the van, hit the highway, and ate up an hour of rainy highway before turning off at a truck stop and checking in to a dirty little room.

Over the din of a roomful, an Officer poked his head around the door. "Oi, you two." He shouted at the two young soldiers. "What're you doin' here."

The soldiers had had a few, so they raised their glasses in unison and retorted, "Havin' a drink sir!"

"You're in trouble now boys. Drinking in town where its illegal."

They looked at each other and worried.

"Now!" The officer shouted. "Now, you owe me a drink! I hear The Galt Line are coming this way."

The Dirty Yeti Beach Party: Chelan and Bremerton

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 05 Mar 2012 20:00:00 +0000

Aldo Stepped from the shadows.

Everyone who traveled knew Aldo. He was on every street corner in every city in the world. His parents forced him to learn to play the violin in hopes of getting a court position. Aldo instead of pursuing his parent's dreams of stately dinners, he ran off with a passing tribe of Gypsies. Now he made his living playing for coins, bells strapped to his ankle, and dressed in every color.

"Aldo!" exclaimed Sir Kent and Jack. They began searching their pockets for a coin to buy a song.

"Hold you money tonight Gentle Sirs. The Galt Line approaches."

Aldo swept off his hat in address to the room. "How do I know?" He asked everyone. "Because I saw them last night."

"What!" Shouted Jack.

"Oh yes! And they played... for hours... and destroyed another tavern."

"How extraordinary." Jack whispered.

"They are a menace Good Men. But they mustn't be stopped. For they may destroy this very tea house, but may all be richer for it."

The Spokane show had gone really well, which meant we woke up very slowly. By 11 we were in the car with the city in the rearview. Our next stop was a little resort town by a mountain lake called Chelan. We were booked to play The Vogue Lounge, a popular coffee shop and wine bar. First we had a long drive across eastern Washington ahead of us.

Most of this portion of the state is sprawling plains, dotted with little, dense pine forests. Frost and icy fog clung to the grasses, giving an otherworldly halo to the whole scene. We passed through little western towns centered around grain mills and railroad depots. Soon mountains crept over the horizon, snowy peaks first, followed by miles of rolling foothills.

As we approached the mountains, the road became more remote. Only a few farmhouses dotted the ethereal landscape. When the road began to wind downhill to meet the first of the rocky foothills, enormous volcanic boulders began to pop up, hulking suddenly over our path when we would turn a tight corner. Against a steely sky, a great black rock can be an impending sight.

Winding between mountains and crossing old steel bridges brought us suddenly to the wide main street of Chelan. Boutiques line either side. The road meandered to a blue painted steel bridge, punctuated with antique street lamps. We parked the Yeti and had a lunch of salad and baked spaghetti at a local diner. After a mighty cup of delicious (though slightly motor oil like) coffee, we wandered the tiny lakeside town. A local park provided an easy path along the mountain lake. While strolling, a gigantic husky joined us, trotting happily around the park, apparently unconcerned about the local leash laws.

When the path led us back into town, we spotted some local artists building ice sculptures with fevered intensity. Crowds had gathered to watch these men athletically manipulate huge blocks of ice. Several tourists sat on a great ice throne for pictures, invariably rubbing their freezing backsides after descending.

AWWWW! Lookit!

When the sun sank behind the looming mountains, we stepped into The Vogue. We introduced ourselves to Mike, the owner, and Danielle the barista on duty. They made us very comfortable while we worked on the computers. When the time came, we loaded onto the small stage and got ready to play. A few patrons filtered in, ordering glasses of wine and lounging comfortably at the bar. We played a laid back show for them, totaling about 2 ½ hours. Everyone seemed to have a pretty good time. A few people dropped us tips and we sold a bunch of shirts and CDs.

When we were loading out, a little snow had started to fall, and an icy frost was beginning to cling to everything. We figured we should get out of town before we got stuck in the mountains. Our lodgings for this chilly evening were in Wenatchee, a town filled with fruit packing factories and cheap motels.

The night went by fast. Morning came greyly through the grimy window. We were on the highway quickly, winding through the cascades, and finding our way to Bremerton. This town’s main distinction is having the honor of being home to a naval repair yard. Having just recently toured the Norfolk VA naval harbor, it was interesting to see the same situation mirrored on the West coast. The Town is perched on a hill on a peninsula guarding the Puget Sound. It has the rusty look of a Midwestern industrial town, but with a touch of charming Western kookiness.

We found the Hi Fidelity Lounge poking out of a tight little alley. We heaved the wooden door open and were greeted with a drunken song. The bar was crowded to the gills with merry makers from the local Hash club, which has something to do with imbibing and running in the woods. We were greeted somewhat coldly by Gentry, one of the owners, and by Kelly, the other owner and birthday girl. Both were thoroughly engaged with the club, who had somehow invaded before the bar had officially opened. We ducked out, hoping to grab some food and let the bar owners get a handle on the drunken runners.

At a grocery store we munched on sandwiches and made predictions for the evening while watching the town filter through the checkout lines with their dinners and libations. When the time came, we marched back to the venue, threw open the door and demanded attention. The owners were much more helpful now, and soon we were loaded in with drinks in hand. We also met our bill mates, Pearl and Chris, The Driftwood Singers. Once the sound guy arrived, we were ready to start. The Driftwood Singers began with a set of haunting country ballads, complete with floating harmonies and raggy chord changes.

We jumped up next and played an energetic set. A few drunken dancers stomped in from the front room and turned the whole thing into a real live party. When we were done, we chatted with some of the crowd and had a few beverages. Near the end we talked to two Navy types who were enjoying their night off together. They were from Delaware and Philly, so we jawed about the Mid-Atlantic while they got seriously drunk.

When the party was over and the bar was shutting down, owner Gentry invited us to stay for the night. Soon we were stretched out on the floor of his house while his dogs ran circles around the room. We passed out.

Two men from the village came in up the stairs and brushed roughly past Aldo. They were villagers who I had seen around. I had never thought they would come in here, as they didn't speak English, and didn't care for the English. But down they sat, and began to fish coins from their clothes.

When I approached the table, one of the men looked up and grunted. "Galt Line? Here".

"Well it seems so Gents." Sir Kent offered.

They conferred rapidly in their native Hindi. "Two Teas." the one said gruffly. As I turned to fill his order he grabbed my arms and gave me a conspiratorial wink. As the only liquor officially available here is made from fermented goat's milk, I assumed he wanted a discreet drop of brandy. I slapped down two tea and brandys.

"Its on me tonight you two kind men. The Galt Line is coming and we must prepare." I pulled the bottles from under the counter. "Come on, Drinks half price for everyone, all night!"

The Dirty Yeti Beach Party Days 7 and 8.

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 07 Feb 2012 04:28:00 +0000

Jack, a very shrewd man, thought with narrowed eyes for a moment.

“It could be a mechanical thing. There are great mechanical wonders in the world today.”

Sir Kent spoke up with a raised eyebrow. “T’would be a wonder that could travel the way people talk about it.”

“I’ve seen it,” Tanaka said, “It carries them and all of their gear through snow and over mountains. It has a V6.”

“A what?” I asked.

“A heart that beats so strong that the beast could drag anything anywhere.”

“That does sound like a wonder.” Jack spoke softly as the sun set outside the window.

We left Aberdeen for a long, flat drive across South Dakota. The plains whizzed by while the van hummed gently over a cracked state road. In the afternoon, near the border of North Dakota, we saw an enormous, hand-wrought metal sign advertising “The Enchanted Highway”. We jammed the brakes, jerked the wheel, and took a little side trip.

The Enchanted Highway is one citizen’s attempt to help his small, agricultural town. Gary Greff built huge metal sculptures to help drive Interstate traffic through the area of Regent ND. These sculptures are really big.

The Montana border came with a new landscape. Soon mountains sprouted on the horizon. Canyons and grasslands and cliff side roads filled our windows, growing ever larger until we pulled into Butte. We got ourselves a nice room in a hotel shadowed by snowy peaks. After some fitness room torture, we settled in for some computer work and dinner.

The next morning we took to the roads again, following the twisting highway around the mountains. Afternoon flew by, and the sun set on us as we hit the Idaho panhandle. Through the dark and over snowy Interstates, we passed quickly into Washington. Spokane is right near the border, and we were pulling into the town before we knew it.

Neato Burrito sits in a very clean and highly commercial looking downtown district. The Baby Bar is a tiny room in the back of Neato Burrito. After checking in, we explored the neighborhood. There were plenty of bars and restaurants featuring live music, though mostly cover bands. The streets were clean and lit and bustling. When we made our way back to the venue, it had packed in a bit.

Silver Treason, the other band on the bill, arrived and was loading in. We all shook hands and helloed a little before getting right down to business. There was a nice write up for us in the local alt paper, so a few people had come in curiosity. Many people came to see Silver Treason also. When the room was nice and packed, we started in. It was a pretty cool show. The crowd produced a few screamers and dancers. Everyone was in.

Silver Treason followed us with some high energy honky-tonk and western swing. They were awesome. While they we playing we hung out with Tim and Patty (owners) who had a show with their own group, Whiskey Dick Mountain, earlier that night. By the end, we had to sneak out through a pressing crowd of beer drinkers and merry makers.

We passed out in a very cheap room soon after.

“You see, their beast carries them all over.” Kanaka nodded.

The three men looked solemnly into their drinks.

“So they are coming.” said Sir Kent. “What do we do?”

“We wait!” came a new voice from the hall. Bells jangled and strings hummed. “They are coming, but you have nothing to fear!”

A new traveler had climbed the stairs.

Next Episode… Eastern Washington, Apple Country, and the city of Chelan

The Dirty Yeti Beach Party Days 5 and 6.

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 20:26:00 +0000

Kanaka filled the darkened doorway, tracking sand and high desert snow behind him.

Kanaka smokes too much.

“They travel on the back of a great brown Yeti.”

A For Real Yeti

Kanaka was a tall man with sun scorched and brown skin. He made his living taking foreigners through his native mountain pass. He carefully peeled off his great goat skin boots, and shrugged off a cape of different animal hides.

Both men knew Kanaka, and gave a very slight bow in respectful greeting.

“What do you know of these two, mate?” Jack asked.

“I know they ride their great beast across mountain and plain, crushing cities. People gather in multitudes to see them.”

We left Austin’s in the afternoon, and streamed out onto the flat Midwestern highways. Shatner once again got us a room that would normally be way beyond our reach. In a few hours we had crossed the space from Illinois, through Wisconsin, and into Minnesota. Along the way we spotted frozen lakes, the Black Hills, and many truck stops.

Once we were in our room, we prepared to torture ourselves in the hotel gym for a while. We were, however, rewarded with a fine dinner of salad and wine from our local grocery store. I dozed while Blythe did computer work and the cable TV murmured in the background.

We woke early to eat some breakfast. Blythe went to the gym again while I took a look at what the city had to offer. Of course our first choice, if you know us at all, is the great consumer monstrosity known as the Mall of America. We pack out of our room and headed over. We were treated to such sights as enormous Lego statues, indoor roller coasters, and stores full of things no one would ever need. We ate, drank, people watched, and even caught a movie. Then we killed a guy and hid him in a forgotten janitor closet. If you're a local, see if you can guess which one. We named him Waldo.

Later we walked the city. We were both thoroughly impressed by the architecture of the city. We shuffled along the icy sidewalks while marveling at flying skyways and a great glass library. Soon we settled in the bar with some food and a few beers while we waited for Peter and the Twins.

Peter and Andy showed up with a crew in tow. They were ready to play, so we all set up quickly and prepared to rock the room. Peter and Andy opened with some of their original tunes, Peter on guitar and Andy on cajon. We followed up with a quick and tight set. The crowd was appreciative, but not crazy. People bought shirts. At the end of the night we streamed out to the suburbs to have some drinks and chat.

Many shots of whiskey and sake later, we somehow ended up in a comfortable bed. Before we knew it, the sun rose over a snowy landscape. We snuck out of the house and were on the highway in minutes.

Aberdeen SD lay before us. The Red Rooster Coffeehouse was to be our host for he evening. Our route took us on a long state road to the little town. The road wound around tiny lakeside towns and grain mills. In the afternoon we pulled up to The Red Rooster, which was situated in a prominent storefront in the downtown area.

The interior was lined with used books and local crafts for sale. We ate sandwiches and worked on the computers while we watched locals come in and catch up on the holidays with each other. A gaggle of dramatic teenagers sat together and complained about their lives, and a meeting of mentally challenged people assembled to decide where they could gather to discuss the role of religion in their lives. Local musicians sat together and discussed what new bands were playing in Minneapolis and whether or not they could organize a road trip. The Red Rooster is Aberdeen’s great equalizer. People of every kind came in to meet.

A trio of locals called Elder opened up with acoustic arrangements of broad ballads. Afterwards we set up quickly and slammed through and hour long set. The crowd was mostly apathetic, but a few people came up to talk and buy some merch. Dan, owner and operator, complimented our show and offered us a bed for the evening.

At Dan’s house we sat up and chatted about travel and art and such. Before long we laid down and dreamt of our coming two day drive across the Dakotas and Montana.

“These two are surely a menace!” Sir Kent exclaimed.

“Oh, I don’t know, mate,” said Jack, “Seems to me they’re just two more travelers, carving their living out of the landscape.”

“What is this Yeti you’re talking about?” I asked Kanaka.

“They travel on the back of a great dirty beast that climbs mountains in a step.” Kanaka said solemnly.

“What manner of beast could that be?” asked Sir Kent. “There’s hardly a creature not known to man already.”

Next Week… Dakota, Montana, and Spokane.

The Dirty Yeti Beach Party Days 3 and 4

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 00:11:00 +0000

My old friend Jack Cooper always cuts an impressive figure. A born adventurer from the Australian colonies, Jack makes his living by smuggling rare plants out of savage countries. He claims, every time he gets drunk, that he was the one who brought heritage coffee plants from Ethiopia to British Imperial territories in Turkey.

Jack on the job

“Strapped ‘em under me armpits I did. When I sweated, that coffee would get right under me skin. I swear I could run across the Red Sea. I was a one man Exodus.”

One this day he was quite sober. Framed in the doorway, his broad hat brim shading his eyes, he cast a dark glance at Sir Kent.

“Bit soft in here today, aye? Didn’t know it was a royal crown kind of room. Shall we curtsy when we enter?”

“Easy there Colonist. Your type will have your country by year’s end.” Sir Kent sat up in his seat, resuming an aristocratic posture.

Jack ignored Sir Kent’s retort. “Rud, give us a cuppa won’t you. Could use a little dram too.”

As I fetched his order I asked. “What’s the news? What brings you past here?”

“Chinese poppies. I just came down through the pass.” He pointed at his coat to indicate the hidden plant. “Had a hell of a time keeping the damn thing from freezing.”

“You didn’t come through the pass alone?” Sir Kent blustered with disbelief.

Jack’s eyes narrowed, and a wry smile pulled faintly at the corner of his mouth. “Aye, done it dozens of times.”

I put Jack’s cup down in front of him spoke up to cut the tension in the air. “Sir Kent here was just telling me of a new pair of travelers on the path.”

“You’re not talking of The Galt Line are ya!” Jack said excitedly.

“You’ve heard of them?” Kent said with a raised eyebrow.

“I’ve heard that they just crossed the plains, razing two towns on their way.”

Both Sir Kent and I just stared.

“Alright,” said Jack, “here’s what happened.”

We woke half way to Dekalb. I wrote in the passenger seat while Blythe drove. Once in town we slipped into to The House Café while CMKT4 was setting up to back up Gary Mullis, an idiosyncratic country songwriter. During their set, we ate a delicious tuna sandwich and a beer while writing up the last blog entry. After their set, we printed up some posters for some later shows and sent them out. All work all day. We rewarded ourselves with some tacos and margaritas before heading out to Rockford for our show.

We drove around town, peering out the windows at the deserted streets. Not much going on. When the time came, we searched out TheDisastr House, a DIY venue set in the basement of a tall old house. On entering we saw CMKT4 setting up. Young punky types were milling around, chatting over tall boys and waiting for the music. With a blast of feedback, CMKT4 laid into their set. The crowd danced and moved. It was good.

Disastr House Basement

When they were done, the basement emptied out. We loaded in while chatting to some of the house’s denizens. Just after midnight, in our first moments in 2012, we launched into our set. The basement packed in, and we got one of those sweaty rock shows that we love. The crowd was very receptive. Afterwards we talked with people and handed out CD’s. It took a good hour to get out. While we were at the van, with a little group of people getting CDs, automatic gunfire crackled in the air. Apparently it’s a popular activity in Rockford.

Soon we were on the dark highway, headed toward Austin’s house. When we pulled into the drive, a light snow flurry had started. We sat up with Austin and chatted about music until the wee hours, then passed out.

The morning came quickly. Before we knew it, we were back at the House Café. We shook hands and greeted some familiar faces before settling in the watch Firmish Skirmish, who did experimental music akin to late cartoon soundtracks or John Carpenter movies. We went up next and played an easy set to a small but attentive crowd. CMKT4 followed with some tight rock tunes, restraining some of their usual psychedelic madness. Soon after the set we loaded out while the House set up for some movie screenings.

Firmish Skirmish

CMKT4

Back at Austin’s we set into celebrating. The drinks flowed and the music played as we hung out with Austin, Sue, and Zack. We crashed in bed at about 4:30 in the morning.

“These Galt Line types are really on the war path eh?” said Sir Kent while he sipped another drink.

“Well, three shows is hardly the warpath.” I countered.

“I don’t know,” said Jack, ”the way it was told to me, they don’t plan to stop until they march to the sea.”

A dark voice boomed from the shadowy doorway. “I heard they ride the back of a great, brown Yeti.”

… Next episode – Minneapolis, The Mall of America, Peter and 1 Twin.

Yoda the cat

The Dirty Yeti Beach Party days 1 and 2. Journey to the west.

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 21:09:00 +0000

The Dirty Yeti Beach Party days 1 and 2. Journey to the west.

On my discharge from the British Territorial Army, I declined the ride home and instead opened a tea shop in the provincial town of Gorakhpur in Northern India. It was located in the rooms above the editor’s office of the local office of a London paper, so I frequently stayed in the know about the comings and goings of my military companions, as well as great travelers taking the pass through Nepal to the eastern reaches of the great Russian empire.

Most of my days were filled with trading stories with soldiers and journalists, as well as aristocratic mountaineers who were passing through the town, gathering supplies and courage for the journey to the top of the world. In this way I was familiar with all of the local myths and legends.

Sir Kent

A Sir Reginald Kent stomped up the wooden stair case one day, throwing off his great hairy coat, and dropped into a chair. He demanded a cup of cold tea with a drop of whatever I might have behind the counter, kicked off his Army issued boots and propped his feet up on a table. His brash attitude surprised me, but it had been a slow day and I was pleased to have some diversion.

“How goes it on the great road north, sir?” I asked. I set down some Darjeeling and brandy in front of his unwashed feet and took a seat across from him.

“Well, Rud,” he sighed with relief from his load and took a sip of his drink. “I just saw the greatest show in Goshen Indiana.”

“You don’t say. Juggling? Magic? Veiled Dancers?” These were the usual past times around this place.

“No, a great musical wonder. A Duo who sounds like a dance orchestra.”

“Just two” I asked incredulously.

“Aye. You wouldn’t believe it”

“Who are these people?”

His eyes turned keen, and with a flick of his wrist he drained his cup, breathed a great breath, and told me the story.

“I tell you just as they told me…”

We left Maryland a little late. It’s always a little rough when you’re constantly forgetting things. Before long we were on the highway, driving west through misting rain and flurrying snow. Our goal was to tick off a few hours of what would otherwise be an 8 hour straight pull into Goshen Indiana. By the time we hit the Pennsylvania border, the sun was already setting. The wind picked up and snow began to fall a little more heavily. We wound through the Allegheny Mountains, and blasted north toward Ohio. We passed through a great tunnel, and on the other side the snow was blowing like a blizzard. Beyond the lights on the highway and the stirring snow, you could see small hamlets tucked into the folds of the valley.

Fighting to give us clean sheets.

William Shatner gave us an amazing deal on what would otherwise be an out of budget room. As the landscape flattened out, we drove through the snow and crossed into Ohio. In a few hours we stepped into our fine lodgings for the evening, greeted by the smell of clean linens. For a half hour we tortured ourselves in the fitness room, then drifted off to the sounds of cable TV.

In the morning, Blythe gymmed again while I plotted out the day on the computer. A few hours of rainy drive would bring us to the beautiful historic downtown of Goshen Indiana. Winding with walking trails and a revitalized main street, Goshen shined through the dim afternoon with all the glory of a Midwestern small town. We ate at a great local sandwich shop before setting up in the Electric Brew. Our bill mate for the evening, Emily Rodgers, greeted us. We were setting up while the room filled with thrilled locals and Emily’s family and friends.

BBQ and London Broil Sandwiches

Emily Rodgers

Emily started the evening with ballads strummed on an electric guitar, bearing a resemblance to a simplified Jeff Buckley. Chiming tones sprang from her guitar while she sang long mournful notes. Next we set up fast and launched into our tunes. The audience was in, and we had a good time. After the show we met people and shook hands and sold CD’s. Soon we were on our way to another Shatner special. A few hours’ drive brought us to a room out of our normal reach. At the counter, you could smell the indoor pool. Curled up in clean, dry sheets, we ate some Christmas dinner leftovers and dozed off.

… He leaned back, finished with his story, and watched my face for approval.

“You say they ROCKED a coffee shop? That sounds a little incredible.” I was a little suspicious.

“Credibility be damned. I say they rocked a SOBER crowd.”

I was fetching another drink for Sir Kent when I heard a familiar footstep on the creaking wooden staircase.

Tomorrow… Gary Mullins, CMKT4, The Disastr House, and crossing shifting sea ice in search of the Yeti.

The Galt Line Beer and Sausages Tour Day 21

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 12 Sep 2011 06:40:00 +0000

See You In Toledo

We met the The Faux Paus some months ago in Elizabethtown PA. Later we saw them again at Elephant Talk. They kindly set up this show in Toledo for us. This was their home turf, so we figured that this show would be a breeze. We were really looking forward to this one.

We left our campground and hit the highway. Old people in RV’s watched us pack up. It was weird.

We were in Toledo by early afternoon. Here, we made a discovery. As outsiders in Toledo, we were lost. What does one do in Toledo? Just driving around town wasn’t yielding anything, so we posted up in a pizza place with free WiFi, and learned a little about the city. We found a record shop nearby and burned some time flipping through records and used CD’s.

The Kinks – Live at the BBC

Queen – A Day At The Races

Link Wray –Rumble: Best Of

Frankie’s Inner City was the venue for the evening. It’s a standard rock club on the east side of the river. When we were invited in, we got the sound sorted quickly and loaded in. The other bands began arriving right away. We were pleased to meet the members of Drinking Mercury and Miracle Vitamins. When the doors opened, the place filled up respectably.

Some friends of ours came out. Jeff Beach, Harry McDickerson, Greg Kolbeck, and new friend Leanne (spelling?). We had met these folks while playing in Bowling Green OH. They were kind enough to come and share the evening with us.

Drinking Mercury opened the night with some indie influenced, but good and loud rock. There was enough guitar noises to keep me happy for a while. We went up next and crushed our set. The crowd was in, and we sweated and shouted for them. I even threw my guitar, It was very rock and roll if I do say so myself. Though, I did check it over thoroughly after the set, so I can’t claim too many rock points. Miracle Vitamins came up and did a set of introspective songwriter ballads with keyboard, guitar, and tight vocal harmonies. Then The Faux Paus mounted the stage and captivated the audience. We stood and chatted with our friends, joking about duck dicks and such. It was a fine night.

Afterwards we stepped out to a Denny’s and calmed our bellies filled with PBR’s. Over coffee and late night breakfast food we discussed furries and the Toledo music scene. Hannah and Amanda put us up and that was that. Next thing we knew, we were dozing off to the sound of a whirring fan and a purring cat.

Next… Canton OH, Brewed Roots, The Most beautiful losers, and true exhaustion.

The Galt Line Beer and Sausages Tour Day 20

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 09 Sep 2011 04:29:00 +0000

Eatin’ in Eaton OH

Leaving our very comfortable and shady green campsite was a little tough to do, but it was time to leave Indiana behind and give it a go in Ohio for a bit. A little place called Taffy’s was the spot for the night, in a town called Eaton Ohio. Some rural roads took us winding through eastern Indiana, with farm fields and green woods in all directions.

Eaton is not far from the Indiana border. Once we were on the highway, we rolled in to town in no time. There was a lot of time to kill, so we got some sandwich stuff from Wal-Mart and found a little park on the edge of town. Fort St. Clair is an old fort used to secure the area for white settlers. Now it’s a shady spot on the only hill in town. We ate sandwiches, and napped in the car for a few hours. Pretty rock and roll, I’ll tell you.

Then it was McDonald’s for a bit to use their WiFi. When the time came, we headed downtown and parked right outside of Taffy’s. It’s a small place in a row of old town shops. From the narrow door to the street you can see a lounge, a large counter, and a room in the back where they sell some nice beers. Next to the door is a high stage with great sound equipment. Sarah, who was working the counter, let us in and gave us a pair of beers. The place was completely empty, so we set up slowly.

When we were ready, we started in. Our mix was pumped to a speaker outside, and we figured that playing might bring someone in off the sidewalk. Eventually Gina, a woman who walked in for coffee, sat down in an overstuffed leather chair and gave us a listen. Before long Adam, a local artist, sat down next to her and hung out. We played a few tunes until Manfred walked in. Manfred owns the place. Since he came in, we decided to take a break to talk to everyone. It seemed more interesting than playing with a full set up on an elevated stage to 3 people.

When we sat down, we learned that Adam makes sculptures out of scrap metal, and the Gina works at a local nursing home. Manfred is from Germany, and made a fortune by starting a company that markets credit cards over the phone, and has lived all over the world. We played a couple of tunes to wrap up.

As we were loading out, Manfred was talking to us about playing in Europe. He made it sound pretty attractive.

We left Eaton and got a very quiet campsite on the Indiana border. The tent was pitched, dinner procured, and we had electricity from an outlet on a post in our site. We watched movies on the computer while drinking beers and eating fried chicken until we passed out. Awesome.

Tomorrow… Toledo, what’s with it?

An Adam Grimes Original Sculpture

The Galt Line Beer and Sausages Tour Day 18 and 19

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 06 Sep 2011 04:20:00 +0000

Married to Marion IN and a Day Off… Kinda

We woke and had pancakes, turkey bacon, eggs, and coffee. It was awesome. Next we showered. That was also awesome. After that we did our laundry. That too was awesome. When that was done I wrote some blogs. That too was awesome. Then we ate lunch. It was bacon and lettuce sandwiches and soup. This was awesome too. Basically our day was pretty much awesome. It was so awesome in fact, that we were very relaxed and didn’t want to go to our show. We did it though. We are so professional.

Marion IN was about 40 minutes away across some rural roads. Driving past the high corn and little farm houses showed us just how far out we were. Soon we were sliding into Marion, past small residential neighborhoods, and finally to a large town square with an enormous courthouse. Beatnik’s Café was right across the street in a little store front. When we walked in, we were instantly greeted by Trace, who owns the place.

Trace slapped beers in our hands and introduced us to Michael Martin, the other act for the evening, before launching into an explanation of the history of his place, his career, and the town of Marion. All the while he was sucking down huge cocktails served in large orange bowls. While getting inebriated, he told us about his time as a photographer, record store manager (of the second highest grossing record store in the US), and his father’s local political career, James Dean being born in the town, and his own foiling of a KKK rally commemorating the last public lynching.

While we were talking, and touring what was soon to be Trace’s new beer garden, Michael Martin had started up, and was strumming through a bunch of tunes, originals and covers. He had collected a few friends to come out and see him, and it seemed a fairly energetic, if small crowd. When he was done, we set up as fast as we could.

Unfortunately, the room cleared when Michael was done, and after a few tunes, he cleared off also, though he did offer us a spot for the next night at his place, Doc’s Music Hall, which was in the next town over. We played as hot as we could to Trace, and a regular named Julian. Pretty soon we just decided it was better to hang out and talk to Trace.

Right when we were settling in, the band for the next night Peter and the Twins, showed up. They said that they’d popped into town a day early and decided to check out the place. We all sat around and played music and drank beers for a few hours. We promised that we’d come to see their set the next day and jumped in the van to go on home. It was 4 am when we laid down.

-------

We woke the next day, around 11, and went to Wal-Mart. We got some cheap cuts of meat and some vegetables, which we went right back to the campsite and cooked up. There was wine and coffee and laying around. Now this was a day off. Not only that, but we had taken care of the computer work the day before.

It couldn’t last forever. Around 9 we jumped in the van to catch Peter and the Twins’ set. Trace was pleased to see us, and spent the whole evening saying nice things to us. The band was great. They played straight up rock and roll originals for about an hour, then powered through covers for another hour until we found we were too tired. Turning in early was our greatest decision. In our tent, we slept for a full 8 hours.

Tomorrow… Taffy’s, an Indian Fort, and a very energetic German man

The Galt Line Beer and Sausages Tour Day 17

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 06 Sep 2011 04:09:00 +0000

The Indianapolis 500 (minutes of torture)

In the night, the plains slide by without you noticing them. One might blow by miles of highway without noticing. Only Chicago broke the monotony while we drove through the night to Indianapolis. Stars speckled the sky, and near dawn, a series of red lights rotated against the sky, showing the outline of giant rotors slowly turning on a wind farm.

Blythe took over the driving at a truck stop, and pulled us into a shady and green campsite. After some quick business in the office, we were in our site, pitching the tent, then crashing for several hours. The heat woke us around noon, and we fixed a quick lunch on the picnic table while we figured out the details of the night’s show.

Indianapolis, as far as I could tell, is a collection of closed, two story shops, and torn streets. The Melody Inn, our venue for the evening, is in a strip of empty stores on an otherwise abandoned street. We waited outside, meeting the members of Jeff Randall and The Sunday Best, until someone arrived to open the place. Melody Inn is awesome inside. The walls are covered with all sorts of crazy bits of punky Americana. There was a low stage just inside the door, and a long bar on the opposite wall. Also there was a lounge in the back, and through a door, a large garden.

Dave, owner and the evening’s bartender, gave us a few beers while we watched Cootie Crabtree set up. Cootie is the guy who set up the evening. He put together an impromptu band, and did a hot set of country originals, and rootsy covers. Everyone sat in very well, and the music was good. Cootie very kindly announced us before handing over the stage.

We set up fast and launched into our tunes. There wasn’t really anyone there, so we didn’t get much of a reaction. The guys in Sunday Best had mostly stepped out, and the 2 people at the bar were talking together about something else. Cootie clapped loud for us and tried to get the small crowd to be engaged a bit. Still, we went through our set just the same, and came to a close. Dave, owner, and Mike, sound guy, seemed to like us alright. As did a friend of Cootie’s and the girlfriend of the bass player in Sunday Best.

Jeff Randall and The Sunday Best got up next, and played a classic rock styled, southern flavored set. The night was over in no time. Cootie kept apologizing about the small turnout, but we explained that we were tired from the overnight drive, and that it was a Sunday anyway, and that it was our first time in Indy.

On our way back, we hit Wal-Mart for some breakfast for the next day, as well as some $3 wine. In no time we were laying in the tent, reading a copy of The Onion that Blythe picked up in Chicago.

Tomorrow… Pancakes, bacon, coffee, wine, laundry, and work.

The Galt Line Beer and Sausages Tour Day 16

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 04 Sep 2011 21:59:00 +0000

Bring em in to the Bremen Café

We found some showers at our campsite. After scrubbing ourselves, we were ready to hit the town. A short drive brought us into Milwaukee. We still had all day though. We couldn’t just wait outside of the venue all day. Instead we found a little coffee shop called Rochambo. They had strong coffee, as well as some beer, wine, and coffee based cocktails.

With coffee mugs in front of us, we answered emails and posted blogs for several hours. Next we walk through the streets, seeing sidewalk cafes and restaurants, marinas on the lakefront, and high rise condos. This was a side of Milwaukee that we hadn’t seen before. This was a nice afternoon.

When the time came, we jumped into the van and motored across town to the River West neighborhood. Bremen Café is nestled in the ground floor of a boarding house style building. Inside is a curved bar behind which sits a pretty good sized beer selection. The interior is wood walled, covered in neon beer signs and posters advertising local art openings and concerts. There’s a large chalkboard suspended over the bar communicating the specials for the evening.

We were greeted by Phil and Ryan of 4th Street Elevator. They were opening for us in this evening with some Gypsy Jazz. They introduced us to the bartender, Meghan, and the owner David. Everyone was sitting out on the street, drinking beers. This seemed like our sort of place. Soon we were loaded in, beers in hand, and were meeting everyone around. People were very nice, and everyone seemed to be involved in a band or some studio doing visual art. This was clearly a pretty hip crowd.

Phil and Ryan stepped up and slid through a bunch of jazz standards, a Dave Grisman tune, and some originals. They were very slick. While they were playing, our friends Rick and Sarah popped up. They had seen us the first time we played in Milwaukee, gave us a spot to play for our second, and were now here to see us on our third. They kindly brought some friends along, and before long, the bar was packed.

We stepped up, and played for 2 ½ hours. It was awesome, though exhausting. Unfortunately, the bartender kept telling us to turn it down. The crowd understood however, and stuck with us right to the end. Ryan passed a jar around for tips for us. We also sold some shirts, and so made a good bit of cash. We stuck around for 2 hours, talking to everyone in the place, basking in compliments and finding out what everyone’s been up to for a year. There were many offers of places to stay, but we declined in favor of driving through the night toward Indianapolis, where we were playing the next day. We talked while we drove, about Milwaukee, and how the place has grown on us since that first, terrible show at Linneman's.

Tomorrow… Melody Inn, Cootie Crabtree, and a perfect place to spend a day.

The Galt Line Beer and Sausages Tour Day 15

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 04 Sep 2011 21:29:00 +0000

Which way does the Horseshoe go again?

After a short breakfast with Austin, we sat down at The House Café to watch CMKT4 back up a very odd act. A man named Gary Mullis lives in DeKalb. He writes songs. Lots of them. He’s an older man, as tall as I am, with white hair, apparent energy, and a distant stare. When he greeted me that morning, he asked me if I was with the newspaper. He was wearing a loose fitting cowboy shirt, old jeans, and a leather fanny pack filled with scraps of paper on which were written the lyrics to his tunes.

He sang, sort of, while CMKT4 clung to his rhythms with authentic sounding country music. Gary likes country a lot. One of his tunes consisted of him telling the story of Hank Williams' life while Zach bent country lead lines, and Jeff and Austin held down a country shuffle. Gary doesn’t exactly sing, or exactly recite. He rolls through his tunes like a loose cannon on a tilting ship. Between songs he talked to the audience candidly about receiving awards for his songwriting, and invited any members of the press to come up and look at his awards. It was a crazy show.

Afterwards we departed, somewhat reluctantly for Chicago. Much to Neha’s chagrin, I’m sure, I don’t really like Chicago. At least I don’t like playing there very much… so far. Maybe we just haven’t found our spot. Well, we headed in anyway, knowing that this might be a strange night. We pulled up to the curb outside the venue about 2 hours early. We popped in to check out the place and say hi to whoever was running the night.

A woman was leaning on the wooden bar, checking her email. She looked surprised when we walked in. “You guys want food or something?”

“Um, no thank you,” Blythe said. “We’re actually playing here tonight. We wanted to check in and look around.”

“Ah” said the woman.

“Are you Eva?” I asked. We had discussed the details of the show on the ride in, and Blythe recalled that it was Eva who had booked the show with us.

“Yes” said Eva.

“Oh, then we’ve been talking to you on email.” Blythe said cheerfully.

Eva only nodded. We introduced ourselves, and ducked out of the dim bar room and onto the sunny street. With some time to kill, we thought we might walk the neighborhood and find a more comfortable place to hide out. Walking the streets, we found a diner with some cheap food. After some hefty chicken salad sandwiches and potato soup served by and ancient and slow Russian woman, we hoofed it back to the bar.

The sound guy, Chris, had arrived. We loaded in and told Chris how we wanted to do our sound. Pretty soon, Root Hog began showing up. I tried to greet some of them at the door, but they walked right past me without looking at me. After they had set up a little Blythe and I approached them together. Now that we had gotten their attention, we decided on set order and some set up details, and got to talking about the band. I had asked them on the bill because of some tracks I heard on the internet. Apparently the guy responsible for them had to leave the band.

They didn’t seem too interested in what we were doing, but were nice enough and set up quickly. Sound guy Chris did a quick and efficient sound check for us, and we were off. We played a very tight 45 minute set to a crowd of about 12 completely apathetic people. Most of Root Hog left during our set. We were treated to silence at the end of all of our tunes. Chris liked us alright. We loaded out as fast as we could, grabbed a beer and strapped in for Root Hog’s set.

Once we sat down, a number of people came up to us and said they enjoyed our set. Root Hog laid into some classic rock based, but jazzy jams. We stayed until our beer was done, but felt a little too bitter to hang out much longer. We said our goodbyes to Eva and Chris, and started the journey toward Milwaukee to find a campsite.

During the ride we talked over our future in the great city of Chicago. None of the places we had played so far were worth going back to for us. Austin, from CMKT4 had mentioned a few spots we might try. I think we’ll exhaust the list of spots we can play and then never go in to Chicago again. Its sort of like our experience with NYC.

The Long straight highway cooled our brains, and in a short 90 minutes, we were at our campsite. It was a quiet, family oriented county park, with watchful rangers. We passed out fast, ready to cleanse our palettes with a show in Milwaukee the next day.

Tomorrow… A draw in a far away town, a real live Gypsy, I think, and Milwaukee surprises us again.

Our new merch set up in the dark

The Galt Line Beer and Sausages Tour Day 13 and 14

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 04 Sep 2011 00:34:00 +0000

At home in the House Café

Day 13 was a day off. What does a day off look like for The Galt Line. Well, there was a lot of microwave food and $3 bottles of wine. There was plenty of work on the computer, and lots of cable TV. We worked and napped and drank. I pounded through some blogs while Blythe changed the strings on the uke. I also pounded through too much wine, and found my head pounding when the sun came stomping across our room in the morning.

We gathered our things, checked out, and pointed the van out of town toward DeKalb. Some friends of ours, CMKT4, set up a show for us at their hometown spot, The House Café. This venue serves coffee, tea and sandwiches, along with some good beers. They have shows nearly every night. Being right on the main drag, and near Northern Illinois University, it has a nice built-in crowd of music appreciators.

CMKT4 had set us up on a night with local songwriter Bill Leighly, Songstress Aura Weaver, and country madness group King of the Demons. We felt pretty good about this night, and were eager for a good show after our two recent, more awkward shows.

When we rolled in to town, we met Austin, Jeff, and Zach at House Café, loaded some stuff in, and greeted some familiar faces. With some time to kill, we rolled over to Zach’s house, met his wife Heather, and his two energetic young boys Seth and Miles. We hung out in the kitchen and bullshitted for a while before going on back to The House for a beer, some food, and music.

Bill Leighly started the night off with some cool band arrangements of his tunes, with some truly badass fiddle and guitar. Next up, Aura fascinated us with her strange songs and wild delivery. We jumped up to play a very hot and short set. The drummer from Bill’s band sat in on djembe for a tune. The crowd was good to us. We loaded off as fast as we could to make room for CMKT4, who delivered a tight set of earthy-but-electronic acid rock. Last up was King of the Demons, who totally crushed it with very amped up country music.

It was a pretty nice night over all, easy and efficient. We went over to Austin’s to celebrate. Blythe, Zach, Austin, and I cracked beers and discussed taking bands on the road, the obstacles and advantages. Soon after Zach ducked out for the night, Austin capped off the night by showing us how he had trained his giant cat, Yoda, to play the piano. It was totally golden. Then we slept.

Tomorrow… Gary Mullis, Chicago again, getting brushed off by Root Hog, and camping in Milwaukee.

The Galt Line Beer and Sausages Tour Day 12

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 30 Aug 2011 20:23:00 +0000

Attack of the Lake Villains from Lake Villa

When we woke, there was a breakfast to be had. Climbing out of the tent, we found the sky pearly white with thin, rolling clouds. On the picnic table in our site, neatly tied in a shopping bag, was left-overs from last night, along with some eggs we bought. We woke, stretched, and began preparing a breakfast of scrambled eggs, peppers, onions, mushrooms, biscuits, turkey bacon and sausage.

Coffee was percolating, and turkey bacon was sizzling when they sky grew suddenly dark. “Cook faster” we both said, and frantically prepared our food so we could throw it in one our enamel pots and carry it off to the car before it began raining. When we had rolled up our tent and slammed the door of the van shut, it poured.

We ate breakfast in the front seat of the van while watching the thunder and lightning, and listening to an obscure jazz channel low down on the dial. “I guess we’ll head toward Lake Villa. You know, because of the rain” Blythe said in understatement. We put aside our pot of biscuits, bacon, sausage, peppers, onions, mushrooms, and eggs, and hit the road.

The news on the radio said storms were sweeping across all of Northern Illinois, which meant no comfortable camping for the coming night. Also, in a stroke of bad luck, the windshield wipers began beating against each other violently, before finally stopping altogether. At a truck stop, we downed some $1 juice and pondered our options, the rain still sheeting across the windows. AAA? Well, that kills our day. We’d have to crawl through a phone maze, then wait for a tow truck. Are there nearby auto repair places? Well, in Central Illinois, there are certainly repair shops, but the great spaces of the plains places them far apart.

The GPS showed one 7 miles down the highway. Keeping to the right of the yellow line, and watching intently for brake lights, we carefully navigated through a drenched windshield to the next town, where we found the repair shop closed for business. Fortunately, the news said that the storm was fast moving, and could be expected to blow on in an hour or so. Fine, we nodded to each other, we’ll wait it out. Parked behind a lonely gas station, we fished out our computer, and watched a James Bond movie for about 45 minutes until the rain had mostly subsided.

In another town over, we found a repair shop that was still operating. An energetic, young mechanic hopped right into our van and pulled it into the shop. A short time later, he told us that a bolt that attached the windshield wipers to their motor had come loose, and all he did was tighten it. We asked him what we could give him. “Five bucks?” We gave him $20 in our gratitude, and zipped away down the highway, happily wiping our windshield with ease.

Lake Villa is suburb of Chicago, containing mostly large commercial complexes and a Six Flags amusement park. In a place like this, it’s easy to find a cheap room. We found a spot that was cheaper than our apartment in New York, and quickly made ourselves at home. We had a little time to do some work on the computer before we had to make our way to Swing State for our show.

Swing State is primarily a tobacco outlet. It is a long, low, smoky room on the bottom floor of an old house. They don’t serve any booze, so its populated by mostly younger types. They sell coffee, tea, hookah, cigars, and the like. When we entered, an older man with a lot of energy came at us. “I’m Pops Behind The Beard!” he exclaimed. He did indeed have a great big bushy beard. He was also sporting an old rock t-shirt, and a utili-kilt. He was to be our Sound man for the evening, and gave us both big hugs in celebration.

There were about 5 other people populating a long bar, drinking exotic tea and sipping on enormous hookahs. We loaded in through a side door, and set up fast. The stage was roomy for such a small room, and the sound system seemed pretty current. They clearly appreciate being a music venue. Setting up with Pops was a breeze, so we sat at the bar and chatted with him for a while, with time to spare.

In our time at the bar, we met the owner, Ian, who gave us a wave and a grunt, obviously busy with assembling a number of new Ikea bar stools. Since the crowd didn’t seem to be growing at all, we started playing. We played a tight, clean set. The sound was good. No one cared much. One guy, who we later identified as Pops' son, Max, hooted and shouted, and came up to the stage to listen to a tune or two.

After our set, as we were breaking down, a few people came up to tell us how much they enjoyed the music, including John of John & The Jitters. Thank You. The next act popped up just as we were packing away. He shook our hands and apologized for missing our set. He then disappeared. We loaded out, and sat down with a pot of exotic tea (we would have had some hookah, but we were still chasing off that persistent cough).

When the next act took the stage, a few things became clear. First, this was a crowd of his old friends. He named off a number of people in the crowd, dedicated songs to people in the room, and generally felt like he could do anything he wanted. Second, he was VERY stoned. He forgot words, messed up guitar parts, and lost his stool… the one he was sitting on. Perhaps he should have waited until after his set. But hell, the room was enraptured, so what do I know? And he had some interesting tunes.

We snuck out right at the end of his set, eager to return to our comfortable room for some dinner (now familiar bacon, biscuits, peppers, onions, mushrooms, sausage… no eggs left though) and some showers. In mere minutes we were clean, eating, and watching TV while we did computer work and lounged. The perfect end to a very long and strange day.

Tomorrow... Day Off, $3 wine

The Galt Line Beer and Sausages Tour Day 11

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 29 Aug 2011 18:34:00 +0000

Did you ever see Repo Man?

Life in the motel of Northern KY (a VERY cheap motel by the way) is a hard one. There are so many car windows in downtown Cincinnati to smash, and only so much daylight. Though this line of work may pay more than ours, we thought that we might forge ahead with our dreams, and slide out of the Cincinnati metro area undetected.

The open Midwest highway is a beautiful sight to the traveler. The road bends straight, and the blue sky opens to smile on you as you speed across the flattened landscape. One can speed quickly through the lush green trees and sprawling farm land, to their respectable destination beyond.

Before rolling in to town, we stopped by our accommodations for the evening. We set up a tent, and some basic affects, at Moraine View State Recreation Park. It was a mere ½ hour from our venue, and the elements of a flame cooked dinner were easily attained.

Normal IL is aptly named. We drove past an extensive commercial section and into a flat and well swept downtown section. Parking was easy to find, and we stepped onto the sidewalk exactly in front of the congruently named venue, "The Coffee House". It was exactly that, a building in which coffee was served. With florescent lights and cinder-block walls and office carpet, it was stripped of the normal coffee shop decor. It looked more like and institutional building, where one might get their driver's license or file a complaint about the neighbor's grass.

We loaded onto the low stage, and sipped on our tiny free drinks. We played a show to harassed looking college students who were doing their first school work of the year. Near the end, a group of three musicians came to talk to us and say nice things. They had run a group for a while called The Melancholy Trees.

We loaded out fast, as they were closing down around us, and the lights began to flicker out. It was clear that the night was over. After we were loaded, we obtained supplies for a nice dinner of sausages and grilled mushrooms and peppers. A little grilling and $3 wine is all anyone needs to chase off the shadows of an awkward show. The only strange event of the evening was the appearance of giant, skeletal white spiders in the trees. With wine and food, we drifted off to sleep, a little disrupted by the comically loud night sounds.

Tomorrow... we escape a thunder storm, Swing State in Lake Villa IL, and a DAY OFF!!!

The Galt Line Beer and Sausages Tour Day 10

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 27 Aug 2011 20:59:00 +0000

Two shows in one day! Why quit now?

The sun baked us in our tent. 9 is the perfect time to rise on a sunny day. We rolled out of the tent, and Jessa turned up in moments. She walked us through the process, showed us where to unload, and contacted the groggy soundman. After dragging our instruments and amps up to the sleepy stage, we discovered a keg back stage. Nothing says “good morning” like a keg of leftover beer.

When we each had a beer, and were all set up, we played a full set at 10 am. It was a little weird to hear our own music in the light of day, but we played as hard as we could, and got a good response. Afterwards, we watched Bloodroots Barter do what we just did, a morning set, with some new found friends and a few more morning beers.

The Bloodroots invited us up for a few tunes while waiting for the next band to arrive. That was a bunch of fun. When the set was over, Blythe and I went in search of free food. Because of our tardiness, we found only bologna on tortillas with pickles and ketchup. It was enough to hit the highway. After goodbyes to Bloodroots Barter, and some of our new friends, we rode out of the mountains, and back toward Cincinnati.

For the whole ride up, we talked about where to stay for the night. Unfortunately, there weren’t any free or cheap campgrounds in the area. We also didn’t know anyone in the city who would put us up. We got a VERY cheap motel room outside of the Cincinnati metro area. Here we got a shower and a moment of repose before we jumped into another show.

A 30 minute drive brought us to Sitwell’s coffee, which was our resident music spot for the night. We set up for an acoustic show, saying hello to Laura who runs the place, and saw us at Southgate a few nights before. We played. At first there was no reaction. Then strolled in Pete and Jay. They had seen us a year prior at Keith’s Workshop. Now they were in front of us again, listening intently to a rather chill set of tunes.

During a break we learned that Pete is involved in a new project called Shiny and the Spoon. We played another set to Pete and Jay, as well as Amanda, who had also seen us at Southgate House. We then ate beautiful sandwiches while catching up with everyone.

We packed out, feeling good about our small, but awesome, show. In 30 minutes we were in our VERY cheap motel room, watching a $5 movie from Wal-Mart and snacking on the leftovers of our sandwiches from Sitwell’s.

Tomorrow… Leaving Cincinnati, The Coffee Shop in Normal IL, and a beautiful campsite.

The Galt Line Beer and Sausages Tour Day 9

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 27 Aug 2011 20:44:00 +0000

Richmond KY is the greatest city in the history of civilization. Sort Of.

I woke in a comfortable bedroom, hacking significantly less than the night before. I could hear that people were up and about already. Blythe was passed out next to me, snoring with cartoonish exuberance. I crawled out of bed, still grunting with guttural disturbance. In the kitchen, Ishi was searching for breakfast.

Not authentic "Blythe Snoring" picture

Soon Blythe was up, and she took up the mantel of coffee creator. A French press, percolator, and coffee syringe were rolling before anyone even noticed that there wasn’ coffee. My throat was still bothering me a bit, so I dropped back some of last night’s sparkling Italian wine. It worked.

The talk of the group was that there was a $1 movie theater in town, but it was doubted that there was enough time to see the movie, have some food, and show up on time for the show. Blythe piped up that we have a NetFlix account. Also, Mark Maxey has an extensive library of movies available to watch on the giant TV in the Living Room.

I made the mistake of exhibiting interest in “The Poughkeepsie Tapes”. I had heard that this little movie had made a splash on festival circuits, and I said as much to Ishi and Tyler. Before I knew it, I was barraged with fake interviews about a fake serial killer, and fake videos of women being tortured in a basement. This is not a condemnation of the movie as such. It’s an effective horror movie based on a documentary format. But who wants to watch a series of videos about women being tortured on a sunny afternoon before having to put on an energetic show?

When it was over, Laura had made a bunch of Sandwiches and French fries, so we put on something a little lighter. We settled on The Sting, and thoroughly enjoyed it until it was time to saddle up and roll on to Richmond.

In less than an hour, we were at The Paddy Wagon. The place was nearly empty when we arrived. While setting up, some people filtered in. The Bloodroots Barter and ourselves decided on trading off sets again. The Paddy Wagon has a large stage, which gave us plenty of room to set up all of our stuff. In a while, we were rolling through our set. The crowd seemed pretty appreciative (with screams and shouts and dancing) for about 2 tunes. Then everyone left the bar. After another tune, Blythe turned to me and said “I’m getting sick, NOW!”

We had no choice but to finish the set. Five or so tunes later, Blythe bolted off the stage and disappeared. The Bloodroots climbed up and launched into their setup, while I ran out to the van to search for the now infirmed Blythe. She was laying in the van, sweating and saying “I got sick. It came out of nowhere.” I shoved an aspirin in her face and we strolled back into the bar. The Bloodroots pounded through their set.

We were preparing to return to the stage when Casey offered Blythe a cocktail of Yellowroot, Ginseng, and ice. With an aspirin and some mountain medicine in her blood, Blythe was ready to mount the stage again. We swept through our second set, and tumbled off the stage. Bloodroots Barter wrapped up the night again with an impromptu dance party.

The night went quite well, despite health problems and an odd crowd. Next we had to find our way to Holler in the Holler, the festival at which we were playing in the morning, and sleeping for the night. We bid farewell to our friends, Rick and Tara, and drove off into the night.

Before long we found ourselves in the middle of nowhere, driving on precarious gravel roads, searching for the campground for the festival. After some tricky three point turns with the Bloodroots’ bus, we found the fields in question. It was mere minutes before we had our tent set up and were laying in our sleeping bag, listening to the drum circle in the distance.

Tomorrow… Show in the morning, free beer, creepy motel, and show at night in Cincinnati.