I should note prior to this blogging that Pete McNeal doesn’t even touch weed, we just thought it was funny–the whole bizarre weed-porn thing. Like you’re ever gonna see a nugget of Mexican heroin on the cover of Opiates Monthly.
The venue, Mr. Small’s, is so beautiful. The people who work there refer to themselves as “we,” as in “We have a great dressing room upstairs,” for instance, which says a lot; a sense of belonging radiates from the top. I happen to know that the top is Liz from Rusted Root, who told me about opening this place up when I first toured with her. It’s a converted church; there’s a big homey dressing room suite in the former rectory, and a recording studio. Not to mention the performance space, also quite sexy, and great-sounding.
There’s a girl I used to date, when I was 19; she’s an OB-GYN now, and living in Pittsburgh. Actually, she’s the girl I wrote “True Dreams of Wichita” about. I introduced her to the band fellaz as, “We used to date in the Eighties!” But in fact it was 1990. We hung out and talked on the bus until it was time to drive.
I’m underslept and fidgety and cranky–bad ride last night.
Did a performance/interview at WRNR in Annapolis today, and tried to keep my sleep-deprived obsterperousness under control–they’re excellent peeps, and they were the first station to play “Looking at the World…” so I have much love for them.