Now Playing: The Casionauts--"Or How I Learned To Love Mitosis"
Last Sunday, before the madness hit back home, I toddled over to the Madison House for that week's show. Stopping off at Jefferson Market, a twee yet scrummy neighborhood eatery and knickknack shop on the Old West Side, I tried the homemade fries with the garlic aioli, which weren't all that good, really. I was one of the first to arrive for the show; one of the musicians had apparently cancelled and several hadn't arrived yet. I chatted with "Mr." Josh Tillinghast for a while about culinary issues, drank some of my Labatt, and we were off.
Catch a Wave was a bit of a rarity--an almost completely vocal duo featuring Aleise Barnett and Patrick Elkins, both of whom had ably thrashed me aruond as part of Elkins' folk-punk ensemble some weeks back. It was almost unsettling in a way, listening to cute situational pop songs with nonfunctioning microphones and punctuated by little more than handclaps. The Salt Miners came next and instantly afforded me an object lesson in not judging people by appearances. From the crisp black suits they wore, I would have thought them one of those wretched Brian Setzer clone nouveau-swing bands. They proceeded to knock out a thoroughly wonderful set of rollicking bluegrass, the best song concerning a girl in a Grand Am. They managed to pry loose one of those "Dukes of Hazzard" rebel yells I'll occasionally let fly at an especially awesome show. They even got me dancing, if the word "dancing" can be used to describe a half-shake, half-shuffle done with great care not to damage someone's back porch. Dabenport, or "the band with Matt Jones and Misty Lyn in it," followed, and thrilled me with pristine alt-country livened up by an expert wall of sound laid across the back. Watching Vince fiddle around with his guitar was almost as fascinating as watching Ryan Balderas with the Casio. I should really learn to stick around for the end of these things, and realize that ten to fifteen extra minutes isn't going to make much difference in getting up for work the next morning. I missed Loretta Lucas, who probably had the most classically country-oriented set I've heard at the Madison--excellent stuff, but much of which I missed. Hobnobbing with Brandon, Annie, Jim Roll, Matt Jones, and others completed the picture.
Against my better judgement, but thankfully so, I went to the pre-Labor Day party at the same place last night, hoping to get my mind off things. I got a consoling hug from Sara, who's awesome, even if she left most of my left leg and side bruised and battered (never mind how). Met some people, including Chuck, Maggie, Bryce, the great Mariah Cherem, lovely lead singer for the Avatars, and last but not least, the mastermind behind Ann Arbor Is Overrated. In retrospect, it was pretty comical how shocked I was that someone had stolen my sixpack. Bob Fucking Saget!! It was good to get my mind off things for a bit, but it keeps returning to the flooded metropolis which afforded me so many wonderful youthful days.
I still have to fully articulate on what happened back home. It's just astonishing, both the natural cataclysm and the government's response.