Portland was fun
Our venue, the Doug Fir Lounge is custom built for musicians.
Sand inside the stage to prevent nasty bass vibrations.
A tartan carpet in the dressing room.
Hotel and restaurant are part of the same complex, only a stumble away.
The whole place is covered in mirrors and silver
The show is good.
Someone shouts 'let's get fucked up!'
We head to a bar.
A big, middle aged man approaches me and snaps, 'you're the Clientele guy, right?'
He's smashed, drunk out of his mind
'Sububbbban Light was... fuckin A......but after that.... what the fuck happened?'
'You win some you lose some'
'Right' he says, slumping, wagging his finger at some inner weariness he recognises, 'Right'.
Then, abruptly, he sits down on a poker machine where his glass of whisky was resting
Crushing it with the seat of his all-American pants
'You better get that seen by a doctor,' I say
'Right... right,' the weary finger wags again
Jimmy, singer of the Radar Brothers, is wearing a dogtooth trilby, ice clinking in his whisky glass, sat at the bar with Steve and me. A quiet, spooky man with a gift for repartee; everyone is trashed, some playing shuffleboard at the back of the bar, drinking Hefferweiss, more members of the underground society of semi-succesful musicians taking some time off to relax, shaving a few more days off their dwindling life expectancies.
The morning is unmentionable