Autumnal Equin(r)ox

Alack and alas, ‘tis the last Unvarnished Truth before the autumn hiatus and it is with a mixed spirit (not that kind) that I type these words, friends. Your PDC pals have been pretty spoiled this year with some great and plentiful concert dates. And our next performance onstage isn’t until New Year’s Eve.

“But why the melancholia, Sawbones…. why? Is it that the days are shorter, nights longer, sun’s warmth fleeting or the nip of impending meteorological change is upon us?”

Partly.

“Is it the long, joyless space between seeing one’s beloved bandmates again?”

Also partly.  

“Is it the warmth of a good woman that still continues to elude you?”

Likely. The point is it’s Oktoberfest. And on October 5th, that’s where we were.

 

Real Life Liquor Haus

Now I’m told by my Germanic friends that the actual Oktoberfest takes place in September. But that didn’t stop the fine folks at Red Deer’s International Beer Haus from bringing us in to celebrate. Hell, they’re a bar. They can technically celebrate Oktoberfest every day of the year! But for the purposes of this blog, let’s focus on the 5th.

 

Are You Calling Me Fatty?

The IBH is a fine looking venue with plenty of room for patrons and great sightlines toward the stage no matter where you sit. The staff are attractive and/or have wonderful names like “Quan” and “Fatty”. Where Quan is an actual name (of the owner), Fatty is, one would hope, not. The so-nicknamed bartender was neither large nor greasy and, like the rest of the staff, friendly and accommodating. And that’s terrific because when I went to give my order for supper, I was assured Fatty wouldn't sock me in the face if I addressed him thusly. So I did, he didn't and I enjoyed an injury-free meal.

 

Most Valuable Preacher

Speaking of injuries, this is the part of the story where the true quality of a man shines through. Now you’ve no doubt heard a few synonymic uses for the word, "sick". Like, "Awesome, bruh! Your skills are sick!" or, "You must be sick in the head to do that in a swimming pool!" or, “I am sick and tired of cleaning up your poo-poo!” …and so on.

We love our resident skinsman, The Rev. Robin Eklund, and he may have used all of the above phrases at one time or another in his life. But he truly deserves the MVP for stepping up and playing his arse off that night but not before actually throwing up just before the show. The poor man came down with some weird stomach flu thing a couple hours prior and powered thru it like the herculean, rhythmic god that he is. All Hail The Rev!! Better you than me, buddy. I would’ve gone fetal with pain and tearfully ask to be heavily sedated until the big, scary world goes away.

 

More Band Babies!

We played two sets of our usual post-punk-arockalyptic-protobilly, cheatin’, hurtin’ & swingin’ vibe with some new twists which foreshadow what’s to come in the New Year. Songs you ain’t never heard before! Cute little newborns with titles like, “Furnace Full Of Fire”, “Columbian Smokeshow” among others. Listen for these pups to grow up in front of your eyes in 2014!

Suffice it to say the dance floor was a-hoppin’, folks was a-drinkin’ and management was a-happy.

 

Off To The Hotel We’ll Wallow

After a big time rock show, one gets a might peckish. For many things, actually. In this case, food. But a late night rerun of a hockey game I'd missed was on the boob tube and all I had time for was a run to the lobby for a measly bag of, as the British say, potato crisps. In the elevator, or as the British say, lift, a couple got on of questionable appearance and odor. She of the overly painted face and skirted, immodest dress; he of the heavy setted countenance and stained, unbuttoned shirt . I avoid eye contact but can’t avoid the verbal. “Hi, Curly Sue!” she slurs. I dare not respond or meet either of their tipsy gazes. From her I’d risk further conversation. From him I’d risk a sock in the face, or in Britain, “a blow to the ‘ed”.

Luckily, they turned their attention away from me and spoke a fairly suspect speak to each other. Phrases like, “Please don’t kill him baby, PLEASE don’t kill him” were heard followed by “Huuhhhhhh…”. Naturally, they then embrace and proceed to neck in front of me, replete with sloppy mouth noises, awkward groping and pre-historic grunting.

What seemed like an eternity was actually only a few seconds. Now I have no doubt that I was not the target of “Baby’s” wrath. Nor was I fearful of inhaling some airborne STD within the close confines of an elevator. But I did go back to the hotel room clutching my potato crisps wondering if I could have become a nasty statistic for merely acknowledging someone’s girl or that his date that night at least was a willing woman while mine was a bag of stale jalapeno chips and a lousy hockey game.

 

Ninja Children or Ten Seconds To Love?

Next morning at checkout we noticed a footprint and some other indistinguishable markings on the inside elevator door. Was it the evidence of a patron’s playful children pretending to be ninjas? Or was it the previous night's lecherous shenanigans by the frisky couple of dubious hygiene? I may never know. And I don't wanna.

 

Flask In The Sun

Unfortunately, Flasky the Flask is MIA again. The lovable container is no doubt off somewhere enjoying the fruits of associating with a band of our stature; perhaps sunning himself on a remote beach allowing buxom lasses to sip of his spout. I often opine that our band mascot’s popularity may be eclipsing our own. That is all well and good. Just remember where your star first shone, little fella…  <sniff>…

As far as the International Beer Haus itself, we’ll gladly play this venue again. Since they’re a fairly new establishment, it would behoove you, friend, to stop by for a pint next time you’re in The Deer. Plus, we’ve made a lot of friends in Red Deer over the last year so comin’ back is, as the British say, “a no wanker”.  (Editor’s Note: I don’t think they say that.)

 

Salut, Prost and Skal!

Soundman Carl… great dude, great sound!

Dawn & Jeff Sagan… hey Dawn, thanks for draggin’ Jeff’s lazy butt out… that slacker!!!

Steven Crane and drunken co.

Debi B for merch prowess and obligatory cigarette breaks

Bandmeister Randy B's friend .... Oystein The Happy Nordmann

And Quan for bringin’ us in, bruh!!

 

Unless we get an offer from the Grey Cup committee, Playboy Mansion or Brian Setzer hisself between now and Dec 31, we’ll be taking a concert hiatus of sorts and then come out swingin’ in ’14. Keep watchin’ Facebook and our trusty website for any sudden news or scandalous gossip!.

And that’s the unvarnished truth.

 

Sawbones