June Jam & Chocolate Whoopie Pie

CAUTION! THIS IS "THE UNVARNISHED TRUTH".... A BLOG. IT MAY CONTAIN PICTURES AND OPINIONS NOT QUITE TO YOUR LIKING. SENSITIVE CONSTITUTIONS AND PC SNOBBERY NEED NOT CONTINUE. THIS INCLUDES SOY MILK ELITISTS, ANTI-FUN FACTIONS AND MINOR SPORTS ORGANIZATIONS WHERE THEY DON'T KEEP SCORE SO THAT EVERYBODY "WINS". THANK YOU AND/OR KINDLY SOD OFF.

 

Hi, Folks! It's your ol' pal Sawbones here with another edition of The Unvarnished Truth. Pay no nevermind to that kooky disclaimer. If you made it past that you probably don't give a tinker's cuss about anythin' anyway!

 

Last weekend and for the first time this year, we ventured northwest outside of Alberta to Taylor, BC -- home of the annual Big Bam June Jam. It's a converted ski hill just south of Fort St. John. Beautiful country up yonder! Almost makes us wonder why we, The PDC 3, live in over-populated Dustbowl with all it's whores. (Editor's Note: that's hordes.) 

 

Headlinin' the weekend was Canadian classic rockers, Prism. While we'd miss them on Saturday, it was up to us to rock the June Jam throng on Friday night. But quite a few things had to happen before we took to the stage.....

 

Thursday was travel day. Which means road trip. Which means all manner of rock 'n' roll debauchery, chicanery and a goodly amount of monkeyshine! Which also included bringing our tried & true, trusty compadre, Cousin Craig "The Wrench" Hansen along. He's not only handy but a handful. They don't call him "The Wrench" for nothin'. Just ask him. Very.... carefully. 

 

 

Camp Big Bam 

 

Upon arrival at the venue site, we were met by the most sanguine of personalities (see proto-psychological theory -- Greco-Roman medicine.... or just take my word for it). One of the big nuts in charge of this little festival, Andy, was the first person who greeted us; bounding towards the band as we emerged road-weary from our vehicle, open arms and already yelling. Not to fear, that's just how he talks. You shan't find a more gregarious personality. Andy is as loud and boisterous as they come.... like a fun-loving pre-schooler with a gravel truck voice.

Like an old-timey radio show.... it's Sawbones & Andy!

 

As we made the rounds of the camp site, we also connected with the man who "can get things", Adam. We didn't quite test him on this, though we should have. Lord knows what kinda crazy, fun trouble he would've wrought. An affable, hobbity slyboots (who didn't actually wear any) as evidenced here:

 

Almost a Frodoian slip 

 

Our accommodations on the campground were definitely not "roughing it". The organizers supplied us with two private RV's loaded with features like: awning and picnic area....

 

 

spacious bunk beds....

 

Bandmeister behind bunk bars

 

... and even a built-in, Dyson crotch warmer!

 

The Wrench warming his..... self 

 

A tour of the under-construction concert site revealed: the surprisingly modern-for-a-smaller-festival stage set-up...

 

 main stage                                                                        secondary stage with big screen

 

...local cute-as-hell mascot, Lexi....

 

...and monster water slide!

looking up the hill (with The Wrench as perspective)

 

looking down the hill

 

Seven hundred daunting feet of fun! If that sounds like your humble scribe is saying it ironically it's because I wouldn't even think of such a notion: whooshing down a moist canopy at a terrifying speed wearing only ill-fitting trunks of an obsolete nature only to be stopped suddenly by a suspiciously shallow pool of water..... akin to a broken bidet gone berserk coupled with the bully of your childhood yarding your shorts up to your clavicle.

Naturally, my paranoia was unfounded as the hearty souls who braved El Wedgo de la Agua loved it. Safe and sound! But not enough for this chicken-ass. I stood steadfast on the hill, dry & warm, my modesty and killjoyousness intact.

 

(l to r) Sawbones and the Capt. thinking of not riding the 700 ft. waterslide.... and a subtle hand gesture for those who want them to

 

 

Welcome To The Show

 

Oh yes, the show! Rest assured, dear reader, that Punch Drunk Cabaret indeed brought the swaggerbilly to the masses... though our scheduled 90 minute set was cut short due, no doubt, to the overwhelmingly potent power of our musical machismo.

Actually, Bandmeister Randy B experienced some technical bugaboos which tried to stick a spoke in our said swagger but we rose above it and delivered a mighty rock show meant for a crowd of 10,000. Because, hey kids, that's how you do it.

Being in the throes of festival season now, expect to hear a few numbers from our new record (as well as classic favorites) at a PDC event coming soon near you.

Tunes like "Halos & Horns", "Elixxxer", "Voodoo Vodka Stomp" and so much more! We played these fresh, juicy ditties (Editor's Note: Sounds dirty.) with enough power & authority for all of British Columbia to hear! And boy, did the crowd lap it up.... they cheered, they clapped, they sang along. Yes, but....

The ultimate test of whether folks are actually fond of you is not, as rumours have it, how many mammary glands one signs after the show (my personal breast is five). It is at the merch table. Where one can purchase quality wares such as this:

 

 

New CD! In stores now! That is, if the store is cd baby, iTunes or a PDC show

 

Naturally, it behooves us to promote the latest piece of PDC production: the shiny, new album called Electrik Steam Show. I mean, what kind of shifty hucksters would we look like if we didn't properly promote it? Why, it's chock full of musical deliciousness! A good dietary source of protein! Cures what's ailin' ya! It's a wonder elixir! Fixes depression, broken hearts and anal fissures!*

 

*All claims metaphorically accurate

 

 

On The Ball

 

After a big-time, traveling rock 'n' roll show, one is plum tired! We give our all in every Punch Drunk Cabaret performance and that's our personal guarantee to you, the patron. So one can understand that a fella just wants to sit down and have a beer with his bandmates and not be physically assaulted by a fan.*

 

*That's called "foreshadowing", kids!

 

What started out as the four of us having a brewski outside of our trailer turned into an overcrowded bush party of tipsy well-wishers. Plenty of folks from all over the campground seemed to want a piece of PDC's time and we accommodated as best and for as long as we could. 

 

Well it seems your ol' Sawbones took a break from the sea of humanity to warm his weary hands by the fire. Three young, local musicians quickly descended upon him to lavish praise and kudos upon him. While all three were definitely held firmly by the loving hands of the demon alcohol, one feller in particular had something else going on, I'm sure. Now I don't judge a man on his whatnot's and goin's-on... just as long as he don't hurt nobody. But this here young man is standing beside me tellin' me a story about something with a lot of gestures and arm-waving when suddenly (necessary to his story, I'm sure) he swoops down with his hand like a bowler about to throw a strike and proceeds to make violent contact with my twig 'n berries. And not once but twice!

 

Well! You can imagine my surprise. Firstly, that I was struck in a sensitive area. Secondly, that technically, 'twas the most physical contact of that area I've had with someone on tour in years. But I sadly digress....

 

It was then I had to confront the young man with what will be known hereafter as the "Sawbones Death Stare". Oh, there were some choice words used to augment the effectiveness of The Stare, but a PG-13 audience prevents me from repeating it here. Suffice it to say the situation was safely diffused and, luckily, he did no long term damage.... y'know, in the unlikely case I want to have a future little Sawbones or Sawbonesette.

Young fella tuckered out from The Staredown, no doubt.... or just really, really, really remorseful

 

 

The Ent

 

Though we greatly enjoyed our time in the wilderness of Northern BC, like the trees of Tolkien's fables, it was time to make like one... and leave. 

Our thanks to the crackerjack folks at the Big Bam June Jam: Art, Andy, Adam, Michelle & staff for graciousness and hospitality (sorry to the towel lady who knocked on our RV door only to find The Wrench wearing nothing but a smile and his unmentionables).

 

 

Random Phrases Overheard On This Trip:

 

"I like that chocolate whoopee pie."

"My hatred burns hotter than the flamin' arse of hell."

"In the dark, no one can see your rum." 

 

Indeed. And that's the unvarnished truth.

 

 

Sawbones