Bending to Bend

While there is limited lucre in music, there seems to be adequate demand for Scamp trailers that are painted to look like an Airstream.  At Blondie’s in Arcata, a woman handed me a piece of paper with her name, email, and phone number.  “If you ever want to sell that trailer, call me.”

At Blondie’s:


At Blondie’s we played to a few before heading out over the mountains to Medford and Ashland, where we connected with Rosa’s sister and played at Saki bar called Chozu.  Two slow gigs in a row translated to a bang-up gig in Bend, Oregon at Dudley’s.  Here, people filtered in the minute Rosa started playing.  The owner, Rebecca, warmly welcomed us.  An English woman with wit and moxie, Rebecca has a big old water jar in the back of the joint with a sign that says Gin and Tonic.  “You’d never believe how many people ask me if there’s really gin and tonic in there.”  I guess people often believe what they read, especially if it’s convenient.

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Bend is a charming town—one coffee shop downtown has a huge yard in back filled with tables and lounge chairs that look out over the river.  We camped along the river in a campground with solar showers and a Bible group near us blaring Rush Limbaugh.  There seems to be healthy mix of “types” in Bend.  We’ll call it a crossroads because it is for us, and when you’re on tour you live by projection.

At Dudley’s:

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I think it was the bass player or drummer of Joy Division who once said he was more of a mover than he was a musician.  We haul in.  We haul out.  We haul North.  We haul East.  We haul.  We haul.  We’re coming.

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