The Living Rockumentary

My weekend was overflowing with music, which to some in the band is a regular occurrence but for me is somewhat rare. Friday the Fawns did our best to rock the house, with only one short rehearsal under our belts after a few weeks off. It was a tough bill to be on, with the Lonesome Brothers on-fire and Angry Johnny and the Killbillies sure to put on a... set (I left after the Lo-Bro's set; sleep was in order), but I think we did well and the debut of Lisa's new song "Silly" seemed to wake some people up. Blondie, watch your back.

Saturday and Sunday was spent recording bass and drums for the Fawns' cd (which will have a classic record cover - right up there with Sticky Fingers, Fragile and Hemispheres). The sessions began and ended the same way: we all piled into Rob's new/old van and pretended like we were on tour, cruising around Wisconsin looking for the club (even though we were only going about a mile to and from Brian's for the drums). I felt like that kind of weekend was needed. A little bonding was in order: some time spent goofing around watching the Mariah Carey sing a dumb song before the Indy 500 and wondering how much it cost to put the Penzoil logo on her breast; sitting around the new studio with Rob serenading us with "Driving On 9"; and the joy of unexpectedly nailing first takes on a few songs. Soon we will birth/belch out a new bouncing baby cd and I believe you will all think it is great. Or we will break your knee caps.

Saturday night S4H did our best to play an inspired set at the Eagles, while our fingers and toes were still thawing from the 15-below (without wind-chill) air outside. It was sloppy and tight and angry and tender. Thank you, Henning, Lesa, Brian, Andrea, Lauren and Caleb for coming and saying such kind words. Had you not been there we would have played to 10 or so people, 7 of whom were in the other bands.

And last night was the second Maggies' reunion of Philip, Stu and I in 2+ years. It felt drunk. Maybe because we were all drunk. Of the groups I saw (I began the night with seeing 3/4ths of GdV's set, and left after ours), the highlights included Rick's excellent job fronting the trio version of GdV (great outfit as well!), No Shadow Kick (who, along with GdV, were one of the few bands whose originals I really liked), and Mudpony, who did the best job of really paying tribute to Joe. That seemed to be something which was lost on a few acts. Mudpony also got points for covering a Strummer/Mescaleros song, and doing it well (Brian, your drumming on "Pressure Drop" kicked serious booty). I didn't get the Justice League or Cyclub. But then again, I don't always get punk. So maybe they were really good.

And then there was us, the confused and weaving Maggies, looking at each other through blurry eyes and doing our best to honor a musician who had varying degrees of influence on the three of us. For me, my first exposure to the Clash was seeing the video for "Rock The Casaba" at least once a day on Spanish MTV in '82, while living in Costa Rica. I would drum along with pens on a pillow, and once got so enthralled that I didn't see the caps fly off the pens, mid-song. I got in trouble for ruining the pillow. Now *that's* punk. So, not a great way to first hear the Clash, since in retrospect that is now one of my least-favorite of their songs. But damn what a good record London Calling is. In any case, the Maggies' 3-song set was over before I realized it had begun, and I hope Joe looked down on us from somewhere and thought, "bloody yanks."

Fast-forward to 8:22 p.m., where 8.22 hours ago I was pulling into our already-snowy driveway and Brian was yelling out his window that rehearsal was postponed (saves on the phone bills to have the rhythm section living in adjacent houses). At around 4 Anya and I ventured out into the Biggest Snowstorm of the Millennium (so far), which soon became a mission to sled Hospital Hill. Realizing that we would be towed if we parked on the street, we hoofed it across town with sleds in tow, with wave upon wave of snow battering us from every direction. When we arrived at the Hill I was amazed to see only 6 other people on what is generally a high-traffic sledding spot. We trudged up the hill, through snow that was already about a foot deep, and felt like we had climbed Mt. Everest when we reached the peak. The first sled ride down was spectacular, with each of us ending up like a giant rolling marshmallow snowball. The other family was made up of what seemed like a father and his three daughters, the latter all wearing dresses. In a blizzard. We figured this was had to do with a religious or cultural orientation, but regardless, they sure looked cold. The remaining five trips down the hill were some of the most fun I've had this winter, but the walk home was not. It's still snowing and snowing and snowing.