"Steak House"
I smell the cow hide stretched taut behind me and the stuffed spoils of hunting expeditions lining the walls frozen in ferocity. The television is tuned to the game and the lights are low and golden. I enjoy my free fish dinner. Now to get to the other side of the keyboard so I can face the audience and begin my set. Its a delicate operation and I must duck my head beneath the side of the keyboard, rotate sideways, avoid swinging the mic stand and toppling the speakers, squat on the uneven stones of the adjacent fireplace and snake my way to the side of my stool. Let me tell you, that maneuver won me some tips. I mustve looked like a small child crawling into my fort. Perhaps the procedure was less than graceful, but humor often makes up for what one lacks in elegance.
"Avila"
About 70 degrees, a pleasant breeze and a direct view of the rolling ocean. Not bad for the first full band gig out on the West Coast. I get a little patch of sunburn in the only place I missed with the sunscreen. And I apologize a couple times to the crowd for our "pasty white, East Coast complexions". Ben the bassist insists that he has a nice "base tan" get the pun? But its mostly a blur smiling audience, music and perfect weather. The smell of beer wafts in from the bar behind us, perking up the senses of my band mates.
By the end of the four hours of our gig on Avila Beach, a thin cool fog rolls in from the mountains and covers us with chill. My fingers become curiously numb, but only for the last 30 minutes of playing. The cool takes out the good people that have brought out their lawn chairs and blankets, placing them between the farmers market stands to listen to us warble our way through a few standards but mostly original songs. I wipe the beach sheen from my keyboard and dump the sand from my sustain pedal as we pack up to head back to Pismo Beach.
Dan the drummer said that the Avila Beach gig at Mr. Ricks made the whole trip "worth it".
"On going to the beach (almost) every day (poor me)"
Im trekking across the train tracks on a short walk to the ocean, ignoring the intermittent fog and braying tourist. I feel like the quietest of the outsiders, most cavorting around their RVs or rented cars, perched in the dunes staring out at the sea.