we wake up to snow falling and already 2-3 inches on the ground.
is today going to be a repeat of yesterday's crappy travel conditions? the news reports are telling of downed power lines and school closures. we head down to continental breakfast and feel ripped off due to a lack of scrambled eggs. we talk about the things i dwelled on before falling asleep last night, including my idea for my mexican wrestler alter ego, "el gripe". matt helps me decide that my costume would be solid brown with a brown ski mask. my slogan: no one escapes el gripe!
we head out with our destination to be new orleans city center. we already had our hotel reserved and planned to party bourbon street style tonight. however, the crappy weather coupled with the fact that we have been on the road for two weeks now and it might be nice to actually get to where we're going, we decide to drive right on through and head to atlanta.
i quibble with the hotels.com associate and luckily enough, the poor weather conditions are a good excuse to get a refund on the hotel we have reserved for tonight.
we stop in biloxi, mississippi at mcdonalds and hash out our next big idea.
my friend sydney greets us in atlanta, fresh from the sting of opening her outrageous cell phone bill. she supplies the booze and a place for us to sleep for the night. we are grateful.
day sixteen, atlanta to columbia
syd is already at work when we rouse ourselves. it's nice not to have to meet a check out deadline and we are glad to only have 200 miles between us and our final destination.
it should have only taken us three hours to get home, unfortunately, it was closer to five. there was a heinous traffic accident involving two 18 wheelers and some lost axles. when we arrive, mom and dad are waiting and we decide to put off unloading the truck until tomorrow.
this day is wiped from the history books. trouble with the truck and rain/snow the entire journey make it a day worth forgetting. the only bright spot is our extremely awesome hotel room at the holiday inn express. they’ve only been open a week.
we wake up and borrow the hotel’s wireless after checkout to plan our day. we find our room for tonight, find a possible place to play our open mic and determine that we will see "fishbone" at emo’s tonight.
we check in to the super 8 (or, as matt likes to call it, the super great) and like real rock stars we party and rehearse in the hotel room before our show. we pack up our instruments and walk the 14 blocks to the little coffee shop called "the hideout." there are several other guitarists scattered around the place messing around waiting for things to get started. i feel a little anxious because they each eye us as we pass and i cannot tell if they are friendly.
someone (derek t. washington) gets up to play and he is better than i expected an open mic nighter at a coffee shop to be. but this is austin. and each act that follows is better than the previous and they are all trying to “make it.” matt and i are impressed from our table in the back and drink our beers faster until it’s our turn.
it is uncomfortable. in about 100 square feet of space there are 10 people on couches and at tables. right in front of you. not two feet away. but we start. we play “lonely gift” and make it through without error. polite applause. we play “you will always be the same” and it sounds good. according to matt he flubs a couple of times but i couldn’t tell. more applause and it is a relief to be finished. everyone is exceedingly complimentary and makes us feel at home. we move up to the couches in front and watch the other acts play again through more of their own songs.
it is a real musical community. they all know each other, improv with each other and jam together. they perform covers and originals and it is truly entertaining to be there. i am a regular at coffee houses, coast to coast and i have seen my share of open mics. but being there as a part of the action and actually participating was a different experience. and really fun. matt is a newby on the coffeehouse scene but i tell matt he should do this in Chicago. he would get to know talented people and kindred spirits.
we talk with the artists after the music is over. chase Holbrook has a band called the porch cats. they consist of a guitarist (chase), violinist and drummer. they have a country flair and played standards like “rocky top” but it’s also a little angsty and when the girl sings with him it sounds like the soundtrack from “once.”
andrew stone is a very talented and rather young guitar player. he reminded me a little of jeff buckley. matt would describe his sound as “blues infused indie rock.” he just quit his job to record his first cd.
aaron also played. he seemed to play more to the crowd doing more covers than the others and inviting everyone to join in.
overall, it was a fantastic experience and i wish we had remembered to video tape it. we haul our instruments back to the hotel, regroup and head back out.
our first stop is a little pizza place that serves new jersey style pizza. meanwhile, it starts snowing. snowing in austin, texas when it was in the 70s just a few hours before. how can this be? everyone mutters as they come in the pizza place “i thought i came to austin to get away from this.”
next stop, emo’s. hands stamped, we are greeted by the sounds of heavy mojo . they have an extremely heavy sounding guitar, keys and two rappers. i can dig it.
a mass exodus to the smoking area.
and now it’s time for the main event. fishbone comes on stage to the cheers of a dedicated group of fans. they must be dedicated because the place is packed at midnight on a school night. doesn’t anyone in this town have a real job to get to tomorrow morning?
if you haven’t heard of fishbone, i can feel comfortable recommending you check them out. matt is familiar with them and thinks he may have seen them perform in baltimore 20 years ago. their sound runs the gamut from salsa to punk to reggae to ska to blues to you name it. they have a 3 piece horn section—the lead singer plays the saxophone, which i think is really cool. they also emphasize the bass line in a lot of their songs and this is fitting because the bassist is amazing. in fact, the review in the paper for tonight’s show simply read “slap bass never dies.” he opens the set playing on a fretless electric bass. again, i think this is really cool.
a few songs in, they play one of their more famous songs (matt knows it) called “everyday sunshine.” this gets the crowd really going and inspires the lead singer to jump from the stage and crowd surf. you just don’t see that much anymore these days. at least i don’t. it is crazy.
as the night goes on, each band member sheds articles of clothing. the lead singer is topless and extremely sweaty and one of the horn players sports a fishbone “fuck racism” t-shirt. while i appreciate and support this sentiment, i do not buy one of these from the merch booth.
matt voices his regret that there are just not bands around anymore like fishbone. he thinks the younger generations are missing out. except that fishbone is still playing today. and i count myself glad to have seen them.
it is windy, dark, and freezing as we return to the super gr8t but we are warmed by our buzzes and the glow of having just witnessed a great show. that and the 14 blocks of walking help, too.
we make an early start of it today. in fact, even earlier than intended. i set the alarm for 8:00 but didn’t notice that the clock hadn’t been set back an hour so we got up at 7:00. when i rolled over to hit the snooze button i thought of some good country lyrics: “I’m face down on a rented mattress in Tucson.” we get on the road by 9:00 and it’s a good thing. we’ve decided to try to do 800+ miles today and get all the way to austin. hellish. here’s a summary:
arizona. arizona. arizona. arizona.
i watch “dog town and z boys” on matt’s ipod. it’s about the early history of skate boarding. i was skeptical but my brother offered me a money back guarantee so i watched and it was cool. the soundtrack was good and the story was interesting, even to someone who doesn’t care about skateboarding.
new mexico. new mexico. new mexico. new mexico. new mexico. new mexico. new mexico.
new mexico. new mexico. new mexico.
stop for lunch just outside of el paso and the texas border. we had heard on the radio that there was an accident on I-10 east at the “spaghetti bowl” so we ask a local inside if he knows where that is and if we can avoid it.
me: “excuse me, do you know of an area called the spaghetti bowl? there’s an accident there and we want to avoid it.” old guy: “i think it must be in the el paso area. why do you want to go to texas?” me: “actually we’re just passing through on the way to south Carolina.” og: “well, when you get to texas, don’t get out of the car.” me: “why not?” og: “there are chiggers in the grass everywhere in texas. do you know what chiggers are?” me: “little bugs?” og: “little bugs that burrow under your skin.” me: “i’ll try to avoid it.” og: “you know, you could take the 40 to get to south Carolina. that way you wouldn’t have to go through as much of texas.” me: “i know, we were planning on stopping in austin, though.” og: “oh, well you could fly to austin from here and then come back for your car and take the 40. i wouldn’t go to texas.” me: “hahahaha?”
dinner at pizza hut. we have a nice conversation when we get back on the road that makes the time pass faster. we talk about the need to have something bigger than yourself or your circumstances to make you happy. if not, when bad things happen or your life seems out of balance, you don’t stand a chance. for me it’s my faith in God. for matt, it’s music.
texas. texas. texas. texas. texas. oh, it’s been a marathon. but we made it. 15 hours on the road and we pull into a little hotel just outside of austin.
unfortunately, i have to defer to my brother for an account of vegas. i am sick on day 10 and the only thing i see is the inside of our hotel room. this is a tremendous bummer because i am supposed to see ryan adams and oasis tonight.
I started to worry when I returned to the room after scarfing a cheap McDonald’s breakfast to vaguely notice Stephanie head to the bathroom and not return after several flushings. Eventually, I asked if she was okay to which she stated the obvious: “I’m sick.” I wasn’t feeling that great myself after having lost a couple hundo at the blackjack tables the night before. I should have known better, but as has always been the case, once I arrive in Vegas, it’s go time. One only needs to watch “Swingers” to understand this phenomenon. In fact, on our approach to Vegas the night before, we crested the hill to see the city in the distance only to quote Trent and Mikey, “Vegas, baby, Vegas.”
Finally, she emerged and it was determined that Steph wasn’t gravely ill, but had just caught a bug. Perhaps it was the Subway sandwich she had before leaving Riverside. But the thought ran through my mind that the realization that she was leaving Cali to make the journey back east had finally sunk in. That, or she had a tremendous case of the butterflies at the prospect of seeing Ryan Adams in person. After all, she owns every recording he has ever appeared on—you would have to ask her directly to get the straight dope.
Steph seemed content on staying in the room and resting and I decided that it would be best to go out and give her some space. We were in Vegas after all. After walking the short distance to the strip, I tried to think of some diversions to keep me away the tables for the remainder of the afternoon until show time. I figured I’d grab a cab to the Palms to see if I could bear witness to some pre-show rustlings, be it the bass rumblings of sound check or the random celeb/rock star sighting. Neither panned out directly upon walking the floor of the casino for a short time so I was pleased to notice the movie theater adjacent to jangling slot machines and obligatory food court. “Four Christmases” was showing in fifteen and that would kill a couple hours until cocktail time…er…dinner.
I called Steph after the picture and was pleased that she was going to make an effort to meet me shortly. Several minutes after we hung up I texted her to report my Charles Barkley sighting. He was handing over a rather padded envelope to the concierge along with some sort of laminated V.I.P. pass. I wasn’t sure of Sir Charles’ id, as he has definitely gained quite a bit of weight since his playing days, until the concierge confirmed. I later thought I saw Carlos Santana too until I approached him, “Carlos?”
“No…but that’s who everyone thinks I am…,” as he patted me on the shoulder. Despite the pronounced American accent, the resemblance was uncanny, down to the black, banded derby hat and flowing short-sleeve button down. He even walked off with two “handlers.” Even celebrity impersonators roll deep in Vegas.
About half way into my second Heineken, I tried my luck at the tables one more time. Apparently, playing by the book wasn’t working in my favor on this trip and I finally cut my losses once and for all after handing over another $75. That’s when I received the dreaded news. “You’d better come and pick up the tickets. I’m not going to be able to make it.”
Despite not having the company of my sister, the show at the Pearl Concert Hall did not disappoint. There’s a come and go policy at the Palms whereby you can step out for a smoke or grab a drink at a less crowed bar and re-enter at will. Prior to the show I struck up many conversations with those who were trying to get rid of spare tickets. One guy was a writer/actor from Chicago who used to appear at Second City and had since transplanted to L.A. There were many Brits and Aussies in attendance as well. Locals or travelers, I couldn’t say but they always seem to appear en masse in Vegas.
Halfway through Ryan Adams’ set I phoned Steph once again at the urging of the frat boys who were seated in my section. “Stephanie must come out!” Unfortunately, no dice.
Oasis’ set was the more memorable for me by far. I’d wanted to see them for many years, largely because the brothers Gallagher are, to me anyway, the last of a dying breed of rock star. Where has all the swagger and attitude gone? Between songs, Liam would move lyric sheets in front of him on the stage with his foot. Ipso facto, Liam Gallagher is too cool to bend over.
It’s clear when watching an Oasis show how much the two brothers need one another. Noel deftly handled vocals on many of the tracks and is clearly the musical leader, but it’s Liam’s snarl and statuesque pose—often with his back to the crowd—that really “pulls the room together.”
After the set of obligatory hits and new songs, Oasis concluded with “I Am The Walrus.” I was by then three RBVs in and the night was not over. “Koo koo kachoo.”
What next after an Oasis and Ryan Adams set? The Playboy Club, naturally. Or so I thought. I was informed that the cover was forty dollars and that I had to wait in line “over there.” Way over there. “Come on man, I’m a lot prettier than those people baby…” The doorman smiled. He’s heard that kind of shit before. “Over there.” But I wasn’t going to wait in line; I had already been there before.
Caesar’s Palace sits just off the strip on Flamingo between the Palms and the Westin, where we were staying. For some reason, I decided to walk off some of my RBV buzz by ambling along Flamingo to Caesar’s. Some black cat in a flashy white car pulled up beside me and asked me where I was trying to go. “Oh, I’m cool man. I’m just cruising.” Apparently, so was he in a sense, and I cringed later at my poor choice of words.
Caesar’s is massive and can be quite confusing to the uninitiated, but I was still able to make a b-line to the Pussycat Dolls Casino having spent a little quality time (this is Vegas) there the night before. Almost as titillating as the Playboy Club, the PCD casino offers one stop shopping for many a manly vice.
Who knows how long I could have stayed and watched the gyrating cage dancers while feigning interest in the gaming tables; moving in a slow perimeter from table to table so as to not arouse some sort of pervy suspicion. I thought I was clever, but not quite convinced that I had a chance with one of the dancers. Maybe next time. A slice of pizza from the “Slice Bar” and a drive through the desert to Tucson were the only sure things in my future.
to get back to riverside to pick up the truck from susan’s house we have to drive through l.a. it’s as if l.a. is as sad to see us go, as we are to leave it. it keeps us trapped in it’s legendary traffic for many hours. one day of this commute is enough to make matt resolve never to live here.
finally we get to susan’s. i’m sad to say goodbye to her. she was a really great friend and the only reason i kept my sanity working at the dentist office. susan’s 4 year old grand daughter is so cute holding the flashlight for us as we strap the car to the trailer and asking us if we need anything else. and susan’s husband is so great to make sure we have the car on securely. he offers some wise words: “if it falls off just keep driving. the insurance you have won’t cover enough for whatever it hits.”
surprisingly, we don’t have any traffic on the way to vegas and we make good time. i actually cry a little bit when i think about what it means to be driving out of riverside in a moving truck with all my possessions in the back and with my brother in the cab instead of my husband. up until now our roadtrip has seemed like a vacation. now the reality sets in that i’m moving.
also along the way i resolve that i will save up and take myself on a vacation every year for my birthday since January 2008 was record-breakingly sucky. plus, i want to travel more. i think if i set aside just $20 a week for a whole year i could take a pretty sweet vacation.
driving into vegas is pretty fun, especially at night. first you drive by the pre-show casinos—terrible’s and whiskey pete’s. then, at still about 20 miles out you can see the beam of light from the luxor. then you crest the hill and all the lights of the sprawling city open up in front of you. there are as many lights as there are possibilities in vegas. vegas, baby. vegas.
big brother. guitar and vocals. currently on sabbatical, artist by trade. personal vision quest: to find divine inspiration to move forward personally and professionally.
stephanie pearl coates.
little sister. cello. currently unemployed and undecided. personal vision quest: to see what life is supposed to be like after divorce.
