The Bazaar Café in the Richmond necessitates that you not plug in; not even your vocals are mic'd. This past weekend we played there and the Guinness, I think, helped to carry our voices to the back of the venue.

Electronics are fun as hell, everyone loves samples and bleepy things. Yet it's a good feeling to not have to think about the levels or monitors. Adam missed his delay pedal and pitchshifter quite a bit, but we focused more on harmonies than on anything with blinking lights and it was good conditioning. 

They also had port wine, but we didn't want the sound to be quite that drenched.

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We attempted to play the Utah on Monday. They pull names for the open mic out of a hat. Standing there waiting for your name to be called starts to feel like Shirley Jackson's The Lottery once you get into the fifties. We were around 74, I think.

Instead of waiting around for our own slot, Adam and I went on stage with Rob from the once great Redhouse. He was somewhere in the tolerably late 20s. Adam provided some minimal guitar stuff and I just wailed on a harp. Good fun had. Bar tab bad for a Monday.

We recorded both the Bazaar Café set and the jam we did with Rob. If any of it comes out well, I'll probably post it online.

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This weekend we should be heading out to the foothills of Mt. Diablo to record Cold for Meaning in an art studio on Super 8mm and a couple of mics.

If the song feels as grainy as the film we'll have done something right.