We’re in a Family Way!

Hello Doomed Earthlings!

The picture above should provide you with a combination of warmth and also dread, the two emotions best suited to the upcoming year. Yes, if the doomsdayers and naysayers are right, our time consuming and subsuming is coming to a close this year. Because a calendar ends . . . ohhhhhhhhhkay. If you’d like to see more from our Hot Seats Family Holiday Portrait Session, check ‘em here! Notice how Jake’s expression never changes!

In recognition of this very likely event, we’ve gone back into the studio to record some of our final thoughts, squeaks and squalls. We invited our good pal, Lars Prillaman, to come in and help us in our goal to double up on America’s two most popular instruments – the banjo and the fiddle. Think I’m lying? Check it out here!

It’s not all double fiddle/double banjo, though, we’ve got a grip of new songs recorded, and are planning at least one, if not two albums to be released in the fall.

We had a fabulous set of gigs at the end of the year, especially our New Years Eve show with the Seldom Scene. Were you there? Did you enjoy it? It seems like we’re building a nice relationship with the Birchmere, so expect to see us back! There’s some pictures of New Years Eve here, and some of our great show at Ashland Coffee & Tea here.

OK, enjoy these pics and vids, and we’ll be back with more more more!

Love,
PF Hot Seats et al.

Hello internet users and abusers!

It’s been a while, I know. I figured that after the inundation of messages and blogs from our not so distant UK tour, you might like a break. Give the old yuk yuk muscles a chance to heal. Or something. Also, quite honestly, we haven’t been up to that much. Yes, like the mighty phoenix, the Hot Seats awaken, flame out for a while, then recede into the ashes, awaiting our next opportunity to spread twang and slang to the masses. And those opportunities are fast approaching! Can’t you hear it on the wind? Smell it in the trees? My advice, watch for the birds and squirrels, somehow the animals are always the first to know (likely because, as you know, Ed’s favorite food generally contains at least one of every animal).

If you want to know about upcoming gigs and don’t wanna hear about miscellany and randomness, just skip to the bottom now, please. However, if you view your brain like a vintage shop, full of mental oddities and doodads, please continue.

But what, you might ask, have you Hot Seats been doing? Do you retreat to the Ice Palace in the North Pole? Do you burrow underground? Do you work simply disintegrate into other dimensions? Do you work menial jobs in order to pass the time between gigs, your one chance to lick that shiny brass ring?

Well, one of those is true.

Most of us have been simply enjoying some down time here in Central VA. Playing little gigs, working little jobs. You know, just surviving. Obviously we had a great time in the UK, sold out of our old timey “Knife and Fork” album, and spread music far and wide!

Edward has been doing a lot of work with the Lincoln movie here in Richmond. He was just walking past the set and Senor Spielbergo saw him and said, “Hey, you look unkempt and malnourished! Wanna be famous? Do you like hard tack and salt pork?” And our Eddie said, “Yessir!”

Graham has been “slaving away” up at Monticello (sorry, bad joke?), the home of Virginia’s number one ultra-prudish holistic libertarian, Thomas Jefferson. Every time I see him, he’s just dirty and carrying root vegetables, munching on a potato like an apple, and carefully looking over his shoulder for lawmen searching for errant fieldhands.

Jake has gotten himself an office job and spends a lot of time looking at his watch, lurking around the secretary’s desk and charming the pants off all the civilians. There’s really no way that people who are used to normal office demeanor can handle the 150 watt beam of our very own Jake’s personality. He’ll probably be CEO within a week.

I (PF) have been doing a number of little things. Primarily taking kids out on rivers, bending them to my worldview. In a side project note, I’ve teamed up with Alison Self, a local Richmond folkie, and started a little duet called Starch & Iron. These are verbs, not nouns, people. It’s from Say Darlin’ Say! Check out the music if you want to hear a Hot Seat do actual pretty music.

And, finally, our Benny Baby missed the plane home, and has been living near Gartly (site of the fabulous Tin Hut Sessions) with his little wifey, Annie Campbell-Belcher. Ben’s been doing, oh, ALL kinds of stuff. You know, like . . . things, and . . . stuff. I’m not really sure what he’s been doing, truthfully. Not much of a communicator, that boy. A few things I know: he worked on a drawing for the Carolina Chocolate Drops; he and Aaron Lewis just played a gig in Edinburgh at Douglas Robertson’s excellent house; he’s still just as KEEEEYEWT as a button! If you want to know more, Annie has been keeping a great blog HERE.

As many of you know, we “released” a Live album in September, right in time for our UK tour. Most US audiences haven’t had much of a chance to buy it, though it’s available HERE. We, of course, will have them out on the road.

OK, so now we’re all caught up, so let’s talk about December and January!

As you guys all know, we’re really cutting back on full band gigs, just due to the nature of our activities and locations. There will still be gigs, hopefully fun festivals in the summer, but just not as much during the week. Alas, so it goes. For the time being, seeing the Hot Seats on a Tuesday in Milwaukee is a no go. That being said, we have some fun fun gigs a comin’!

Saturday, December 24th

Cafe Nola – Frederick MD

Two sets – 8pm and 10pm, $5

Josh, Ben, and Graham will be joined by Ben Townshend and Lars Prillaman of the Fox Hunt for a night of raucous unrehearsed entertainment! Come play the magi with us!

Monday, December 26th

Hoss’s Deli – Newport News

9pm, Free!

Come out for the FIRST Hot Seats show in months! We’ll be working out the kinks and lubing up the joints!

Thursday, December 29th

Shepherdstown Opera House – Shepherdstown, WV

$5, 7:30pm

A great time will be had on this night! We are playing with The Acoustic Burgoo, and it WILL be fun.

Friday, December 30th

Ashland Coffee & Tea– Ashland, VA

$10/$12, 8pm, all ages

Back at Ashland C&T for a little pre New Years warmup! Get your tickets early! They’re cheaper, and it may very well sell out!

Saturday, December 31^st

The Birchmere – Alexandria, VA

$39.50, 8pm Sharp!

Oh Emmm Gee! We’re playing the Birchmere on New Years Eve with the Seldom Scene and the Eastman String Band! We go second. I can’t imagine I need to sell this to you. Come have fun!

And then, in the year of 2012 . . .

Saturday, January 7^th

Franklin Park Arts Center – Purcellville, VA

8pm, $15/20 (get tickets at the website)

With The Acoustic Burgoo and Jake & The Burtones! It’s a LVHS (PF’s high school) Talent Show!

We’ll be back in the studio in very early January as well, so expect some new album news soon!

OK, there we go! A little refresher, and now we’re back on the same page.

So, make yer plans now, come see us play!

Love,

PF Hotseats Et Al.

August 29^th, 2011

A quick drive from our digs in Middlesbrough (a much less auspicious place that Salburn-By-The-Sea, as indicated by the lack of hyphens) brought us to Norwich, a town that is overrun with college-aged people and twenty somethings, judging from the amount of coffeehouses, vintage clothing shops, music stores, and tattoo parlors. Speaking as a former student of Geology (yes folks, your narrator is a science man from way back. The whole band thing is actually a part of my dissertation, the title of which is, “Tour Life Neuro-psychotics: The Effects of 24 Hour Exposure To Sleep Deprivation and Malnourishment Upon The Reflexes and Temperaments of Caucasoid Men.” I’m thinking of a follow up as well, “Tour Wife: Masochist or Mother Theresa?” More soft-science than to what I’m accustomed, but anyway . . .) I was taken with the super-prevalent flint stones that make up most of the churches and halls in Norwich. Made me curious as to the history of the place. Silly, I know, those stones are just lovely smooth, hardened tears of our lord, right?

Indeed, our venue was one of these places. And a fine venue it was! It’s always a thrill for us to look at the upcoming events at a venue where we’re playing and see names like Mark Mothersbaugh on the schedule. Not to mention our good pals Old Sledge, who are due over here soon. The soundman was top-notch, as was the lighting lady and all members of the staff. I feel like we hit a great groove that night in terms of pacing and in-between song banter.

It’s funny, the stereotype that one might have is that an English crowd would be more reserved than a Scottish crowd. This does not bear out, however. No value judgements here, as we are eternally grateful to any and all who would come see us play, but we have found thus far that our English crowds are equally as open to laughter, hooting, stomping, and general excitability as our most exuberant Scottish crowds. However, one thing that separates all of them from our average American crowd (not all, mind you) is their willingness to pay attention! What should I expect, though? We Americans are so inundated on all sides by stimulus and generally expect every situation to be tailor-made to suit our expectations, why should anyone be forced to listen to a band that they paid a cover to see? Ludicrous notions!

Anyway, we had fun in Norwich and hope to get back there.

August 30^th, 2011

We started our day in Newmarket, a little equestrian town where our hotel for the night previous was located. While out getting coffee, I had the usual exchange:

Shopkeep: Where are you headed today?

Me: Great Torrington, in Devon.

Shopkeep (appalled): Devon? Don’t you know how far that is?

Me: Yeah, about 5 hours

Shopkeep: That’s right, are you going to stop for the night in between?

Me: No, we’ll just drive straight. 5 hours of driving doesn’t even get us out of our home state, depending on the direction we go.

Shopkeep: Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet, dog. Streets is wild!

Me: You know it, dawg, gotta tip on out now that I’m ready.

Shopkeep: You more than ready, you GAME ROOSTER!

Hmm, that last interchange may have been from “The Wire,” but I think the rest is about right. Anyway, yes Britons, it’s true, we drive a lot, often on the same pathways we just covered. It’s kind of how it goes, you know?

Great Torrington is quite close to South Molton, where we’d played before. Devon is really gorgeous country, not too dissimilar from southwest Virginia. In fact, so much of this trip has reminded me of portions of Appalachia, it’s not surprising that so many Scots and Brits found their way to the hills of VA, KY, TN, and NC and helped to make this music that we love to play so well.

The show at the Plough Arts Center was a great success – over sold out, as a matter of note. We’ve adopted a few new songs while over here, and it has kept us fully engaged in the sets (not that we’re ever not, mind you). Not to toot our own horns too loudly, but I gotta say I’m pretty proud of how we’re sounding right now. It seems the trend amongst many younger bands of our ilk to be branching away from the traditional sound and on to something that straddles the line between indie rock and old time music. Perhaps it’s because we started left of field that we are content to remain more in the pocket (ok, I realize not entirely, but for the most part . . .). Our mission statement, at the moment, is to have music from the 1940′s matched with lyrical content from the present era, and I think we’re doing it fairly well, and I only say so because I’ve had a number of well-informed (and very kind) folks come up and say much the same to me both here and in the States.

A final navel gazing moment, if you would: One thing we are always a bit squirmy about is the frequent use of words like “zany” or “madcap” when used to describe us. It always feels to connote some sort of forced humor. Maybe it’s because, again, we are only too aware of whence we came (any veterans of the Cary Street Cafe days of fake blood, salad dressing drinking competitions, dropped pants, and haiku nights can attest to this). In comparison to some of those times, we’re regular stoics. Also, there was a time when we felt we needed the shock value to overcome some of our musical deficiencies, but these days we’re plenty comfortable with the music we’re playing, and any levity isn’t some kind of gimmick, but merely our natural character emerging: we’re silly sometimes, we find morbid things funny, we’re childish, we like to play music. That’s it. No artifice.

August 31^st, 2011:

We rolled into Camden Town around 4pm after a leisurely morning around Great Torrington. I personally went on a nice run around Old Torrington, a series of trails that takes one around some ruins and also, so I hear, the site of an old leper colony. Camden is clearly a very hip place, full of folks in what I suppose are fashionable clothes (Jesus, I sound like my dad), tons of vintage shops, record shops, buskers, pubs, etc etc. We met up with some old friends who live in London, including Sam the Kiwi, an old roommate of mine from college days and, Emma, a childhood friend of both Graham’s and me, and sister of Lars Prillaman, of the Young Napoleons (and currently The Fox Hunt) with whom we’ve played before, and will do so again.

The Green Note is a great little (stress “little”) vegetarian tapas restaurant and venue. We had a fabulous and healthy dinner of salads with tons of little tasty treats in them: haloumi, Peppadews (that’s a patented pepper, folks), artichokes, falafel, feta, roasted vegs, and more. After 4.5 weeks of delicious but often rich and fried food, this was a well received meal indeed. Nothing too heavy directly before playing for me, please. Makes me sluggish. As Graham puts it, “If I’m too full, I no longer care.” We’re all just instinctual beings, right?

The place was packed out with folks, including the mother and brother of our favorite Edinburgh-ian, Leonie LeMaistre. What a treat to get to meet more of her family! Only made us wanna come back to Edinburgh sooner! In all, this gig reminded us a bit of our average gig in the states, as it was more like a bar environment, with some talking going on (though, a lot of listening, too). Maybe because it was a big city show, we felt a little loose on stage, and were goofing around a great deal, even cussing on stage! Heaven forfend!

We left out of London after the show for, what else, a Travelodge! I wish we could have spent more time in the city. Kind of hard to deal with 7 people and a van of gear in such a large city, alas. Don’t worry London, presuming the Gulf Stream doesn’t cut off within the year, freezing the UK under a mile of glacier (not an impossibility folks, the global conveyer belt has been known to shut down from time to time, especially if a large cap of fresh water were to melt from the northern icecaps due to global climate changes. Still, that’s just more scientific lies, pay it no mind. Shall we go for a drive?), we’ll be back!

September 1^st, 2011

OK, after 5 full weeks over here, we finally make it back to the Banham Barrel! As referenced in every UK blog at some point, the Barrel is a fabulous pub way out in the middle of Norfolk, surrounded by fields and farms. It specializes in ciders made by the owner, Jonty. Nowadays, Jonty’s son, Frank, actually runs the place, but Jonty is still very much around. The Barrel is, as far as we can remember, one of only two places we’ve played on every trip over here (the other being the Alamo Bar in Paisley), and we love it for many reasons: excellent hospitality at the hands of Jonty and his wife Wendy (last night it was tasty shepherd’s pie and local green beans!), award winning ciders, both sweet and dry, and dancers! Excellent, no-holds barred, exuberant dancing that starts on the first song and continues through the encore.

This night was a great deal of fun and we were able to reach the level of raucousness that can only be brought about by a floor full of sweaty gyrating Brits (or Yanks, or Malays, or . . . you get the idea). We caught with our pal Liam, of the Harvey Boys, drank a fair amount of cider, and talked with some lovely folks. We’re now back in the van, headed to the Didmarton Bluegrass Festival, our final two days. We shall see what kind of impressions we provide and are left with.

Whoof, gotta pause for a sec, just caught a MASSIVE whiff of animal manure right in my face from the van window . . . ok, that’s over.

While we wait for time to pass, let’s talk about David Rollo, our driver for the last week. He’s great! We’ve gotten used to his laid back attitude, though it took a few days. After enduring the wrath of Gerald “Wrong Turn” Roche for nearly a month, it’s a bit unnerving to have someone be patient with our dawdling and wanders. David is a musician and a funny guy. He tries to be mean on occasion, but he’s still working on selling “Get in the Fucking Van!” with the proper angry conviction. His Ford Transit is also a fair bit smoother than the Vauxhall box van we have used in the past. Again, we’re not used to not shaking.

It’s also a different glimpse into the world of Scottish people. When we arrived in London in 2008 for our first trip over here and met Gerry, we just assumed, “Well, this is how Scottish people are.” We quickly realized, “No, this is how Gerry is – quick, sharp and hilarious.” Like, here’s something we didn’t know before: Some people put chips (fries) into hamburger buns and eat them in sandwich form! Genius!  It’s called a “chip butty” apparently.

We’ve taken to calling him “Big Wave Dave,” as he likes to (kind of creepily) shout hello to other drivers and women walking down the street. Pretty funny, really. He also keeps talking about showing us his “Bobby” and needing to take a “Jobby.” Oh those crazy Scots and their funny words!

And now a few bulleted notes entitled “The Adventures of Crybabies in the Land of Withholding.” Note: at the moment I write this, we’re filling up our tires with free air and window washers with free water at a service station, so . . . yes, hypocrites.

• 20p for ketchup. Really?
• It costs more if I sit down for coffee rather than take it away. Really?
• What do you mean you’re not “allowed” to give me a takeaway box? REALLY?
• £5 for an hour of internet. Seriously?
• £2 fee for using a credit card. Hmm, thanks!
• My friend isn’t allowed to sit down with me at your empty coffee shop because he hasn’t bought anything. What service!

On the massive other hand . . . free health care. I suppose I’d gladly pay 20p for ketchup packets if I could go to the doctor and pharmacist for free to, you know, stay alive and stuff. Still, the extra 50p to sit down at a coffeeshop . . . hmph!

And, on another massive other hand. Charles Darwin is on the £10 note. Charles Darwin. And, like 40% of Americans don’t believe in evolution. Charles Darwin. What the hell is wrong with us?  Is it in the water?  Is it because we let our pets sleep in bed with us?

September 4^th, 2011

It’s early, I’m very tired. We’re currently hurtling down the M4, on our way to Heathrow Airport. We’ve been at the Didmarton Bluegrass Festival for the last three days, and while we got back to our hotel at a reasonable 2:30am last night, it was one of those things wherein, as I was falling asleep, I had one of those panicky “What if I don’t fall asleep tonight?” thought flashes (not hot flashes, thought flashes), which then kept me from getting the 3 hours of sleep I was planning on. So here I am, Eddie on one side of me, David on the other (the Twin Sentinels of Stink, let’s call them. Nothing but gaseous emissions from one end or the other). So let’s recap the last two days.

We rolled into Didmarton after a leisurely afternoon spent at the hotel, enjoying a bit of mattress-time, shower-time, TV-time, internet-time, and just generally lavishing in the purple comfort of a Premier Inn for one last time before heading home. When we arrived, I was personally transported straight to any bluegrass fest in the USA. Campers, pickers, bonfires, banjos, even a confederate flag! Also, a really funny (to me) flag with the American stripes with a Union Jack in the place of the 50 stars. Not sure what exactly that means, but I like it!

We hung around backstage, listening to various bands, including The Flats and Sharps, a group of teens who ripped through a set of incredibly fast and clean bluegrass music worthy of Galax or any fiddlers’ convention. They’re real sweet guys, unsurprisingly, though I did have a commiserative moment with the mandolin player’s dad, who’s an old time fiddler and hasn’t been able to successfully communicate the joys of Old Time to his 220 BPM-loving bluegrasser son. Ah well, some things can only be appreciated with age, perhaps. Things like, you know, playing the same tune 30 times through until you can see through time.

And speaking of that, another great band we heard was called Hogeye, and featured the fiddling of Jock Tyldesley (more on him in a moment) and the guitar playing of Barry Southern, who I had shared a drunken jam at Richmond’s own Penny Lane Pub (ironically enough, since Barry is a Liverpudlian) some years ago. There’s that great moment where you stare at someone for long enough, trying to dredge this person out of the thick marshy mud of yer memory before they emerge and you are able, with confidence, to say, “Umm, don’t I know you?” Anyway, Hogeye was playing some great old time music, including a tune called “Bound to Have a Little Fun,” one of the first I ever learned, and have never heard anyone else play.

The band that took the cake for us, however, was the New Rope String Band, also featuring Jock. There’s really no use in me going into great description of this band, as words won’t do it justice, so I’ll put it like this. Often, reviewers like to use “vaudevillian” or “antics” to describe our on stage activities, but they’re kind of misnomers. We’re just kind of off the cuff and very silly guys. Now, THESE guys are chock full of vaudevillian antics. Great props, spot on timing, incredibly creative and well-executed gimmicks, and great musicianship on top of everything. If you live in the UK and haven’t seen these guys (and you like us), go see this band!! Jake and I were in the very front and were laughing basically nonstop for 45 minutes.

We played the final set on both Friday and Saturday nights. Flattering to be the headliner on each stage, given the amount of great music that had crossed them throughout both days. On Friday night, we got two encores. I walked to the mic for our second and said “We’ll pay a coupla bluegrass tunes,” and there was a resounding “NO!” from the audience, which was nice to hear. We had been a little concerned that some of our stylings might be a bit too left-of-center for this crowd, but they really dug everything we did (including the “Zappa Medley into Cheesy Beef Boogie” of last night’s encore). It is, of course, so gratifying to have other musicians and crowd members stopping us as we walk around to gush about our music. As I said in an earlier post, our heads are getting BIG!

Other highlights, for me, anyway:

• Hanging out and picking with our old pal Helen Keen, who once put us up and has been a booster of the band for a while. She’s a great banjo player, and, as it turns out, can belt out some great Guy Clark songs too!
• Playing a 1923 Lloyd Loar F5 (the “LaBarge”!! It’s not every day that one gets to handle the Stradivarius of mandolins, is it? Sure, I could pay off my mortgage with it, but, more importantly, I can play it! Not sure if it’s 33.3 times nicer than my dear mandolin, but it was damned nice, there’s no doubt. Thanks very much to my new pal Phil for the opportunity.
• Listening to all the Brits sing bluegrass in their best Southern accents! Love it! There was some seriously good picking afoot in the campground. Made me quite homesick for the community of freaks and hillbillies we have come to know and love at all the finest picking fests in the U.S.A!

And now we’re on our way home. Don’t wanna get hopes up TOO high, but it looks likely we’ll be back over here next spring, and maybe also next fall! Wait and see. We had yet another fabulous time over here, and want thank heartily all of our hosts, soundmen, and a special big thank you to Loudon Temple, Gerald Roche, and David Rollo for all of their hard work on our expense.

August 28th, 2011

Hello England! We’re the Hot Seats! Nice to meetcha!

Yes, that’s right folks, PF Hot Seats here, reporting from, where else, the van; a different van, in fact. We’re currently being piloted by our new driver/road manager, David, south from the Scottish Borders, on our way to the first in our final week of gigs, all of them in the large and bucolic suburb of Scotland . . . England. We’ve literally just crossed into the country and are on our way towards Hadrian’s Wall, erected because the Scottish folk were just too much for even a great conqueror to handle, so he just . . . built a wall. Does that work? Can I stop the postman from delivering me bills in the same way?

Yet another week of activities have passed by since my last missive, but, as often happens to me at this stage in blog entries, I am a bit tired of recounting the days and gigs one at a time (I wonder if you’re not tired of hearing about it, too. Nonetheless, let’s just account for our actions, eh? Wouldn’t want you to think that we’ve been slacking around or not making the best of every minute of every blessed day! And so, here we go . . . oof, we’ll take a momentary pause to allow the road to get a little less curvy. Ever driven over here? There’s a severe lack of straight lines in this country. Don’t they know that cars have to drive on these roads, and some of us are typing? Hello?

August 21st, 2011

We had a fun, if not very well attended, gig in Aberdeen at the Blue Lamp. While of course we always want to have a full house of audience members, it is always a nice reminder that we can muster the energy and enthusiasm to rock a small house too. Highlight from the night: after the show, a friendly Scot came up to me and imparted the following band comparisons:

Graham – “Cooter” from the Dukes of Hazzard (AKA, Ben Jones, an old friend of the band)
Ed – Donald Sutherland’s charcter from Kelly’s Heroes
Ben – “a shrunken down Jason Bourne”
Josh – “the guy from Harry and the Hendersons that was always trying to kill the Bigfoot.” (WHAT? )
Jake – “I just picture him like Little Miss Muffet, sitting on a tuffet.”

soooooooo . . . there’s that!  Accurate?  Yes indeedy!

Aberdeen is definitely an industrial town, but there is a really cool old building which is apparently being turned into a Council building. According to Andy, our host, it’s the 2nd largest granite building in the world. A lot of Scots have assured me about the various “world’s largest” this and “world’s oldest” that. Not sure if the amount of old and large things is most interesting, or the level of knowledge your average citizen has about their country, and the pride with which they impart said knowledge. It’s like every person takes a course in “How to Be a Tour Guide for Your Average Gawking American Stringband” in secondary school.

August 22nd, 2011

As has been our custom on every trip over here, we dedicated this night to the Alamo Bar. If you’ll recall, the Alamo Bar in Paisley is owned and run by Chaddy, who is fairly well obsessed with Texas and the American South. The pub is covered with cowboy art, flags from every southern state, American Indians on horseback, cowboy hats, belt buckles. You know . . . American Stuff! Chaddy himself had returned not long ago from his first ever trip to the States. Along with Lawrence (Gerry’s older brother) and three other guys (the “Alamo Five”), he had visited a Dude Ranch in Texas and also spent some time in San Antonio. As you might imagine, he was pretty excited about the whole thing.

It was a great evening, to be sure. We set up in a corner and proceeded to play it fast and loose, as drinks were handed to us at every convenient moment. The audience, as expected, was ready for a good time from the first moment. Hooting, shouting, dancing, and egging us on before, during, and after each song. Their leader in this was Elaine, Gerry’s wife, who is a lovely and superfun person. She compliments his acerbic character with an energetic and wry positivity. Always nice to recognize that the man is not just a vehicle for insults and condescension towards “the Colonials,” as he likes to call us, but also a family man.

You may imagine that we were had all reached a certain level of gregariousness by the end of the evening, and, after making a pit stop at the flat of some local musicians for a little post gig boozery, arrived safely back at our hotel, engaging in some very typical post-gig bickering and eventual teary renewing of vows (yes, it’s basically like being married folks, if you hadn’t gotten that yet) before retiring to our rooms for the kind of deep and angel-like sleep that we know you picture us engaging in.

August 23rd-24th, 2011

It was a slow morning, full of regret and remorse, head holding, gnashing of teeth, etc etc. Given that we had a few days off, we figured we’d spend it back in Edinburgh, hanging with our friends, old and new, enjoying another little stint in the wild and crazy world of the Fringe. Additionally, we were expecting the imminent arrival of Esmerelda Volcano, the little saucy (not my words, the description of a Border Scot last night) wife of our very own Heironymous Volcano (Ben Belcher to those who are less initiated into the multi-leveled world of Hot Seats nicknames and lore), who would be joining us for our last stint, serving as merch girl and Ben-wrangler.

It was a whirlwind two days. We had a great dinner with Douglas and JaneAnne back at his flat with Leonie and also a fellow named Nicholas Oddy, heretofore unmentioned in the blog. Nicholas and Douglas were classmates at art school in Edinburgh back when, and were responsible for any number of acts of mischief, including getting the Principle of the whole school removed through the publication of an underground comic strip featuring pigs and dogs. Nicholas is a hilarious and super-intelligent person who has a huge collection of ~100 year old bicycles and also the world’s largest collection of Hornby trains, for those of you interested in the world of auctions and EBay. We’re quite lucky that we’ve managed to meet a nice clutch of interesting people over here. I suppose we should be flattered, though, of course, everyone is interested in staring at a spectacle, just ask PT Barnum.

On the evening of the 24th we ended our night with a great get together with Leonie and Vanda and all of our pals, eatomg mediterranean food, drinking, and talking talking talking. We also swung by the pub where our pal Stephen was playing with his Band Old Dollar Bill (which is a duo – Stephen on guitar and mandolin, Ed on percussion). We had a lot of fun picking some great bluegrass tunes with them, mostly at pretty high speeds. I think there were some pics or vids taken of it, hopefully we’ll get some posted. There was a table of Spanish women there who were really into it. I wondered what they thought of our ragtag collection of Scots and Yanks, playing Appalachian music? Had they ever heard such a thing before? Had there ever been a sound like that? Do questions make me seem introspective?

August 25th, 2011

We had a great time in Glasgow at Laurie’s Pub. You may recall this pub from one of our very first days on our very first tour over here. Cy Laurie, the proprieter of this establishment, is a great balladeer and all around nice-guy who fed us soup and beer in exchange for tunes on a rainy day of busking. Needless to say, it was nice to finally get to play at his bar. The small room was jam packed with people, having a great time. We got to see our pals Graham and Howie from The (now defunct) Shed Inspectors, a bluegrass-y band from Lochwinnoch. By the end of the night, the room was jumping and hot enough to the point where, in the words of Esmerelda, water was condensing and dripping from the ceiling.” That’s right folks, The Hot Seats create our own weather patterns!

Speaking of weather, we understand that the East Coast is undergoing some hard times in our absence. We understand that it’s hard everyone. We know you’re bound to suffer some separation anxiety when we leave, but earthquakes? Hurricanes? Really? Now you’re just acting up. If you don’t cut it out, no special return home gifts for you! And we’ve been saving morsels from all of our favorite meals just for you! Now what are we gonna do with all these chips, doners, and black puddings?

Oh, back to the main point . . . our night in Glasgow was the 30th birthday of our very own Edward Brogan. He goes by many names: Beach Week, Two Dews, Two Dogs, Two Flush, Two Squish (his own name for himself), Short Pants, the Duke of Dooks, the Sultan of Stink, Nashville Eddie, Brooklyn Eddie, Doner Slayer, and the most recent nickname, Lilac. He is, as you know, an indispensable band member, a fabulous and unique guitarist, a natural songwriter, a born crooner, a gourmand, a glutton, a worker and a sloth, and, by FAR, the most bizarre member of this band. Here’s to you Edward, welcome to the sad days of your 30′s! Clowntime is over, let’s get serious!

The night ended with a little maudlin moment as we bid farewell to Gerry for this tour. He’s having a 4 day respite before heading back on the road with our good pal Pokey LaFarge. I could tell he was upset as there was a quaver in his voice as he told us, for the last time, to “Get The Fuck Out of the Van.” Gerry, we’ll see you sooner than you like (in the words of Gerald, “If it wasn’t for musicians, club owners, bookers, and other drivers on the road, I’d be just fine!”).

August 26th, 2011

We were picked up from our lodgings (Glasgow Airport Travelodge, of course. Always a Travelodge. Well, or a Premier Inn) by David Rollo, our man with the van for our last 10 days. We packed up the van and headed for Hawick (“Hoick”).

This is the second time we’ve played in Hawick. The Heart of Hawick is an excellent venue, built overtop of a river. It was a sold out show (again, yes, we KNOW, only 100-some seats, but still), and it was a pretty hearty success. After the show, we retired to the pub with Loudon and David for some light refreshments. There were some very heavy drinkers at this pub, and Jake, Graham, and I had to repel the advances of a quite impaired woman with some very unfortunate high heels (note to selves, ladies: when you’re going out on the town for a bit of boozing, keep it to flats, eh?) who, apparently, was in possession of a very jealous and punch-willing ex-boyfriend. Ah the excitement never ends with the Hot Seats, eh?

August 27th, 2011

Saturday was another day in the Borders, which meant we didn’t have to move from one lodging to another. Always a plus. The touring life can make a man feel like some kind of Bedouin or other Nomad, with the exceptions that we don’t have the liberty to carry sheep or camels with us, we have more ample access to water and hot dogs, and our clothing isn’t generally as clean.

We bummed around town all day before heading to the small village of Lanton and the Lanton Village Hall. Our host that night was a woman by the name of Anne Rae, an artist in many media. The hall itself is a typically wonderful little space with great, boomy acoustics. By showtime, the place was packed to the gills and was, in fact, spilling into the corridor.

We were treated to a support slot by Eryn, Anne’s 10 year old daughter, on the fiddle, supported by two fellas, both named Graeme (or Graham) on guitar and bass. She was fantastic, playing a variety of Scottish tunes, and even a couple of old time tunes and a great version of Orange Blossom Special. You can see some video of it right here.

August 28th, 2011

And here we are, sitting in yet another Travelodge, getting ready to head to Saltburn-By-The-Sea for what we hope will be another great gig.

Oop, and now I’m back, it’s the morning after our Saltburn gig, and I’m watching the Volcano family as they snooze (creepy? maybe, but also quite pleasing. They hang from their feet from the ceiling and wrap their vestigial wings around them like duvets, and coo like doves). It was a great gig last night. First of all, Saltburn-By-The-Sea is the site of the world’s oldest cliff-lift – a funicular railway. Pretty neat. It’s a lovely town with some impressive cliffs overlooking the ocean and a nice pier. We stood at the top of the cliffs and watched some surfers. Graham, our resident ten-hanger (well, ok, he did it once) looked on with a special amount of enthusiasm. He kept flashing the “hang loose” symbol, and calling all of us “bra.” Not sure, but I think old GFD has secret dreams of moving west, buying himself a camper van and an australian shepherd, and infiltrating a secret gang of surfer bank-robbers! You heard it here first, folks.

Saltburn Community Theatre (back that those “re’s!”) is an old Methodist Church that’s been converted into a hall for music and performance. High ceilings, lovely windows, and movie theater-style seats. The place was, once again, jam packed with enthusiastic folks who cheered after each song. Yes, our heads are officially too big, dear readers. We clearly need a dose of USA-brand apathy/drunks talking overtop of us in order to regain some sensible footing. Soon enough, I imagine. Yet another great show, and hopefully a sign for what our upcoming English shows will be.

We’re off to Norwich today, which stands for, as I was informed last night by a friendly older woman, “kNickers Off Ready When I Come Home.” What do you think, should I mention that on stage?

OK, this is your penultimate blog entry. Only one left, and it will be a report from Heathrow Airport. Hope yer well!

PF Hotseats, over n out.

August 21st, 2011

Oh, my head. Where are we? What have I been doing? What the hell’s been going on?

Sorry, we’ve been enjoying some time at the Edinburgh Fringe over the last days, and those days have quite possibly done damage to our short term memory. More on the specifics of this later. All I’ll say for now is that you know I’m possibly the least partying member of the band, and I feel a bit stretched, like delicious saltwater taffy. Mmm, deliciously dehydrated and somewhat whiskey-sweat-smelling saltwater taffy! So, just imagine how Ben, Graham, Ed, and Jake are feeling!

I’m currently riding in the front seat of the van, a position that is usually inhabited by Lilac Eddie Brogan, but does occasionally fall to one of the rest of us. It’s the best view of passing landscape, possibly the most comfortable seat in the van as well. As an added bonus, you get a running commentary from Gerald on, as I’ve said before, the state of other drivers mental and physical well-being, a wide array of Scottish history and culture, music trivia, and just what bothers him most about . . . well, you. Besides providing an ear and occasional rejoinder, it is the shotgun passenger’s solemn duty to roll acceptable cigarettes for the driver and be empathetic to the near-daily foibles of the Sat-Nav, that generally gets us pretty close to the mark, but frequently falls just short of the mark by a roundabout or two.

We’re currently jamming to Steely Dan – a favorite of many in this band. Not just for the totally phallic band name, rocking guitar and drum solos (Steve Gadd on the song “Aja,” comes to mind), but also for the frequently perv-y lyrics and lounge crooner swagger of Donald Fagen. Maybe we just wish we were part of the 1970′s LA coke and teenage girl scene, too. Probably that. Anyway, those who disparage the Dan . . . you need to listen more closely.

I know that there were days between my last blog and this moment, so let’s see if I can do a little recollecting. Let’s get into the wayback machine, shall we?
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August 12, 2011

We had a fun gig in Neilston at the Neilston Bowling Club. One thing that’s very lacking in the USA (or, at least the USA that WE live in) is a preponderance of bowling clubs. I know you’re thinking to yourself, “What are you talking about, PF, every town has any number of bowling leagues! Why, your hometown of Richmond VA even has duckpin bowling leagues!” Well folks, you know we love to knock down pins and slug back pitchers of beer, but that’s not what I’m a’talkin’ about! I’m talking about lawn bowling clubs. I’m talking about a lovely little manicured patch of grass, I’m talking about tossing out the jack and then trying to get yer balls as close as possible. I’m talking about fitness! Well, a reasonable amount of fitness, anyway.

It was a fairly well attended show in the nice hall wherein the Neilston Bowling Club holds their socials and awards dinners (sorry, I’ll drop this thread in just a second. Just indulge me in my momentary obsession). We were able to whip some attendees into enough of an excitable state such that they were lifted from their seats and compelled into moving their feet and legs in a rhythmic fashion! At first we were a little concerned that perhaps that they were experience some kind of neurological phenomenon or had ants in their pants, but it turns out that this is called dancing, and sometimes people do it to music.

There was a women, now a Scot, who was originally from Texas at this gig, who questioned my Southern-ness. Not sure if it’s my Semitic appearance or total lack of an accent, but it’s not a foreign topic of conversation for me, although I (as all of us in this band) am a Virginian through and through. However, it’s not all location, right? And, a pal said to me this year at Mt. Airy, “Just because the cat has her kittens in the oven doesn’t make ‘em biscuits!” So, I guess I’m just a kitten in the oven, mewing and clawing at the door.

Anyway, back to the point, thanks to all who came out in Neilston, we had a blast!

August 13th:

We traveled way east to the tiny fishing village of Pittenweem in the East Neuk of Fife. That’s right, I said Neuk. This is the site of the Pittenweem Arts Festival, an annual event that turns the entire town into a giant art gallery. Many of the houses of the town become venues for art of all types. It’s interesting to walk from house to house, invading someone’s parlor (sitting room? drawing room? vestibule?) and checking out art that ranges from the craft-y kind of stuff that one might see at your average street fair to some pretty far out paintings and sculptures. Benny and I took a walk down to the harbor and checked out these amazing found object sculptures by a woman named Helen Denerly. Incredibly realistic alligators, seagulls, dogs, and other animals made mostly of bike chains, nuts, bolts, and other pieces of metal.

Our gig that night was Sold Out. Again, we realize that selling out a room of ~125 people isn’t so impressive in the grand scheme of arena shows, but it makes us feel good, you know? Many of you have undoubtedly seen us play in tiny bars to audiences that barely outnumber the band. We feel like we put it out there in all situations, but a room full of stomping, clapping and whooping folks definitely make it easier to muster enthusiasm, you know? So let us have our small victories, eh?

August 13th:

Just to keep things interesting, on this day we traveled from Pittenweem to Irvine. ALL THE WAY from the east coast to the west coast of Scotland. It literally took us . . . two and a half hours. Phew! We felt a bit like Lewis and Clark, with Gerry acting as our very own Sacajawea. Heading west! The wild frontier! Yeeha!

We’ve been to Irvine a number of times before, another lovely seaside town. And the Harbor Arts Centre is a cool room, kind of an “in the round” type of theater. It’s hard to know where to look when you have audience on three sides of you, but, as usual, we did our best to connect with every person in the room. One highlight was watching a fan we’d seen before waltz in wearing a Special Ed & The Shortbus shirt. Ah memories. You guys remember when we were just a group of malcontents, singing songs about male prostitutes and telling bathroom jokes on stage? How far we’ve come! Nonetheless, it’s flattering whenever anyone who’s seen us before returns for a second round of plunkety plunk!

It was a nearly full show, and we had a good time. We’ve been working on some new material, and debuted a song there. We don’t, as a rule, practice anymore, so having 5 weeks to be around one another provides us with some good opportunities to work out new ideas (or rehash someone else’s old idea, anyway). So fear not, if you see us again, there will be new songs!

August 14th-18th:

After spending the night at the Glasgow Airport Travelodge (yes, we frequent Premier Inns these days, but we’re not immune to the charm of a Travelodge – the £19 room for example, or the . . . well, the £19 room, mostly), we headed to Edinburgh for 4 days at the Fringe. Gerry dropped us off at our pal Leonie’s house. Leonie is a friend we made on our last night in Edinburgh last year, after having a fairly drag out argument with the house manager at the venue, we ended up stashing our instruments at her flat, in exchange for which we made her and her flatmates dinner and had a great night of silly hat wearing and carousing. It’s great to know cool people, no?

After arrival, we helped set up a yurt in Leonie’s backyard garden that would house certain band members for the days at the Fringe. Jake and I then headed over to the house of our other hosts of the festival – Sue and Banjo Bill, friends of Paul Johnston, our music pal we met on last visit (see the 2009 blog for a reminder, if you need such things). After settling we hit the streets to busk.

Busking in Edinburgh during the Fringe is a fairly unique experience. There are, of course, the obligatory terrible guitarists with dogs on hemp leashes as there are in any city (how did they hop a train from Richmond to Scotland?), but there’s so much more! You’ve got your bizarre troops of Japanese men and women in skin tight lycra, you’ve got fire jugglers on 10 foot unicycles, you’ve got tap dance troops, string quartets, roaming packs of young Scottish b-boys and b-girls (well, kind of) doing their best breakdance moves, and mini theater performances. The Fringe is, after all, mainly a theater and comedy thing, which suits us fine. While we did see a few other “Americana-y” type people, I feel pretty confidently that we had a lock on the hillbilly, the twangy, and the tangy (showers were maybe not being taken very regularly), and it bore out in your average passerby’s reaction to us. Some people were staring in a way that was more in line with how one stares at an exotic baboon with a bright blue ass, rather than how one stares at a group of spastic strinbanders. Nonetheless, any attention is good attention to us (feel free to examine our psychological pasts, I think you’ll find them to be fairly boring), and we had 4 days of good street music experiences.

Rather than lay out each gig in order, I’ll give you a general description of the whole experience. Our shows this year were held at the amazing house/studio of Douglas Robertson, an Edinburgh photographer and muckraker (we would learn), the kind of guy who seems to know everyone worth knowing. His place is just on the backend of Arthur’s Seat – the giant spent volcano that sits in Edinburgh right next to Hollyrood Palace (well, I think the volcano was probably there first, truthfully). It’s a great location that seems to be kind of a little hidden gem of a neighborhood that’s quite close both to the Newtown and also the heart of the Festival.

The three shows at Douglas’s were all great – reminiscent of the house concerts we regularly play. Appreciative and interactive audiences all three nights, the highlight being Wednesday, when all of our pals came out and had a little dance and whoop-it-up section in the back of the room. After each show, we would set the room back into order and have a little post-mortem of the show with Douglas and his partner Jane-Anne, eating soup and chatting while he practiced his intensely aggressive generosity in re: whiskey. Like many of our fine hosts here, Douglas has many bottles tucked away, and it is our obligation over here to try as many different flavors of single-malt as is humanly possible (who can succinctly explain the difference between peat-y and smokey to me?). From that point, we would head out on the town (or not, depending on the band member).

It’s right here that I’m hoping to get an account from one of the partyboys in the band. As I keep saying, I’m not the late-night type, so was generally back at the flat at a very reasonable 3:30am, and missed the truly late night escapades. However, we’ll see if they get off their duffs in order to make a report. Place your bets now.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention what have become our two favorite food spots in Edinburgh (and for all you foodies out there, remember from whom this report is coming and also how limited is our time in this city). One is this little food cart that’s always set up on the Grassmarket, not far from where we like to busk. It’s basically a glorified hot dog cart run by these adorable little French girls (“aha”, I hear you saying, “herein lies the attraction.” But there’s more!). They make these super tasty crusty baguettes with two dogs plus melted cheese (that they grill), onions, mushrooms, and spicy mustard. Yum! They’ll also whip you up a savory crepe and passable filter coffee, and . . . they dance while they’re doing it! Heaven!

The other, which has gotten some mention here before, is Oink – a restaurant right in between the Grassmarket and the Royal Mile. You may have seen our pics of this place. Basically, they roast a hog, and make stuffed sandwiches with apples, haggis, and sage stuffing. If you get there early enough in the day, you can also get a little square of the crispy skin! Very different in taste from our American BBQ places, but similar in concept. Yum.

Other highlights – we got to kick it with our #1 superfan Stephen Clark, who has his own band now – Old Dollar Bill. There is not a less likely person to be playing bluegrass music, but it’s a real treat to see this Russell Brand-looking dude with massive hair, tight jeans, and eyeliner sit down with a guitar and belt out “Crying Holy to the Lord,” in his best Del McCoury high tenor. It was a late night of hijinks with Stephen, so I’m told (Graham, Ben, where’s my copy?).

On our last night at Douglas’s, we had a very funny post-show moment. Someone had gotten a hold of some restricted documents belonging to the speech writers for Alex Salmond, the First Minister of Scotland and leader of the Scottish Nationalist Party. It was a series of bulleted fragments and points that appeared to be part of a potential speech on Scotland becoming it’s own nation, and it was full, FULL, of the same garbage’y platitudes that one expects from any politician and his/her cadres of wonks: “We will be unique, we will be much the same, we will be better!” “We will be like China: ambitious and fearless, but we will also be like Japan: ambitious and fearless.” It spawned a great deal of hilarity amongst those of us hanging out and drinking. Hold on a sec, there’s some black suited men at my door. . . . No, just fooling. There was also this great pamphlet from the Department of Forestry (or the equivalent) all about getting more diversity in the worlds of camping and outdoors activities. Specifically there was a passage on a group called “the Hiking Dykes” who “engaged in taster sessions on bushcraft.” Seriously. It said that. Bushcraft. Taster session.

Oh, one more thing coming back to me . . . I was walking down the street and saw in a salon window an advertisement for a “Vajazzle.” Do you know what this is? Well, according to the Urban Dictionary, it’s “to give the female genitals a sparkly makeover with crystals so as to enhance their appearance.” Anyway, it’s not really the process or sight of one that interests me, really, it’s the name. Vajazzle? Seriously? Only here.

There are other memories, I’m sure, but . . . they’re lost right now. In short, the Fringe is a whirlwind that seems to make time stand still and also rush forward simultaneously. Thanks to all who came out to see us!

August 19th:

Gerry picked us up in the afternoon and we headed south to the town of Peebles and the Eastgate Theatre, where we’ve been twice before. The Eastgate is a great little theater, uh, excuse me, theatre, and we’ve always have a somewhat awkward show there due to the absolute quietness of the room. It could also be that we’re just awkward. Probably the latter, maybe. It was a good show, however, with some little scamps in the front who wouldn’t keep still. Their parents eventually removed them, much to our chagrin. We welcome all wriggly small children to our shows, we often feel just that same way. Just make sure to bring earguards. Double banjo isn’t safe for those under 6.

August 20th:

Yesterday we were at the Birnam Arts Institute, another return spot for us. Growing up on Peter Rabbit, Miss Tiggy Winkles as I did, I am always ridiculously giddy to go to the summer home of Beatrix Potter, as well as Birnam Woods, being that my mother would also read us Macbeth every night. Bloody, I know, but a necessary morality tale for children – warn you off of hubris and also of murder.
It was a fabulous night – the show was packed full and we stormed through two sets, including a couple of new songs that we’ve been working on. It was also the first appearance of Colin and Lorna, a couple who saw us multiple times on our last trip over. As I’ve said a million times before, it’s always great to see repeat offenders. It really makes us feel like what we do has some legs to it.
Many of you who’ve seen us recently may notice that it’s no longer just me doing all the talking. Yes, indeed, Ed Brogan, Ben Belcher, Graham DeZarn, and even Jakey have been stepping to the mic to quip and quibble. Ed in particular has had some real gems on stage, all part of his “not trying to be funny” campaign. And so, I’ll leave you with a few of Ed’s gems, both on and off stage.

• Overheard after our gig in Stirling and in regards to his family lineage and the potential for inbreeding: “Look at my eyes, man, far apart is the same way as close apart!”

• At last night’s gig, “There’s a lot of you, and not many of me.”

• Introducing “Feel Like Growing Old,” in Edinburgh: “Here’s a song all about loving someone so much that you want to kill yourself.”

And that’s really just the beginning. As memories flood back to me, I’ll be sure to try and get them onto the page. Only two weeks left!

Hope everyone’s doing well,

PF Hot Seats et al.

L&N Rag while Busking on Sauciehall Street, Glasgow from Niall Walker

August 11th, 2011: Stirling Scotland

Greetings from bedtime. Well, bedtime for me (PF), anyway; some of the band members are, as many of you know, 24 hour party people.  Now, while I’ve been known to engage in late night exploits, I generally am the first to bed, and therefore the most often messed with while asleep. Oh the goofery and general ass-grabbing that takes place when it’s just the five of us. Well, it’s probably best left to your imagination.

Just finished our gig at the Tolbooth in historic Stirling. I do believe I’ve written about this town before, as it is now our 3rd time here. Nonetheless, it bears repeating that the gig takes place in the historic tax collection spot, directly next to Robert the Bruce’s castle. It’s enlightening, as a person from the USA, to be surrounded by so much oldness. Why, today we saw the (self proclaimed) World’s Oldest Football.  Well, it didn’t proclaim it, but the presenters of the object did. I wonder if there’s any remnants of the World’s Oldest Football Hooligan as well. Perhaps a broken tooth or some illuminated text of a mullet. Something, anyway.

Speaking of hooligans . . . hey, what the hell is going on, England? It’s interesting, again, as an American, to watch all of this unrest unfold. Clearly, a generation raised in poverty and lack of opportunity is bound to be seething with resentment and unchecked aggression. Add some racial disparity and a serious drinking culture on the top, spark it with a police killing, and yer bound to have some riots. However, due to the lack of handguns here, there’s been, like, 4 deaths over 4 days of riots. Crazy. I don’t know this for sure, but it would seem to me that, were the same thing to happen in our fair city of Richmond, VA, there’d be many a bullet-related injury/death on both sides to be accounted for. Not very funny, I know, but worth a mention, I suppose. Thus far, Scotland’s all quiet, so besides the nightly riot of our exuberant audiences, and the occasional Graham or Jake-crazy lady, we’re all good.

OK, so let’s see, I left you on a ferry, let’s see how well I can recall the last 6 days. . .

August 6th, 2011, part 2:

Our ferry landed on the Isle of Lewis without any trouble. On the ride over, there were whales spotted, apparently. I didn’t see ‘em, but that’s how it goes. We were picked up at the terminal by our promoter for the evening, Mike, a fine fellow with a blond kind of mohawk-y type thing and some sweet tattoos. I bit of a jarring image on an island one expects to be populated by tweed=wrapped sheep farmers and gritty salt-cured fishermen (and, I’m sure there are plenty of them as well). Our drive took us across more of the lovely rugged countryside that abounds in the north of Scotland (“Oh look, ANOTHER gorgeous vista of craggy outcrops and verdant hills. Yawn”). Of special note on this drive were the sheep that inhabit the hills. Apparently, the land is mostly public, and farmers are allowed a certain number of head of livestock per acre. Takes me back to my days of learning of the Tragedy of the Commons, though these sheep seemed to have plenty of tasty grass and whatnot on which to munch. And, although there are literally miles of prime greenery in all directions, many chose to eat the sweet shoots that grow directly adjacent to the roadway, making for a super exciting drive. According to Mike, since the tarmac gets nice and warm, one will often find the sheep lying in the middle of the road at night, which much make for eventful drives, especially for the mass of tourists that visit this lovely island.

We made it to the town of Stornoway and were dropped off at our B&B (The Hebridean Guest House, operated by our gracious hosts Linda and Kevin). One other thing worth noting here is that Gaelic is still very much spoken up in these parts, a fact that I find to be very compelling. Makes you feel good to know that the all dominating force of the English colonizing juggernaut couldn’t fully assimilate even the outer reaches of its own island. The Outer Hebrides are wild, I tells ya!

Stornoway is a beautiful little fishing town with a happening downtown and a castle to boot! We slummed around town for the afternoon. There was a street fair going on, and we natural consumers couldn’t help but sample the various wares available to us (paella! unpasteurized French cheese! Harris Tweed). Now, speaking of Harris Tweed, did you know that it’s the only fabric to be protected by an act of Parliament? I didn’t either until I was told not once, but twice in a single day. First by the man who sold me my brand new tweed cap (my old tweed cap, given to me by my grandmother, has seen better days. The lining is wrecked and it’s covered in old fake blood, remnants of many a Zombie Halloween past) and then by Alex, the very cool woman who runs An Lanntair, then venue where we performed that night. Anyway, in order to be Harris Tweed, you see, it has to come from sheep raised on of The Isles Harris or Lewis (actually a single island, but . . .), and it has to be hand-woven. And I’m sure there’s some other things too.

Before the gig, we were treated to a fabulous meal at the venue. The chef (Marchand? HArd to know for sure, he’s Polish and has a thick accent) prepared an amazing set of plates for us. Many of us had the scallops over sweet pea puree with triangles of black pudding covered in chorizo. Others had the pork chops with apples and maple gravy. Yum! We are, as you know by now, food obsessed!

Perhaps it was because of the superb meal, but whatever the reason, we had a great show that night. The crowd was into it from the get go – hooting and cheering in the middle of songs. Note to Scottish crowds: We really don’t mind if you make noise while we play! We appreciate your unflappable politeness, but also enjoy a little raucousness from time to time. Thanks again to Mike and Alex and everyone at the venue, we hope to be back!

After the gig we wandered the streets of Stornoway, ending up befriending some local boys at a pub. I say boys even though they were drinking age, because drinking age is 18 here, and what do you call an 18 year old? A boy. That’s what. We learned some local dialect and also learned not to leave a beer unattended, because if someone drops a penny in yer beer, you have to down it in one. Or, at least that’s what we were told. We won’t be cajoled into getting drunk any faster than we want to, however. The night ended (for some of us, I won’t say which two band members stayed out all night carousing with ladies, I’ll leave that to yer imagination) with some ill-advised but very tasty 2am burgers from a food truck. Truly, we are gourmands!

August 7th, 2011: Stornoway to Banchory

After a leisurely morning in Stornoway Mike picked us up and took us to the ferry, bound for Ullapool. Another easy ride (we’re told the wintertime ferries are not so smooth and nausea free), however, we had a big day of travel yet to go. Because of the particular brand of Free Church of Scotland that’s ascribed to on Lewis, almost nothing happens on Sundays. They used to chain the swingsets in the park so that kids couldn’t swing on Sundays(!). It’s relaxed a bit, but even still, only one ferry runs on Sundays, and not until 2:30pm. Now, when the ferry doesn’t leave you on the west coast of Scotland until 5:30pm, and you have to be on the east coast (almost) for 8pm, how’s your travel time looking? More like you need to time travel. It’s only ~120 miles from Ullapool to Banchory, the site of our next gig, but these aren’t wide, smooth, and straight American roads, folks, this is the Highlands, and if you don’t know what I mean, just try getting from Richmond to Staunton, VA sometime only driving the bluest of blue roads (not even the secondaries, more like tertiaries).

We were met by Gerald (more on Gerry in a paragraph) in Ullapool – where he spent the night in the van – hastened (briskly and brusquely) into the van, and off we went. Gerald managed to turn a 4 hour drive into a 3 hour drive (much to the consternation of the stomachs of those of us in the back of the van), and we rolled up to the spot around 8:45pm. Luckily, Susan, our promoter for the evening had found us an opening act in the form of Isaac Barnes: 12 year old blues-y electric guitar whiz. This kid has real chops, and is about as nice and humble a person as you could want to meet. Probably a bit disconcerting for this poor audience to go from someone as genuinely smiley and cute as he to us grizzled road dogs (ok, maybe I exaggerate a little, but hey). Nonetheless, twas a great time. We were all a bit moon-eyed from our day of travel and zero prep time, but we handled it with our usual graceless panache, and whipped through an hour and a half of raucousness. After the show, we were handed a massive box of food and shown to our accommodations, where we promptly shoved our faces full and passed out (ah the glamorous lifestyle we lead!).

Now, back to Gerry for a second. The thing I failed to mention is that it was his birthday on this day! So, let’s recap. The day before his birthday, Gerry drove from Uig to Inverness and spent the night in the van during an especially nasty rainstorm (even for Scotland). He then met us at the ferry, drove like a madman (a safe madman) to get us to another gig,helped us set up, helped us take down, and then escorted us to our (and his) lodgings. On his birthday. You know that I like to have fun with the verbal abuse we regularly receive from Gerry, but it is a moment like this that really, to me, signifies his professionalism and dedication. Besides, how else would YOU wanna be treated? So let’s hear it for Gerry Roche, a king among road managers and men worldwide!

August 8th-10th: Glasgow

It was an easy drive, relatively speaking, from Banchory to Glasgow. Gerry dropped us at our home for the next three days – Premier Inn Argyle Street. Many of you will remember our dispatches from the Braehead Travelodge. We’ve determined two things since then: (1) We like being in cities rather than suburban wastelands whenever humanly possible; (2) We like Premier Inn better than Travelodge, for one important reason: two beds rather than one. Though I look fondly upon my week with my TeeBee, all a’snuggle in our large Travelodge bed, flipping pointlessly through the limited BBC and ITV channels, walking across the endless parking lot to the ASDA for rotisserie chicken and bag salads, there’s something to be said for being in a room with two beds and within walking distance of . . . basically anything.

The 8th and the 9th were both sunny sunny days, and we capitalized on them by busking on the walking mall. Perhaps it’s our American-ness or our volume, but whatever the reason, we do quite well when busking. It’s also super fun for us, playing tune after tune, doing a little carnival-style barking, and smiling at the pretty ladies, and the old ladies too! And, frankly, there’s a real joy in showing up in a restaurant and paying for the meal with stacks and stacks of 50p coins. Someone caught us picking on the 8th, and you can see the video here.

The evening of the 9th we played in Kilbarchan at the Old Library, which is another gig we’ve played many times before. It’s great, not just here, but everywhere, to see familiar faces and get to catch up with folks that we recognize. It’s also flattering, by the way, whenever anyone knows our names or has kept up on our travels & blogs enough to know what it is we’ve been doing (sidenote: if you’re a Richmonder and you ask one of us, “Are you still playing every Wednesday at Cary Street Cafe?” This means you are NOT doing a good job of keeping up with us.). It was another typically good gig, with an audience that started out somewhat reserved and ended up wriggling in their seats and whooping. We also saw Bobby, our former host at Johnstone Middle School (January of 2009), which was a nice surprise.

The 10th was a much more typical Glasgow day (“liquid sunshine,” Gerry calls it), and was largely spent slacking about the hotel. Well, at least by Ben and myself. The other three braved the rain and walked to the Kelvingrove Museum to check out the art and artifacts. Eddie and Jakey also braved the all-you-can-eat lunch at the Brazilian Churrascaria next door to our hotel. Meat for Power! Meat for Virility! Meat for Success!

And this brings us to our Stirling gig. Again, so cool to play at the Tolbooth and get a chance to walk around Stirling and try and contemplate, “what if WE were in Braveheart?” Now, to be fair to Robert the Bruce, he was not a turncoat in the way the movie made him out to be. William Wallace was, however, something like 7′ tall (or so Gerry says) and pretty powerful. It’s really striking to aproach Stirling (or Edinburgh, for that matter) and see these massive castles carved into rocky cliff-faces and wonder what it was like 500-600 years ago to see such a thing and then expect to storm it. Given the general temperature and wetness index over here, I have to imagine that swamp foot and crotch rot  were constant issues for your average Scottish peasant/royal.

The Tolbooth gig was a good’un, although perhaps less well-attended than we might have wished for. However, as one audience member told me, it’s hard times everywhere right now. We are, of course, eternally grateful for anyone who deems us worthy of their time and money. There was one fellow right up front who was hooting and clapping like crazy, which made a big difference for us, indeed. We’re on the road again, headed to Neilston for the night, then over to Fife on Saturday for the Pittenweem Festival, and then back to the west coast to Irvine at the Harbour Arts Centre. Then, a day off in Edinburgh and three days of the Fringe! We hope to catch some shows while we’re there: Todd Barry, Flick Ferdinando (we saw her 2009 show “Horse” which was both hilarious and somewhat disturbing), maybe Harry Shearer (we’re trying to get Harry to come see us play as well. If you know him, see if you can’t convince him, eh?).

Yesterday was two weeks to the day, still three to go! Come see us play, won’t ye?

And finally, here’s a little fun. Can you match the band member’s face with his . . . pants area? Let’s just see, shall we:

A       1

B       2

C      3

D      4

E       5

Think you know us?  We’ll see!

PF Hot Seats et al.

Just posted up some of our newer press quotes form the last year, including this one from Bruce MacGregor of BBC Radio Scotland and the great group Blazing Fiddles:  “Absolutely superb – stunning musicians. If you get a chance to see them, take it. Very highly recommended.”

Check out the rest on our Press Page!

8/5/2011 – In the van; facing forward; fairly well rested; heading . . . West?

OK, PF Hot Seats, back again. We’re hurtling away from Dundee at the moment, making our way to Portree on The Isle of Skye for a 4:15pm radio performance, followed by a show at the Aros Centre (that’s right, “re,” not “er.” It’s a more dignified spelling, shows our connection to Ye Olde Worlde . . . you colonials just wouldn’t understand.).

If you have a knowledge of Scottish geography, and you care to follow our travails, you probably realize that we’re doing a little zig-zag thing here. Isle of Mull to St. Andrews to Isle of Skye, and then back to Banchory on the east coast. Some folks over here have shaken their heads and chuckled at this folly. Let’s not forget, however, we’re Ahhhmurrrricans! We don’t even blink at any drive under 10 hours (see our previous tour logs, specifically the 27 hour drive from Austin TX to Richmond VA; or our last weekend in the US: 3 days, 24 hours of it spent in the van). Ten hours is nearly the length of the UK, so we’re all good.

We almost relish time in the van. Sleeping; smoking cigarettes; staring; listening to music through earphones so as to avoid the inane chatter of BBC2; eating; arguing; writing; occasional laptop movie watching (oh Harry Potter, will you be ok?); sometimes we even talk about music (“That’s bullshit!” “You’re bullshit” “Blah blah blah added 11th” “Stop speeding up” “Stop slowing down!”). This trip has the added bonus of the edu-tainment of constant cursing and commentary that emerges from Gerry “Wrong Turn” Roche (“No, go ahead and don’t use an indicator, I’m a mind reader.” “Speed up, you tosser!” “Get out of the f***ing van!” “Get into the f***ing van!”). For all of our funny stories, Gerald is actually a bank of knowledge in the history of England/Music realm, something that Ed especially relishes. Lord knows that boy LOVES to know things.

So let’s see, we can catch up a bit, ok? How are things going with you? Oh, no she didn’t! No she didn’t! She did? OK, well . . . good to know. Can I talk now?

Monday, August 1st, 2011:

After I left you, we slummed around Fochabers for the day, walking along the lovely Spey(??? Check this) River, drinking coffee, generally recovering from Speyfest. Recovering from Speyfest is, apparently, an annual event in Fochabers, as we found out from our host Janet and our pal Bob Sharp, who brought us there in the first place. We ended up landing an impromptu gig at a local watering hole – The Grant Arms. It was a pretty low key gig, just playing old time and bluegrass in the corner. We were cajoled into playing “Dueling Banjos,” by the proprietor. About halfway through, we realized, “Hey, we don’t actually know how to play this song.” Though Ben did do a great impression of the albino kid from Deliverance. He, he’s doing it right now! Oh . . . sorry Benny.

Tuesday, August 2nd:

We left out of Fochabers early in order to make it to the Isle of Mull in a timely fashion. The drive involved two ferries, and a long stretch of a single track road that was . . . hairy, to say the least. You have to understand that we’re basically traveling in the back of a box van over here. It’s hard to see out of the front window, and one or two of us are sitting backwards. Basically, every hill or curve is a surprise, especially given Gerald’s . . . economical use of the brakes (as hard as possible for as short a time as possible). It was a very pretty drive. The highlands and western coast are wild to look at: jutting crags, rushing streams, fogbanks that appear from nowhere. On a sunny day it’s pretty, on a cloudy day, foreboding (and still pretty).

We arrived in Tobermory on the Isle of Mull and first went to An Tobar, the venue for the evening. Yet another beautiful stone arts centre (there it is again!). Government granted, both fully modern and also classic in appearance. You know, just like all those ones that don’t exist in the US. We did a quick sound check with our soundman/local host, Gordon, and then proceeded to walk around town. Tobermory reminded me of the town in Popeye The Movie. A picturesque harbor full of sailboats and workboats, a small multi-tiered downtown area of pubs, restaurants and shops, tons of birds everywhere, very hilly, huge forearms everywhere! After a while, Gordon took us to eat at a restaurant high on a crag that overlooked the water. So much good food to eat over here! We ended up answering questions about what exactly is going on in the U.S. in re: politics and the difference between our guys and the guys over here (note: “Guys” in this case is gender neutral. We realize there’s lady politicians too. Ok?). Basically it came down to this: The USAs is infected by morality politics that has NOTHING to do with what’s important about government, but totally paralyzing for the opportunists in charge. More on this later, I can feel my ears getting hot just thinking about it.

Our show at An Tobar was sold out, and the crowd was extremely excited. No need to harp on the details of the show – just another typically excellent reception. Amazing how a supportive promoter, great sound man, and am appreciative crowd all leads to better music. How does that work exactly?

After the gig, we walked down to a pub with two of the audience members and new friends, Mark and Francesca. We talked about music, politics, and other pleasantries. At one point, two very drunk young Irishmen came up and injected themselves into our scene. They were getting a big kick out of our beards (one of them licked my beard, yech . . . ), and insisted on calling my “Al Qaeda.” Charming. Eventually they left, after downing many shots of Sambuca (again, yech). Later, on my walk back to the B&B I found them discussing whether to try and go head first through a pub’s window in order to gain entry. I assured them it was a solid idea. Not sure if they followed through or not.

Wednesday, August 3rd:

Gerry dropped us in Glasgow for a day off. The drive from Mull to Glasgow was described as “pretty to gritty.” We in this band like Glasgow. Perhaps some of the affection is due to the many good times we’ve had here – Celtic Connections, busking, Tall Ship gigs, etc – but I think that part of it is that Glasgow feels like a real city, and we like cities. There’s tons of history, lovely parks, interesting art and architecture, and some of the most ridiculous fashion statements walking around everywhere you look. Seriously youth of Scotland, what’s up with the hair? Who told you that’s a good idea?

We checked into our hotel and then all of us us but Eddie went busking (Eddie, as you may know, is not a fan of busking, as is his right. He frequently does it anyway, so we like to give him a pass). Not sure if it’s because people don’t get to hear much old time and ragtime around here, but we got a great reception and were able to make enough ££ (that’s function-control-3 on yer keyboards, Americans) for dinner and then some. Part of that might be the convenience of having more coin currency. In the States, for someone to give us a dollar involves dipping into a wallet, whereas a pound coin is just a simple pocket grab away. We enjoyed a tasty Indian meal (lots if good Indian food here), and spent the night watching “Red Heat” in our hotel rooms. Oh Arnold, how glorious you once were. Come back to the world of action/comedy. Perhaps “Red Heat II”? I think James Belushi is available.

Sidenote on movies: Ever notice how movies in the 1980′s always had some kind of class struggle/political agenda? In Red Heat, Arnold’s character goes to a jail to interrogate the blind African American drug kingpin, who informs him that it’s his goal to “sell drugs to every white person in the world.” due to his knowledge of the imbalance of power that is inherent in the American race-class system. Love it! Just like the constant rich vs poor battles in all brat pack movies. Nowadays we glorify the rich ponces and douchebags. Anyway . . .

Thursday, August 4th:

Yesterday we traveled to St. Andrews for our second appearance at the super nice Byre Theatre (whoop! ANOTHER “re” so fancy!). St. Andrews is, apparently, the home of golf. I know that a few of our FB fans have suggested that we go hit the links. Now, not to offend anyone or seem glib (lord knows we wouldn’t want to seem glib), but, and I mean this seriously, golf is possible the biggest waste of space in this world. I realize I’m glossing over the intense skill it takes to send a tiny ball hundreds of yards in a particular direction, and then follow that up by lightly tapping that same small ball into an equally small hole. Nonetheless, and again, I’m serious, screw golf. Perhaps it comes from my own middle-middle class upbringing and the ultra schmancy golf club in my home town where polo’d and khaki’d dudes would spend time being rich and engaged in this boring “sport,” but I think it more than likely comes from the exclusivity inherent in everything about golf. I’m, of course, not talking about any golf that involves windmills, animatronic dinosaurs, or waterfalls. Just to be clear. OK, how many of you did I lose. And remember, I’m not talking about golfers, just golf. Phew!

Easy sound check, followed by a quick tour of our dressing room, green room, and exclusive cigarette smoking area. Yes Virginia, we are rock stars. We have a mirror with lights on it, and our own bathroom! We then went searching for food before the show. After a quick walk, we stumbled onto a clutch of chippies and kabob shops. Now, personally, I’m still not over my doner aversion (see this blog entry HERE (bottom of the page)), so got myself some noodles. The rest of the fellers were more than willing, however, to dive into the world of shaved meat and chili sauce. It turned out to be perhaps a poor decision for at least one band member, but I’m not one to name names. Let’s just say that we were a little worried in the first set that we may have to be a quartet for at least a 3 song period of time. Luckily, it was all sound and fury, signifying nothing.

A great show at the Byre, with a crowd of around 160 happy folks (I realize we’re no Brothers Avett or Brothers Van Halen, for that matter, ok? 160 feels pretty damned good to us). Two great sets of music, and we got to catch up with our pals from Kircaldy, Davey and Mary. Back to the hotel and to sleep, and now here we are. Perhaps I’ll post this, or perhaps I’ll wait a few more days. Don’t wanna inundate you folks with my inanities.

August 6th, 2011:

OK, back for one more entry before I send this missive into the internet ether, or is that the ethernet inter? Hah, wordplay!

Last night was a great success, if we do say so ourselves. First of all, I didn’t mention yesterday the jaw dropping drive. Not sure how often I can reiterate this point, but the north of Scotland is a rugged and verdant place, and though we’re seeing much of the landscape at 50 miles an hour, it is appreciated nonetheless. The drive onto the Isle of Skye, which even sounds pretty, was especially nice. As a band that takes a certain interest in things morphologic and scientific (and I may just be speaking for myself here, though I think not), all of the u-shaped valleys and glacially carved cliffs were rewarding to see. One can almost imagine a mile of ice on top of us, just grinding away. That is, of course, if you believe such hogwash, as opposed to the facts of, you know, it just being that way because that’s the way the man upstairs wants it to be. Hmm, maybe I’ll just leave this one alone, eh? Probably almost as offensive as my thoughts on golf . . .

Nothing new to report on the gig, really. We rolled into Portree in time to make a stop by Cuillin FM for a little on air performance. Thanks to Bruce for having us! I love the idea of a radio station dedicated to broadcasting throughout the Hebrides. Besides the physical sciences, you know of course that this band is dedicated to the publicly owned and controlled airwaves. I also love that we were bookended on one end by a Katie Perry song and on the other end by a Coldplay song. Ah to be surrounded by ones peers!

The gig at the Aros Centre (!) was a lot of fun. We’ve been using this small mic set-up a lot over here, which really allows us to move around and interact with one another, something we enjoy doing. Hopefully it comes off well from a visual perspective also. Right before we went on stage, a tall red headed woman approached us to let us know that she was the town’s librarian and that this night represented her one night off, and the it had better be good! Especially as how she had seen Pokey LaFarge & The South City Three recently and they were so well dressed and generally excellent, and they recommended us highly. She gave Ed grief because he was wearing a fleece and that it would never do on stage. Eddie, of course, knows better than that! Anyone who knows the man knows he’s a short shorts and flannel kind of guy, or occasionally a plaid on plaid person. Anyway, she also warned us that the crowd might be a bit reserved (“It’s dry on Skye”), though she and her friends in the front row more than made up for any lack of enthusiasm. The theater in the Aros Centre is a really charming spot with wood trim and comfy seats.

We ended the night at a local shitty pub, listening to a guitar shredder backed by pre-recorded band tracks running through all kinds of hits: Money for Nothing, Boys are Back in Town, etc. As camp as this might have seemed, it provided a nice counterpoint to our gigs of the last week, and, more than anything else, brought back the realization of how much we now dislike playing in loud bars to disaffected patrons.

Now we’re on a ferry, headed to the Outer Hebrides, the Isle of Lewis, for a gig in Stornaway. This represents the furthest north we’ve ever gone. The sky is light until around 10:30pm here, and dawn happens pretty early as well. Let’s hope we don’t fall off the edge of the earth here, as Graham is constantly predicting.

Coming up on future blogs: Crybaby Stuck in the Land of Withholding: Ruminations on Pay WiFi and No Rice with My Chinese or Indian Food; 6,000 Pounds of Carrots Grown in Inverness: How is It that All My Food Comes from Honduras? And other topics!

August 1, 2011 – Fochabers

Greetings from Speyside! Here we are, in the heart of Scotch Whiskey country (well, at least in one of its hearts. Not unlike a cow has many stomachs in order to process cellulose into protein, Scotland’s whiskey country has many hearts with which to process sobriety into drunk-itude). We’ve just finished our two day run at Speyfest, a fabulously run festival here in the north of Scotland, and are enjoying a day off before heading out again. I’m sitting at an ice cream parlor, sucking a cappuccino (they still have almost zero respect for coffee in this country) and contemplating spending money on wireless internet (again, really Scotland?), so let’s catch up.

Wednesday, July 27^th – Thursday July 28^th: The Flights.

Nothing terribly exciting to report here, we made it through security and onto our planes without much difficulty, and crammed our, for the most part, lanky and jumbled frames into the . . . tightly packed seats on our British Airways flights. It’s a hilarious farce that the airlines provide you with exercises that you can do in your seat – ankle rolls, knee bends, etc – as though there’s even enough room for a 6”1′ man to do an ankle roll. Instead, we all worked on strengthening our Kegels. Ladies, I think you know what I mean. And release!

The only thing really worth mentioning is that, upon arrival in Edinburgh, my (PF, that is, who else?) bag was nowhere to be seen (and only showed up yesterday, so perhaps you can imagine the state of my . . . undergarments). Besides that, we were overjoyed to once again see Gerry, our loyal and consistently irascible road manager. He eyed Graham like a fresh piece of beef, just ready for grilling. And, if you know Graham, you know his seemingly pristine person is, as with all of us, just full of opportune quirks that a insult-minded Scotsman might exploit for his own personal amusement.

We jumped in the van and headed straight for Gartly and the Tin Hut Sessions. For an indepth description of our host, Fraser, please see this blog entry right here. But, as a quick reminder, the Tin Hut is just that: a metal building in the midst of the countryside. Fraser is our heirloom potato-growing, cask Scotch-drinking, Geordie-speaking promoter/host. The show was a great success. It’s been 2 years since last we were here, and we have, as many of you know, a heap of new songs and a somewhat different sound than in 2009, and it went over like gangbusters amongst the sold out (!!) crowd. It was a great beginning to this tour, and hopefully a sign of shows to come.

As is the custom with the Tin Hut Sessions, we didn’t eat dinner until after the show (and, you can imagine our level of ravenous-ness by that point). We cruised back to the lovely house, almost estate, of our erudite and gracious hosts for the night – Richard and Lynn. Richard is a deer stalker (which sounds infinitely cooler than “hunter,” doesn’t it?) and so we were treated to a venison stew, plus cauliflowers, potatoes, and then blueberries and strawberries. Plus, of course, ample wine, beer, and Scotch at the end of the evening. Hey American promoters. Notice there are almost ZERO descriptions of this sort in my explanation of our US touring. Wonder why that is? That’s funny, I also wonder that same thing. We stayed up chatting about politics and history (lots more of it here. Did you know that Macbeth was a real guy? Well, you’re smarter than me I guess, congrats!). Lynn works for Oxfam and has some interesting/terrifying stories of her travels in some of the more dangerous and indisposed parts of the world. No, not Detroit or Birmingham . . . Eventually we got to sleep, sleeping the sleep of dead angels (“sleep of the dead” + “slept like an angel” What do you think? Does it work?).

Friday, July 29^th:

We awoke to the smells of sumptuous salty breakfast meat. I know I have talked at length on the topic of the full Scottish/English/Irish breakfast (AKA the Sodium Protein Power Punch). I myself try to greatly limit my intake of back bacon, sausage, eggs, beans (!), and Haggis (do I capitalize that?). In comparison, our very own Edward, never one to turn down anything more than three times, has been on a personal mission to eat three whole pigs on his stay here. And he’s off to a good start I’d say. We’ve been here 4 mornings, and eaten the equivalent of 6 full Scottish’s (he ate mine and Gerry’s on Saturday morning in addition to his own). Someday, Eddie is going to make his cardiologist the happiest woman in the world! After being jammed full of salty meats, we headed for Inverness and our next gig – The Wild West Fest at Bogbain Farm!

Bogbain Farm is run by Bruce MacGregor, a great guy and also a fairly well known Scottish fiddler. He plays in many group, most notably Blazin’ Fiddles. While the thought of five fiddles and not one banjo might seem like an atrocity to those of us of a more plunky persuasion, clearly it’s very high energy music that goes over like gangbusters. Anyway, the theme of the weekend was wild west, and basically everyone in attendance was dressed in plaid shirts, denim cutoffs (amongst the ladies), boots and hats. There were also a couple of faux Native Americans, which was . . . incongruous, to say the least. I always love seeing what impression people have of “American.” Well yeeha y’all!

It was a small but appreciative crowd in the stone barn where we were playing (as perfect a venue for our music as there is), and we were able to play the first set fully acoustic. The rowdier young folks,who made the mistake of sitting in the back during the first set, were shooting off cap guns and hooting and generally acting much like an audience might be expected to act in such a setting. The more staid members of the crowd weren’t having it, however, and I watched a gentlemen stand up, turn to them, and give them the universal “hand across the neck” sign of “shut the eff up!” So for the second set they moved frontward, and were able to dance and hoot and do all the rowdy things they wanted. After the show we were talking with the most gregarious of the dancers, who claimed that she “didn’t know how to dance, just how to bend her knees.” Amen.

Saturday/Sunday July 30-31: Speyfest

We arrived in Fochabers (say it like you want to, it’s right and rude), checked into our hotel, and headed for the festival site. Like many of the fests we’ve experienced over here, there is a smaller festival club stage and then the larger main marquee. It is our tendency to assume we’ll be on the side stage (many years of soul crushing touring will squeeze you expectations into a tight ball of pessimism! Not a bad way to ensure that your expectations are either met or exceeded, by the way. Just set them very low. Anyway, we, as the resident Americans, were on the main stage, jammed between a wonderfully pretty Celtic trio (guitar, fiddle, accordion) called Tyde, and a crazy Finnish megaband called Tsuumi Sound System. We broke up the melodious music with a typical set of our style (anyone got a suggestion for a description?) which went over quite well. It;’s funny, at a festival like this, nearly entirely populated by “diddly dee” music, I personally always fear that we’ll just confuse the audience, or that the simplistic and intentionally non-beautiful melodies that we play will be met with hostile indifference; but, there’s something about this music, be it oldtime, stringband, or honky tonk. We get a lot of folks over here just staring in amazement/amusement, and even more who are just bopping like crazy and cheering to boot!

We did three sets over two days, including a last minute, all “traditional” set on the festival club stage, and feel like we did quite well in communicating our mission statement (“Give us more bacon”). The banjos were definitely the highlight for many of the listeners out there. They and Jake were both hits! Actual interaction:

Red headed kid: “Yous were great! I really liked yer sound”

Me: “Thanks”

Redhead: “But yer man on drums was outplaying the lot of you. I basically watched him the whole time”

Me: “ . . .”

What are you gonna do? Now only is he stunning to look at, but he’s a rhythm octopus. There is no way to escape the black hole of admiration that surrounds Jake Sellers.

I’m glossing over the after parties for these nights. Suffice to say, they know how to keep artists happy at these festivals. Canapes are set out to form a bed onto which one can pour large quantities of beer, wine, cider, and, of course, Scotch. There was actually a whiskey tasting bar in the Green room. Is that a good idea? Your head says “yes” on the night of, and shouts “NO!” the morning after. We made a lot of great friends at Speyfest, Many of whom we hope we’ll see again. Dr Mango and The Chick Peas, Rura, Tyde, also our pal Bob Sharp (usually the sound man at the Tin Hut) and Katie, a new pal from the Isle of Mann (a Manxwoman?) who’s a fabulous fiddler and also fairly funny. Another highlight was “The Fochaber Fiddlers,” 27 young, mostly female, fiddlers, all with identical bowstrokes. Enough to make a banjo player’s head explode, just thinking about the difficulty of dealing with that many fiddlers all at once.

Last night, Katie and I ended up back at the festival tent where the committee was engaged on the, apparently annual, rite of “let’s finish all the booze from the bar.” It was a serve yourself affair, so imagine the volume and veracity of conversation! There was a 10 fiddle, 1 guitar, 1 accordion, 1 piano jam afoot, and I decided I’d try to inject some clawhammer banjo into this Diddly Dee madness. I managed to get past the initial timing issues (it’s not built for jig-time so much, at least not my style) and the constant key changes (a new tune in a new key every three times through? What ever happened to “jamming?”), but there were also two Cajon’s present. Do you know what a Cajon is? It’s a box, and you sit on it and hit it with yer hands. Our pal Summer Gentry from A Good Natured Riot plays one. Now, I want to tread lightly here, so ‘ll put it this way: If you can’t quite hear the rhythm of the melody from across the circle, don’t just start beating on yer box! With two loud barrages of beats at different tempos, finding a groove was nearly impossible. Of course, it may have been my fault (you may never hear me say that again).

And now it’s Monday. Tomorrow we’re off to the Isle of Mull, and then onward from there! More to come. Please send suggestions/complaints/ideas for topics on which I may rant/perform exposition. In the meantime, I’ll leave you with this “Hot Seats Who Said It?”

“Fucking deep toilets! …It’s like a cannonball competition every time.”

OK, Love you!

PF Hotseats, signing out.