Saturday, January 26, 2008

No, tell me what you really think

Last night found Band B in Harrisonburg, at a large venue with two separate performance areas. We opened for the inimitable Sons of Bill (who played a great set, by the by), and while we played a bluegrass band graced the venue's second, smaller stage.

After our set, I retired to the second-stage-area bar, for there were lines shorter and crowds thinning out. The bluegrass band had just finished up, and, waiting for my bourbon and Diet Coke (yeah; I know), I chatted up the middle-aged couple standing at the bar.

"How was the bluegrass band?" I inquired.

"Better than the other band that was just playing in there, I tell you what," said Red, whose wife Pebbles echoed his sentiments.

Bonus points: they really were named Pebbles and Red, and Red told me I could call him Bam-Bam.

4 Comments:

Blogger bitchphd said...

Ouch.

26/1/08 7:42 PM  
Blogger Stanley said...

Yeah, it wasn't that bad really. After I admitted to being in said band, they said most of their complaints were about the mix (vocals too low for them to hear the lyrics). Nice folks. And kind of embarrassing for everyone involved.

26/1/08 7:59 PM  
Blogger The Modesto Kid said...

Wait, so these two stages were close enough to each other and not separated by walls enough, that people in the listening area for one had a good idea what the music on the other one sounded like? Or were Pebbles and Panama migrating back and forth between the two venues?

26/1/08 8:57 PM  
Blogger Stanley said...

They were migrating. The two stages were separated by a room with a bar/restaurant area. No sound bleeding to speak of.

27/1/08 3:43 AM  

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