Paradise Cafe

Welcome, boys & girls, ladies & gentlemen, one and all... to the literary dapperdom that is The Unvarnished Truth!


Please forgive me this slightly tardy and abridged version of the U.T. With the combination of weak resistance and strong drink, ol' Sawbones is feeling his age and can't blog with as much frequency & stamina as the young bucks. I just need a little break and a cigarette after the first time and then I can try again.

PDC are busy little beavers having done three key shows in ten days. The last of which took place this past Tuesday at Expressionz Cafe in Edmonton. Yes, you are correct in your dumbfoundedness. I said Edmonton; a rarity for us. Aaah, the Capital City. Home of champions, festivals and thunderous summers. Oh, and friends, we laid down the thunder with our new friends from down under: Jungal. This is no cheap sexual metaphor, no sir. Being gentlemen of mirth, music and merriment, that kind of gutter talk isn't apropos. Plus it ain't accurate-like.

Hobbits and Children and Dogs, Oh My

What is accurate-like is hitting the mark with a fitting double bill within the confining confines of Expressionz Cafe... a quaint little hobbit hole that, by day, is a mild-mannered coffee shop and, by night (or at least this one), a raving, bouncing, rocking hippie cafe where booze, dogs and small children past their bedtime flow freely. It was the Sasquatch Afterparty as many folks & staff from last weekend's festival turned up to celebrate another successful Sasquatch Gathering event.

The great thing about a small room is it doesn't take much to fill it. And fill the non-air conditioned room we did.... full of hot, sweaty, sassified friends (another non-sexual reference.... please focus)! Every person there on this warm & humid evening had the right idea: wear light, season appropriate clothing. Not your dashing PDC pals, though. Oh, no. Damn the torpedoes, we say! We don't kowtow to the weather! Neither rain nor sleet nor snow nor really, really awesome summer conditions will stop us from risking severe dehydration and heat exhaustion in the name of putting on a good show for our fans. If Punch Drunk Cabaret stands for anything, dear reader, it's death-defying fashion.

Kiss My Pantaloons

After that rant, it may surprise you to know that on this very evening, I left my beloved black stage pants at home. I then had to make do with standard, blue denim dungarees. Not as comfortable as my regular attire on a sweltering stage but what could a person in my position do? Take my man pill and kick some mighty buttocks, that's what.

In other wardrobe news... there's a photo floating around Facebook of PDC performing the Tuesday soundcheck not in their signature clothing.... but in regular, average, boring street wear! It's like snapping a pic of rock legends KISS in the 1970's without their makeup. Scandalous!

Plectrum.... Darned Near Killed 'Em

Despite the aforementioned stagewear faux pas as well as the obligatory soundcheck problems, the show went off without a hitch.  One other kvetch, if I may, about playing in a hotbox... stringed instrument players tend to lose control of their guitar picks easier because of the overall extra perspiration secreted from every seen and unseen orifice. I imagine, ergo, drummers and their sticks. Suffice it to say to anyone in attendance that whenever you saw me gesture grandiosely or strike a rock 'n' roll pose, it was to cover up the fact that I couldn't hold onto my wet pick and, therefore, play worth a damn. There. I just shared with you a trade secret -- look good, play bad and vice versa. This is the sacrifice we must sometimes make to bring you quality entertainment.

The Aussbournes

The other act of the evening, Jungal -- an all-Australian, all-girl, all-awesome band -- didn't seem to have that much trouble holding onto anything, including the crowd. While we naturally drew the most attendees being the hometown favorite, the Jungals kept the bar high with their brand of Melbourne mayhem. Great energy, talented players, fun and smiles onstage. It was the perfect twin bill and we enjoyed having them (yet another non-sexual reference.... look, I warned you).

Familiar Faces (also see previous blogs)

 - McBain, the little white dog that Ringleader Randy almost trampled underfoot at the last gig
 - Barry the stage manager who is a semi-retired bio-chemist and p/t sommelier!
 - The Nunchuck Chick
 - John Armstrong - the man behind our last few public appearances and host of the Afterparty afterparty in his secret loft providing beer, martinis and free-spirited late night jams. FYI, if you're looking for an experienced theremin player for your next Hallowe'en bash, John's your man!

New Faces (no need to see previous blogs)

 - Patty, the new age masseuse to the stars
 - Miguel the Chilly Chilean. After greeting him with a friendly "buenas noches", his first words to me were: "Your Spanish is terrible." He probably thought I was macking on Patty, as the kids might say. I was, of course, but that's no reason to be rude.
 - John's roommate (forgot his name, sorry. Again, blame strong drink) with the bedroom that looked like the Hiroshima aftermath we used as a change area. Maybe I left my missing pants in there...?  


Thanks for following the dusty memories of ol' Sawbones during this whirlwind July. In August, we're not only performing in front of Canadian country sensation George Canyon in Lacombe, but your Punch Drunk buddies are putting snake oil sales on the shelf for now and looking to sell beer! Or rather, sell ourselves to Kokanee for the soundtrack contest of the movie they're making. It'd be awfully neighborly of ya to mosey over to the Kokanee link and like our submission, "Two Brown Bottles Of Beer" (naturally).

And that, dear reader, is the unvarnished truth