Musicians: Justin Marx, Matt Cranstoun, Mikey Die, Paul Cortes with Pete Salvato

Can’t remember ever getting so soaked for so long, but am sure it must have happened before. Endless outpouring of rain, damp chill, soggy shoes, and my mind in upheaval. I called up Matt Cranstoun and asked if he could fill in for one of the performers, and if he maybe wouldn’t mind hosting for me. The way I felt… just needed a night off. Also, Pete was playing in Manhattan, he always plays on Wednesdays and I can never make it, so I thought I should sneak out and catch his set.

Justin and crew did a wonderful job, somehow working some kinda voodoo to get a crowd into the bar on a wretched night. Had a quick smoke in the rain and tried to avoid an incoherent drunk. Mikey Die was stuck in traffic, but he made it and it all worked out.

Meanwhile Matt Cranstoun (the tropicrana, mancrans, too much cran-dle to handle, crantankerous) started to play and it was amazing as always, but I decided to hop in a cab with Sam and catch Pete’s set.

Unfortunately, over at Village Ma there were a buncha kids fronting like they were Bob Dylan. However, Pete gave an excellent performance. There was this very, very strange old man sorta bobbing his head in the front and yelling loudly between songs. What he was yelling I don’t really know, but he was quite entertaining. I also realized that there were some songs of Pete’s I hadn’t heard all the words to before. Barfly especially was cracking me up, but both Winter and I agreed that he’s the only person we know of who can get away with using the word “homeboy” in a song.

Ride back to Bar4 and I am in an excess of spirits and spouting the most ridiculously unbelievable crap, and now Noel’s here so I will finish this later…

… well, later never really came. I got to catch the end of Mikey Die’s awesome set, and then Paul and Pete played and I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

I am very behind on this blog. Sorry kids.

~Jessi