28 Mar – Eddie’s Attic (Atlanta, GA)
w/ Michelle Malone
We started off well and ended well, in spite of little things in between. After making a point last time of talking about how I need to stick with the acoustic on the songs I use it on, we started in on “Sherman” and I broke a string during the song. I managed to swap guitars somewhere during the bridge and ended up playing electric for the whole show anyway. Sometimes the fates are fickle. The crowd seemed good, we got a loud cheer for “World Where You Live” and then good cheers afterward. I think we were a bit subdued, again. It’s the stage, for one thing, being so small (and smaller still with two bands worth of amps on it), there’s really no room to move at all. But the club itself feels quiet, and it’s hard to start capering around the stage even if there were room.
There’s something about coming home after a show in town, though. I don’t notice it when the band is on the road, though I did have it when I was out solo. I come home completely drained, and usually starving. There’s just a very particular feeling to it, the weariness of bringing the equipment in, of changing out of the clothes… it’s like a deliberate forestall of relief, and the feeling when I finally sit, have a drink, a little food, it’s like nothing else. Probably about as close to relaxation as I ever get.
I was sitting here, with an overcast sky, taking in that weird nostalgia I only get at the start of spring and autumn… and I started thinking. I used to go see local music just after high school. More or less it was people I knew. I saw Uncle Green at the Metroplex and actually travelled with them to a few shows out of town. I saw another friend’s band, called the Mystery Cycles, play a place called Margaritaville on West Peachtree. But the first time I ever went out to see a local act I didn’t know was at a club called the White Dot, which used to be on Ponce de Leon Ave.
It was Michelle Malone.