Red Deer came with velvet ropes and slot machines. They put us up in a casino hotel. It was great. The illusion that luck might be transferable. The show was at a place called D2, a bar-restaurant run by genuinely wonderful people. You could feel their effort everywhere. But the evening itself was held together with band-aids and good intentions. The sound guy who was a catalyst for me meeting the promoter was obviously Colin Puffers doppelganger. Too amazing. But that ended shortly because there was a table of five women who had committed fully to getting plastered. Not casually. Professionally. They treated the room like a pre-party that refused to end. HIgh;y unlikely they paid $30 for this privilege and of course it did strange things the music.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Our songs depend on a kind of attention. Not reverence, just a willingness to follow a thought. That night, every quiet moment got flattened under laughter, interruptions, and the kind of volume that doesn\u2019t know it\u2019s volume. The only show on tour where we weren\u2019t playing with<\/em> the room, or even against<\/em> it. Like a conversation in a wind tunnel. You try to meet the energy halfway, even when it\u2019s not interested in meeting you at all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then, at the end of Mike\u2019s set, he played Bach and the table of five got up and left. No announcement. No confrontation. Like something in the air had become inhospitable. It was immediate and unmistakable. As if Bach were garlic for vampires. We realized too late, we\u2019d been holding the antidote the entire night. Next time, start with Bach.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"