Whamf Banff Thank You Maamf

Greetings, Thanksgivers! As you enjoy (against every fibre of your being) the gluttonous but unavoidable gastronomic habits of the season, hopefully you'll avail yourself to this, the latest The Unvarnished Truth, to aid in the digestive process of that regrettable 2nd or 3rd helping.


We, here at PDC Labs, are always trying to find ways to weasel into your lives on the coattails of a convenient holiday.


Last week, Punch Drunk Cabaret pulled a three-nighter (or "back 3", in musician's parlance) at the legendary Rose & Crown Pub in beautiful Banff, AB. As serene as the scenery outside, this venerable local watering hole was a bedlam of activity within. Par for the course for any self-respecting tavern of renown.

Bandmeister Randy B and Sawbones pre-gig supper at R&C... oh it's all laughs now...



When in Banff, Do As The Romans Do


Naturally, one must take in the geographic wonders of Banff in all it's iPhone camera splendor. We saw a mountain... 



An animal trying to hide in a guy's yard...



A phallic tree...



And Zoltar, the local soothsayer....




Thursday Clusterfudge


Note to all you budding young musicians.... no matter what befalls you, you step up, dig deep and deliver like a professional. I use that preface to complain about the cold/flu/ailment I contracted just before this important gig. One must soldier on in the face of adversity whether it be illness, work strife or romantic woes (Editor's Note -- Lemme guess... foreshadowing again???).


Zoltar said nothing about this. Stupid Zoltar. 


Since I knew I'd not be 100% before three days of rockin' with the good name of PDC on the line to defend, I made sure to enjoy the finer things of life by hitting a local candy store for the purchase of delicious imported confectionaries. Since I still have a sweet tooth that could kill a horse, I acquiesced to the urge and let that proclivity be my guide.

Nothing says manly men like candy cigarettes 



Equipment Failure (Not A Metaphor)


The now obligatory technical troubles seem to follow us, unwelcome, wherever we go like a crazed, chlamydia-ridden groupie. Everything from guitar wireless woes to cable catastrophe to a saddle problem (not a metaphor). You'd never know it though, as the mighty PDC steam machine will always chug forward in the face of peripeteia even as the universe conspires against us. Stupid universe. 



New Songs.... We Got New Songs...


Three straight days in this Alberta paradise afforded us an opportunity to bust out a fresh plethora of new jams. It shan't be long now, hungry Punch Drunkard, before an opus will need to be recorded so now is as good a time as any to test out all the latest material at our disposal on an unwitting & tipsy audience.

Where's Wattso?


You may one day see any one of these titles on the next compact disc, iTunes account or wax cylinder: "Elixxxer", "Hell, Etc." or "Voodoo Vodka Stomp". All modesty aside, these could be the blockbuster smash hits of 2016 or, at the very least, romantic music to snuggle to. Speaking of which...



Lothario's Lament


I give you another one of Sawbones' Life Lessons -- an amphigoric tale of misconstrued intentions. With as much worldly experience as I've had with the fairer sex (socially and "otherwise"), I always seem to misread the telltale signals of a potential evening of mutual, non-committal snuggle-ry. And so once again, dear patient reader, opportunity's boots did not knock.

Before the fall....


Case in point... Girl contacts boy. Boy is curious.

Girl says she's coming in from out of town to see band. Boy curious-er.

Girl meets boy for nice lunch. Seed of interest planted. 

Girl returns to watch band perform that night. Boy trying to impress.

Girl says afterward she's staying at nearby hotel. Boy puts it out there and asks if she'd like company enjoyed over a bottle of spirits.

Girl says yes. Boy says "Yes!".

Boy arrives with drink. Girl does not want to drink. Boy flummoxed.

Girl wants to pour heart out and talk about current online relationship with other and wants advice. Boy crushed.

Boy drinks heavily. Boy goes home alone. 

Boy confused and fooled by another girl. Lusty night of kanoodling eludes boy. 



Happy Ending (Not That Kind!)


All was not lost however. Just because yet another lover's liaison escaped me does not mean the weekend wasn't successful in other terms. There was some action that evening in the coin of a tall, blonde drink of water who decided to fellate Cap't Sean E. Watts' drumstick on stage! Not a metaphor.... his literal drumstick, sicko! But oh, would that I had my camera at the ready! Alas, the moment passed quickly as did she, into the night. We never saw her again, this golden-haired orator who warmed the loins of many men that night. Farewell, Drumstick Lady! We hardly knew ye. 


In the meantime, your PDC pals served up a pre-Thanksgiving bounty of tasty, musical whoop-ass! And by all accounts, the throng of Banffers ate it up like hungry in-laws at dinnertime!



Giving Thanks 


To: Stan and the keeper of the endless tequila shots, Matt, for having us back at the R&C

David (sound), Geneva & Kim (hot bar staff)

To The Great Goddess Of Humility for continuing to teach me lessons at the expense of my tortured libido. Thanks. Thanks a lot.   


And that's the unvarnished truth.