Back In The Beaumont Groove

The Unvarnished Truth returns! And for the third time, so does PDC to the hallowed grounds of the recent Beaumont Blues & Roots Fest. Three's a charm! Though the first two were still cute as hell.

Better time slot.... same fuzzy recollection (thank you headliner rider beer!)





By the by... your scribe doesn't want you to think this blog is some sort of tatty catalog of the band's performances; a mere literary pentimento of former glories. Au contraire mon frère, it's just my personal chronicling -- nay, a reckoning -- of my viewpoint as a member of the world's most ignored trio. I am not a professional photographer. I am not a professional writer. I am not a (very) professional musician. I'm also single with hypocritically high standards. My interests are music, soccer, red wine and thinking of you!

And with that auspicious and thinly-veiled introduction, let's begin!

Sawbones and unsuspecting potential mate? Nope. She's better than that.



Back For Seconds (For The Third Time)


The good architects of this festival have always been kind to us, but on this mid-June occasion, they broke their own rules to have us back. Y'know, the ol' "no back-to-back appearances" one --  2015, 2014 (and previously, in 2012). Well they really like us or there was a problem with accounting, but either way, your behatted heroes were honoured and much obliged to return to one of the events that put us on the musical map.

M'new hat courtesy of BBRF



Pre-Show Shenanigans


At a music festival, there's all kinds of time being killed (in a humane way, of course) before one's performance. A healthy modicum of monkeyshine allays any pre-concert jitters or threat of ennui. Your ol' Sawbones don't need no fancy psycho tricks to keep the stagefright or boredom away! No sir... a solid rock of engorged composition is what I am. But for you young musicians, it's good advice to keep occupied until your stage call to arms comes. Some meditate. Others warm up the fingers and/or vocal chords.

We take dumb pictures, generally goof around, I "bird watch".... and I bet you thought ornithology wasn't my thing.


Group shot via a reflecting Cap't Watts                        Band member shot featuring a reflective Cap't Watts (so I told him)



lensman extraordinaire Brian Z                            good guy Gary goofing



Keen-Eyed Hawk


Each time we've been given the privilege of appearing here, we've rubbed shoulders and stolen rider beer with name acts we look up to. Last year, it was The Sheepdogs. This time 'round, the quirky genius of Canadian alt-rock veteran, Hawksley Workman. As nice a fella as you could hope to meet.

After finishing our set and tearing down the stage I noticed a tall, sunglassed figure hovering over me -- H. Workman, Esq., himself! We exchanged introductions when he looked down on the stage floor to find one of my limited edition, highly coveted Sawbones logo guitar picks. He marveled at it's coolness (really, who wouldn't?) and asked almost sheepishly if he could keep it. I said with a mix of surprise and bemusement, "Why yes, Hawksley Workman, whatever you want!"

We exchanged a few more pleasantries and off he went with his PDC souvenir and a tale to tell his grandkids about the time he met a dude in a funny hat and charmed him out of a sought after memento. Normally, this kind of story goes the other way around with me asking a "name" artist for a keepsake but on this day, Mother Irony boosted my ever-fragile ego. 


H. Workman, Esq. and Co.


Post show: the Hawk and the Bandmeister



Mr. Lonely and Mr. Awkward


Because the cruel universe won't allow my ego to be boosted for long, there was the moment after Hawksley's set where his keyboardist, Mr. Lonely, and I had a nice chat.

Afterward, we parted ways with the customary handshake between gentlemen. Problem was we were both moving away from each other when he suddenly stuck out his left hand as I offered my right. He realized the geometrical illogic of this move, maybe panicked and turned his wrist inside so that our palms would connect in hopes of salvaging a nice moment clearly riding the rails of the awkward train. Even then, when I did connect, we were still in walking-away-from-each-other-mode so I grabbed what I could, mostly just pathetic & flailing fingers, shook and released. It reminded one of two star-crossed lovers lingering over a long, sad goodbye. (Editor's Note: or Unwritten Rule of Rock 'N' Roll #62... Nothing good ever comes from a limp handshake. Seriously.)

It was such a wimpy, unmasculine moment of embarrassment that I vowed never to relive or retell the tale.... until now! You read it here first!!! Oh lord, how I can't resist juicy, sensational journalism.



Fans, Friends & Faves


Boy we sure had another zip-a-dee-doo-dah of a time at BBRF again this year! Good times, good tunes, good folks. The following people should be thanked, patted on the back, given kudos or other related terms of praise:

Gary Mason -  bad ass, good humour

Andrew White - sound man, sound advice

Jeremy, Brent, Dave, Bill, and the rest of the crackerjack crew of volunteers at the Beaumont Blues & Roots Fest

volunteer Abby is all about that bass (drum)



On deck: July 10 - Wetaskiwin Drill Hall supporting Kim Mitchell


And that's the unvarnished truth!