Saturday, February 18, 2006

The great cold north (suburb)

Ah, Vancouver, Wa. - I think it's the only US city named after a Canuck city but what're you gonna do?

I'll tell you what, little mister sassy pants - You're gonna get fairly loaded and play yer living guts out to the very appreciative throng, that's what!

A little history's in order here first. For those unfamiliar, Vancouver lies just across the river that acts as the border 'twixt Washington and Oregon. I'm not sure if it's the Shelbyville to the Springfield-that-is-Portland but it's certainly it's own unique blend of overpaid tech types lured by cheaper housing and a decent public school system and then what I'll just term as the "larry the cable guy" kinda audience. ("You know - morons.")

The 'fats musical roots run fairly deep in this town since one of Foil's previous bands owned any musical hope in that place for a while. "Extended hiatus," aside, it's still impressive to see folks remember this band fondly and are sad to not see 'em playing any longer. It's a shite state of affairs since they left, with really only local heroes Smirk and The Martindales left to fight for any foothold even remotely resembling a legacy or scene.

So when we were invited to play Rachael's birthday party at the club her beau Harry operates at, we saw our opportunity to return some of that old sense & style to that fair land. Throw in a booze cruise of a limo ride and we were all pretty much sold on it.

With temperatures in the low 20s met up at the 15th St. Pub a few hours before our go-time and loaded into the limo. Pulling out of the parking lot we bottomed out and we all found this somehow appropriate. We should test vehicles of such encumbrance, I think. That wasn't the first time of the night nor was it the last that we'd kick out sparks from that thing. Much kudos go to our good-natured driver for not only taking it all in stride but doing his best to minimize it, too. The Misfats stickers Harry had applied to the windows brought back the line to me, "Tinted windows don't mean nuthin'/They know who's inside." Another nice touch was the in-car video roll advertising this particular limo service, billed in the video as, "The Misfats preferred choice of transportation..."

We headed back across the river and partook of the finest establishments for such a group as we for this type of event. The "birthday dance" at Exotica was, shall we say, well worth it; perhaps even more so was our drinking Sparks in the limo, blocking the entrance to the place, laughing at everyone both entering and leaving. We also walked in and immediately owned that place, did our business, and then headed back to the venue for our set.

Upon entering, I hear the non-threatening strains of typical 'couve sensitive rock. Many people who know us ask, "You guys are playing soon, right?" in the manner befitting someone crying for rescue. There were, apparently, three bands before us and while I'm sure they were all fine musicians they, apparently, left out of reverence and defference all the rawkin' of the night to the 'fats (damn straight!). Taking over the men's room we're soon in full battle regalia and ready to face the hungry ones. We tear right in and are immediately met with happy little faces who are very appreciative for this Mother Bird to regurgitate nurturing musical spew into their gaping, smiling maws. Granted, we got stuck by the 2nd song but we more than compensated, throwing that place into an utter frenzy of joyous, raucous, drunken festivities not witnessed since - well, probably since the last time we played. Ha!

Much congrats followed and while we had representatives move on to tend to the after-party (and an appropriately totally wasted birthday girl - yah!) it was time for me to drive home in full makeup and collapse, contended that we had, in some small way, perhaps, made the most of the opportunity to a crowd that knew it well. Thanks again to Harry's generosity, Rachael's energy, and their combined enthusiasm. It set the tempo for the evening's events and never relented. Not too shabby, so "that'll do, pig. That'll do..."

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