Goble Tavern - Goble Warming 2006 Review by Blueduck

The Little Fest That Could

A look back at Goble Warming 2006

By Chuck Blueduck McDougle

Well, this year I had a decision to make when it came to my summer music experience!

Normally, I make it to half a dozen music fests during the summer, and at least hit a club for live music three or four times a month. The Northwest just explodes with music during the summer. But I started a new job this year, and I only had one week of vacation time squirreled away, so I had to spend it wisely.

After some deep thinking, and weighing the pros and cons, I decided to scratch the Portland Water Front Bluesfest, Blues and Brews, Rockfest, Steve Miller, Ted Nugent, Blues by the Sea, Vancouver Bluesfest, and a long list of others, and split my vacation to two different weekends in August.

I chose the Vernonia "Alternative Stage" and "Goble Warming 2006" at the little Goble Tavern. And believe me; I chose wisely. We will talk about the three day "Altstage" another time. ... Right now let’s zero in on Goble Warming.

Let’s start with a little color on Goble Tavern. First off, it's not like going to a bar ... more like dropping by a friend’s house for a visit, and he just happens to have cold tap beer, and a live band just happened to drop by. The walls are covered by posters from past music events along with retired guitars and instruments. The place is a true backwoods roadhouse dripping with history. They even have a 25-cent pool table from a by-gone time.

One word of warning about that table, watch out for a laid-back cat named Kelly. He will run that table if he can talk you into a game. If memory serves, I won a game and a dollar side bet from him in about 1995. I only had to get him to drink around 10 bucks in beer and he scratched the eight ball. So, yes, I was nine bucks in the hole. But, I won my first and last game against him.

Goble is full of wonderful folk, way too many to list here. Let me just say: folks at Goble rarely shake your hand, they prefer to give you a strong hug and a warm welcome. They will ask: "Did you bring your guitar?"

Now, Goble is set up with two stages. The first is inside, and is a great spot to enjoy a show, kick back at the bar or tables, or slide into one of the couches next to the stage. Man ... a lot of magic happens in that room.

Then out back is the outside stage. The whole place is NOT so much a beer garden as a very cool backyard BBQ at your friend's house. Great covered stage, picnic tables, outdoor beer taps for special events, nice lawn, water misters for warm weather, and a BBQ.

Now you have an idea what this gem is like, let me fill you in on what I will refer to as The Little Fest that Could ... and did.

Due to my experience from the last few years at the Warming, I was aware that parking fills up way before the show starts, and they have a good sized parking lot. They also have a camping area near by, so the experienced and detected "Goblites" make a weekend adventure out of it.

Even though the main show starts around noon Saturday, you don’t want to miss Fridays night, for two reasons! One, the Goble All-Stars will be playing, and any musicians they spy in the crowd are fair game to pull up on stage and plug in. It is always guaranteed to be a great jam session. Reason two, you want to grab a camping spot and a parking when both are at a premium. RV parking is welcome too.... if you are early (please confirm with the bartender).

Now … on to this year’s Warming. … FRIDAY NIGHT.

After loading the old truck up with a few items, to hold me over during hours the tavern was closed (ice, extra munchies, soda, etc.) I turned the key, the truck fired up. I lit a non-filter, cranked up Brad Brenner's River City Juke Joint Blues radio show, and put it in gear.

Lucky for me it’s only about fifteen miles down Highway 30 to mile marker #41, and the old Goble Tavern.

I slipped my truck next to some great folks, Dave and Betty Weinberg. Dave and Betty run the web site for the Goble Tavern and help book the bands year round. And, what a great job they do, too.

I headed inside and saw my favorite table, front and center of the stage, was open, and I grabbed it quick, ordered my beer and a big basket of deep fried gizzards, ranch and Tabasco. Then I checked out the stage. As expected, the Goble All-Stars were tearing it up. I saw Johnny Thunder on drums, Ginger Snap thumping the bass, Sam Lightning on lead guitar and lead vocals, I believe Jerry Modine was on guitar, and Dave Weinberg was sitting in too.

But something just wasn't right. That's when Dave slipped off stage and told me the devastating news. That very morning our beloved friend, and Goble Tavern family member, sweet Dolly Peterson had unexpectedly passed away in her sleep. It’s still too fresh to go into in detail, but everyone was in shock. But, everyone agreed, Dolly would have insisted that the show go on … and it did, in her memory. And boy what a show it was. Dolly would be proud.

I was very disappointed to hear Lynn Conover and Lowell John Mitchell had to pull out, due to a double booking issue; and the rockers Ashbury Park had canceled for a similar reason. Too bad; those cats rocked the joint last time.

But the bill was still top notch! As I said the All-Stars were doing Dolly's memory proud. Any group with the combo of Johnny Thunder and Sam Lightning is enough energy to jump a dead car battery on a sub-zero morning.

What type of drummer is Johnny?? Well, about a year ago, I was there to see Beth Willis play solo. She invited Johnny to sit in on her originals. Mind you, they had never met and he had never heard her songs. They whispered back and forth and she launched into a song called "Vices." Johnny listened for 20 to 30 seconds, then jumped in like he had been playing her stuff for years. Drum fills and everything. That dude is a pro and nowadays can sit in with anybody at the drop of a high hat.

Ginger is coming along nicely on bass. BUT, the downside is, I have heard her sing … like a songbird, great voice! And, none of the bands she plays with have her sing a lead vocal on a set. I suspect she could do some great harmonies, too. It might be she is a bit shy, and I look forward to see her spread her vocal wings in the future.

Well, now we come to Mr. Sam Lightning. Sam is the kind of guitar player front men hate. The reason is, you stop watching the front man and start asking the people in the crowd, near you: “Who the hell is the dude on guitar? And is it legal, in this state, to do that to a guitar?” Some pickers break strings; I expect Sam to break the neck, toss the thing away, grab another axe from his collection of six string victims, and not miss a beat. His stage presence is in the footsteps of Pete Townsend of the Who, Angus Young of AC/DC, Johnny Rotten of the Sex Pistols, and Ricky Nelson of Cheap Trick. You expect him to end the set by stuffing his guitar through an amp or bass drum. But we are talking stage presence here. His style of music is hard to put in a peg hole. He is what I call, a “Jammer.” He is somewhat like “Quicksilver Messenger Service” or “Government Mule.” And, his vocals are raw and demanding at the same time, and he projects his voice great, too. He is one of those musicians that have learned the key to covering songs. Don't waste your time trying to sound like an exact recording of the original artist; you are not them. He changes the arrangements and may add or change lyrics, so after the words you are unsure the song was a cover or an original. All you know was that it was a great jam and you’re wanting more.

Two songs that really caught my ear are "Murder in the Red Barn," and the second, “Bitchin’ Guitar” always gets the crowd singing along.

Through the night more and more musicians were coming in, and soon the All Stars morphed in to the band Sweet Talker, featuring Vicki Fox.

I have been a fan of Vicki's song writing ability for about seven years now, including a project with the late poet, Tracy Tree. That was wonderful and thought provoking. She has gone through many changes over the years, personnel and public. Nearly all her gigs I had seen were informal and solo. Her songs have all become like old friends to me. Once, as we were discussing song writing, she told me: “A good song isn't written, as much as born. You bring it into the world, nurture it, watch it grow, and when it’s ready to fly, you give it to the world.” And over the years, it looks to me as she has stuck to her words.

Last year, on a photo shoot of a band called B.M.T., I found out Vicki was the next band up. “WHAT...Vicki has a band? I have to check this out!” Well, to be fair, things were rough around the corners, BUT I think this was one of their first gigs. NOW…back to present time, a year has gone by… Sweet Talker nailed it! A year of playing together made a world of difference.

If I had an award to give out for most improved band, it would have to go to Sweet Talker. Most improved musician would go to Dana, on the guitar with Sweet Talker. Vicki's music is sort of like the Lilith Fair stuff that hit the cross-over charts a few years back. Sort of a cross between Tracy Chapman and Melissa Ethridge. Her two strongest songs are both bluesy: "Sweet Talker " and the song "Long Walks". I am not sure, but I believe she shares writing credits on that with Mr. Lyle Chamberlain. Both are strong songs that, if recorded by a major studio, would be ready for air play.

But, once again, I think Ginger is under-utilized. Don't waste her vocal talent, and the bass line volume is always too low. That, I would guess, might be lack of stage monitors. It’s hard for bands to set volume levels if they can’t hear. Or it might be something else. We in the crowd can see Ginger’s hitting the notes and laying it down, but we can barely hear the bass line.

But, all in all the Friday "pre-show” went great.

Thing really got lively when The Chancers showed up to teach us poor American cousins … how to drink. God Bless the Irish.

The Chancers are an Irish folk group. At last year’s Goble warming the headliner had just started on the outside big stage, so I ducked inside to get something and ... WELL ... forgive me, outside band…

Have you ever seen, at the circus, where the tiny car pulls into the center ring, the doors open, and a mob of clowns come pouring out….. That's what it was like when The Chancers showed up … But, these guys had instruments and knew how to use them. And use them they did.

In no time at all fans started drifting in from the headliners to PARTY with the Irish.

I am unsure how they got their name, but I have three theories:

#1. There is a good Chance the tavern won’t have enough beer to meet the demand.

#2. There is a good Chance your bartender will call in sick the following morning until she is promised a BIG raise.

#3. There is a good Chance the bar will get a fine for not getting everyone out by 2:30 a.m. ...

Turn out the lights...won’t work they can play in the dark. ...

Turn off the main breaker. ... It won’t work; they are an acoustic band. …

Take away their instruments ... won’t work they will just keep singing a cappella.

Spray them with a water hose. ...

Won’t work. They are Irish - most likely have been singing drinking songs in the rain for years.

As a last ditch chance ... have your bartender hide one 6-pack of Guinness.

After all the beer is gone, and The Chancers and the packed room of fans are sitting in the dark, (soaked from where you turned the hose on them) happily singing at the tops of their voices (Irish drinking songs about the world running out of Guinness and red headed wenches), shine a flashlight on the last can of Guinness, and yell at the top of your voice ... “Here is the last one, boys!”

Throw it out the door, jump out of the way, and as everyone rushes the parking lot ... slam the door after the last one passes through, and bolt it shut.

They will still be singing their hearts out ‘til dawn in your parking lot, but you will avoid the O.L.C.C. fine. And don't bother calling the cops … these silver tongued Irishmen will just talk the coppers into buying the next round, and joining them in song. You’ll have a group of very happy wet folks singing drinking songs over the squad car PA system and playing with the lights and siren. All in all it is impossible not to like The Chancers. This year Lenny was very Very VERY smart … gave them a very early set on Saturday, and had a lot of beer (Guinness) on hand.

As I have learned, most of the time at these music events that include camping near the venue, at closing time the fun has just begun. Folks retire to their campgrounds, and improv circles of musicians start doing acoustic group jams. These are very, very cool! They will share songs that have not been ironed out enough for the stage. Artists who didn't get together on stage will teach each other new stuff. You can see a lot of magic happen after hours, and this was no exception.

I vaguely remember after hours trying to convince one of The Chancers that “we Scots taught the Irish to make whiskey" which we all know was true, but an Irishman will never admit. Then, somehow they got me to admit … compared to the magical taste of Guinness, American beer is watered down piss.

It was time to wander back and get some well earned sleep in the old truck. It would be a long day, and sunrise was just around the corner.

SATURDAY MORNING

Now, on to Saturday, the sun rose as predicted, and unknown to me, my carefully selected parking spot was at the perfect angle to the rising sun.

The sunlight beamed in my camper shell window and across my forehead. Due to this angle, the beam of sunlight did not shift to the side, but continued to bake my afore-mentioned forehead in the same spot with ultraviolet rays. About the time my eyes slowly fluttered open, I was all ready well into the third hour of my new sunburn. Not my whole face, mind you, just a two inch wide strip going diagonally across my forehead. Lucky for me, my new nickname "Slash" didn't start until the following Monday at work. I started to stir, noticing from somewhere distant came the fragrance of patchouli, and on the slight wind, a melody of a mandolin coming from the direction of the camping area.

I rolled out of the camper shell dropping the tail gate for a seat and took inventory. No defibrillator burns on my chest, no taser darts stuck in my clothes, still had both eye brows, hadn't burnt off my mustache, and still had my clothes and shoes. So all in all must have been a good night. You can never be too careful around musicians at after hour camping gigs.

Now I slowly checked out my surroundings.

The first thing I saw was a Goblelite, I think … directing traffic into parking spots. But this was “Goble Warming,” not just any day. The first strange oddity I noticed was the highly decorated Cow Skull he wore as a mask; or was it a hat, I could not tell … or maybe my brain just failed to process the information so early. And he wore a colorful poncho. And in his left hand had a six foot pole with a cross beam. Attached to this, was some type of psychedelic banner. And I almost forgot ... he did have his official orange blazed safety vest. All I really knew about this guy was … people were polite, parked where they were asked to ... and never complained.

Next, I noticed two dogs with a Frisbee. One would run with it for a short distance and drop it; then the other dog would pick it up run for a bit drop it, and get picked up by the first. Therefore, I came to the conclusion. We may have a problem here … these two dogs were making a political statement! "WE DON'T NEED HUMANS FOR A GOOD TIME!" So now I know what their plan is ... Freedom, independence, dog-on-dog fetch games. Hah, I bet they would both trade their tails for opposable thumbs and pop-top dog food cans.

I noticed quite a few cars were left over from the night before. Slow and sleepy people were emerging from the camp area, RVs, campers, minibuses, and the like. I could see people from all walks of life gathering for the event. Tie-dye could be seen in flashes between trees heading for the stage area, along with leather jackets, cowboy hats, and sport team jerseys.

And at that moment the lyric from an old Led Zeppelin song was spoken by my little inner voice "As the children of the sun began to awake" that put a smile on my face.

I picked up my, now much lighter, ice chest and poured the ice water over my head. Unfortunately, I was too lazy or dimwitted to stand up first, so while setting on the tail gate, much more water than I expected rushed out over my head down my chest and back into my lap…and was quickly soaked up by the crotch of my pants. So if by chance you saw me … No, I don't have a sever bladder control problem. I was just too lazy to stand up. Thankfully my friends the Weinbergs did not notice, or were just too polite to say anything, and Dave invited me over for a much needed cup of home brewed coffee.

After the coffee, I went back to the wet tail gate, dried off my seat, and made a huge bagel sandwich with my favorite imported Russian mustard, smoked turkey breast, and about five slices of Swiss cheese. I placed it carefully on the dry edge of the tail gate. About this time, I was approached by a musician from the night before in the campground: the harp player from The Russell Thomas Agenda, who hit me up for a light. We then started talking about harps, the show, and the like. After about ten minutes. I remembered the sandwich. I reached behind me and grabbed a handful of empty air. I thought, “What the hell, No one had been around but me, the harp player, and Betty's dog!?!?... Wait a minute… Where did Betty's dog come from??” I gave the dog a closer look, and I swear, I think it winked at me, just before it started wagging its tail. And if that dog could talk, which thankfully it could not, it was clear to me what he was trying to say…"HEY fat boy, haven't you ever heard of the five second rule?"

Damn the powers that be ... the dog was right!!! When camping, food on the ground or unattended for more than five seconds is fair game for dogs and squirrels. The only exception is food placed on the humans’ table, and officially a tail gate is NOT a table but a car part. All tables have legs … not tires. The dog was completely in his right. YOU SEE, I told you dogs are up to something. My God, I have been out-smarted by a dog with superior debating skills, and it can’t even talk. So, admission is step one, they say. I gave the dog half a pastry for dessert, made myself another sandwich, and went exploring. And that was a mistake.

I knew there was no drinking allowed in the tavern parking lot, but in the campground, it was a different set of rules. The malt and hops were still flowing freely in those dark woods, and the Irish were still about. I thought six or seven Chancers had come to the show, but now fifteen or twenty people were talking with bad Irish accents. I would meet someone and ask, "Are you in one of the bands" they would say "No" and I would say “Oh, I thought you were one of The Chancers." They would stick a beer in my hand and say, "I am now my boy." This happened over and over…every one of them with a big smile, and glad to see you, and offering you a dark malt breakfast beverage. After a couple of hours and a half case of breakfast, I stumbled back out of those dark woods with the same silly grin on my face. Now, for some reason, I have a hard time trusting the English and I think football is played with a round ball and you can’t use your hands. It’s all quite confusing. I then heard the call to mass. It may have been God … or the sound of man, it’s still a bit fuzzy, but booming from across the parking lot were the blessed words …TEST TEST TESTING ONE TWO THREE TESTING. What we had all come here for was about to begin!!

Luck was with me… at the picnic table nearest the stage was my seat. I quickly asked the other music lovers there if it was open. All I got was a "Have a seat Dude" ... SCORE ... front, and near enough to center.

First up was this serious looking dude, thin with long hair. Looking at my band line up cheat sheet, it told me the first performer was Rolling Turtle, AKA Mr. Paul Cavitt. It was to be a solo performance and he was slinging a vintage mandolin. He went through his song list flawlessly, and with good Olde Time Melodies. It was early, and I was unsure if the crowd appreciated his talent. Maybe folks were still wakening up. His music was what my grandfather would call "old time mountain music.” It was very reminiscent of old Appalachian folk with a twist of the old Scots-Irish structure. I would not be surprised to hear him do some of the old Carter Family tunes. Very nice. Then he said something that snapped my head up: "This next song is called the Bonny Blue Flag." I looked at him closely as he started the chords flawlessly. I turned to look at the crowd and saw gentle smiles, but not a look of excitement. Once upon a time, this was the most popular song in half the country. But, it is a ghost of a song now. Time has moved on. After it was written in 1861 by a fellow named Harry McCarthy, hundreds of thousands of men, young and old, sang it at the tops of their lungs as they marched to places called Gettysburg, Manassas, Fredericksburg, and Vicksburg, and a hundred other places where blood was spilled. For tens of thousands of men it was the last song they would sing on this earth. The “Bonny Blue Flag” was the first unofficial Confederate national anthem.

Even then, most folks did not know old Harry stole the music from another song called "Irish Jaunting Car"…But after all these years we can forgive the old rascal. I was bummed Rolling Turtle only played it as an instrumental. But maybe it’s no longer politically correct. Even in its day, in northern occupied area, you would be arrested for playing the music or singing the song. If you were considered a Confederate agitator, it could easily lead you to the hemp noose. Maybe Rolling Turtle didn't know the lyrics. But I did; and softly sang them to myself.... "We are a band of brothers; and native to the soil. Fighting for liberty, with treasure, blood and toil. And when our rights were threatened, the cry rose near and far. Hurrah for the bonny blue flag that bears a single star”.

All in all Rolling Turtle gave a good performance and my hat’s off to him for getting a little wetness around my eyes.

Then next up, as Lenny planned, it was an early performance by our Irish cousins … guys you could not dislike if you had instructions: The Chancers. What can I say, if you haven't figured out already: the dudes have a infectious charm to them that spreads to everyone in earshot. After drinking huge amounts of Guinness and pissing out Budweiser all night, they hopped to the stage and ripped out the first tune. Tons of energy and charisma. They were flawless. The only low spot I could see, the guest singer was a bit stage shy when she came up to sing "Summertime." But she gets an “A” for trying her best. If you ever get a chance to see The Chancers ... and don't have to work the next day … jump on it.

Next up was a personal friend, Mr. Curtis “King” Chamberlain and his wife Nikki Ukulele Jones, on washboard. Curtis is a great folk musician, but what really stands out is his wide assortment of musical talents. The list of old school mountain instruments he has mastered is way too long to list. Instruments include; guitar, washtub bass, ukulele (he builds his own ukes) Jews harp, musical saw, clackers, etc…Good strong voice and a very talented song writer too. Many songs have a good humorous story to them. Having Nicki singing along with harmonies and rasping percussion out on the washboard really rounds things out.

One thing very cool about Curtis and his music, is that it is very family friendly. I imagine kids would love him and his easy to sing along with songs, not to mention his wide assortment of instruments. Sorry we did not see his brother, Lyle Chamberlain, perform this year. He is a great local harp player.

Now, sad to admit, I missed the second half of Curtis and Nikki.

You see, this is the part of the story where having a liquid breakfast in the campgrounds caught up with me. Blueduck needed a quick power nap back in the truck. So to set the record straight … to all the good natured folks who keep asking me "Hey are you he guy who was passed out spread eagled in the blue truck, legs hanging out the tail gate?" NO, NO! You misunderstood what you saw. I was not passed out. I was practicing an ancient form of relaxation called Scottish meditation. Its mantra goes like this: “Thank you god for this blade of grass, for as long as I can hang on to this blade of grass, this spinning truck won’t fling me from the face of the earth."

It’s all foggy, except for the flash of someone’s camera. Well there's something new to be on the Internet soon for your pleasure, new pictures of Blueduck asking his truck to please stop spinning. Yes, I know, "A lesson learned and soon forgotten will be revisited." Have you meet my three unplanned children???

But, I tried to be a pro, and thirty minutes later was back at the show, just in time for the guy I came to see.

SATURDAY AFTERNOON INTO NIGHT

OK, here we go. The Russell Thomas Agenda took the stage, and let’s be honest … the line up of the whole group is a little fuzzy. I do know Russell Thomas was there, along with Rob Gilfeather, and I think maybe Dan Davis … but that may have been a hallucination. It wouldn't be the first time Dan and hallucinations were in the same room. I think maybe Bret Malinquist was there too. I remember talking to him later ... but that didn't mean he was "really" there. Now, I don't know a lot about Russell. I think I heard he hails from Texas, but I am unsure. But he is in Oregon now; that's what matters. He is one of the best original song writers I have heard in a long time. His stuff was F***ing amazing. It took me a while to figure out who his voice sounded like, then it hit me. There was a definite hint of Mark Knopfler (Dire Straits) to his voice. His picking and slide work was flawless.

His shining star is an unrecorded song called "Soldier." I had heard it two weeks before, at the back stage after hours, at the Vernonia show. When the song ended, there was total silence. Then a Robin Remailly from the Holy Modal Rounders said "Dude, you wrote a SONG!" I could not speak; I seemed to have something in my eyes for a couple of minutes.

Do you remember the first time you heard "Eve of Destruction,” or "Ohio" by C.S.N.Y. even "Cat’s In the Cradle," and the emotion it stirred in you the first time. This song is right up there, shoulder to shoulder with them. You want to find the first person in uniform hug them, and beg forgiveness. Then grasp the closest politician in the current administration, by the neck, with both hands, while screaming "Are you F***ing Insane?!"

This song will rip your guts out. It has a deep hook that is about "Playing with matches in oilfields." That will make you think about a hidden message … maybe not that hidden. With Rob’s muted trumpet softly playing taps at just the right moment, it will send chills down your spine.

Next up were the local favorites, and for a good reason, The Goble All-Stars. I covered the Friday night show already so I will go light on this review. Once again, the Thunder and Lightning struck the stage great energy. Sam demonstrates why stomp boxes are called stomp boxes. He knows how to use those effects right. At one point, Gayle Classen joined them on stage, and here I have a complaint. Gayle has a great voice, and it just keeps getting better; but we rarely get to see her perform. I don't understand why I don't see her getting bookings at local and Portland clubs. She deserves them. At least cut an indy CD with those originals I heard her play around the camp fire a few times. The All-Stars brought it all home with their psychedelic folk music. You guys rock.

Then Sweet Talker took the stage next; which meant Sam, Johnny and Ginger did back-to-back sets. Everything was going well, but to be honest, they just didn't nail it like they did Friday night. I guess the last gig isn't always your best gig. Saturday was good, but Friday was GREAT. Dana still tossed in some smooth well-timed riffs. I think it was hard for Sam to take it down so many notches after such a hot jam with the All-Stars. He looked like he was playing with handcuffs on, doing Vicki's slow tunes, after tearing it up with the All-Stars. I could tell he may have been frustrated, sort of like watching Hendrix sitting in with Joni Mitchell. Vicki did a good selection from her CD.

Next up was Colin Spring, an out of our area band, from northern Washington. I expected a hard rock band, but was surprised by some easy listening folk originals. Very well written songs, the band was loose and comfortable, and very professional. I want to hear more of these guys, and I have learned they will be back for a whole Saturday night show at Goble, October 7th. I want a second look at these cats, and may book them myself in the future. They have a cool web site (http://colinspring.com/) with sound cuts. I recommend you check it out, and score the CD.

Next up was another band I didn't know, and they are local. They are Linda Myers and the Blues Priority. Have you ever sat in a high performance car, like a built Mustang or Firebird from back in the day, with big block, four barrel carb, high rise manifold, long fat chrome headers hanging on the sides? You are seated in that quiet monster, take a breath, pump the pedal twice, and turn the key, and raw power explodes into life! Do you know that feeling? That's what the Blues Priority felt like after jumping into the first song. And it just kept getting better throughout the set. Why haven't I seen these cats playing the Portland Water Front Blues Fest? Why didn't I bring my camera gear? I hear this is a new band from some members of Sandi Soyle and the Cultivators which I had never heard play but heard the name mentioned. They put the jump in jump blues, and did some good R&B too. Hell, if they get a current CD together, I will forward it to Pete at the Waterfront Blues myself.

Well I was hyped up after Linda's gig, and considered calling it a night. One band left, Steelhead!” A band with Mike Esquire formally of The Batz, River Ratz, and River Batz. They went through a few name changes over the years, and I had seen them many times. We used to book them regularly at the old JB'S Roadhouse in St Helen's…nothing wrong with the Batz ... solid hard rocking cover band, heavy on AC/DC as I remember.

But, I had started helping Lenny pay the Goble Tavern light bill one pint at a time sometime during the All-Stars’ set, so I was in the mood for some rock show reruns.

Too early and I wasn't sleepy. Maybe I could even hook up with a lady tubby-chaser. Hey now, there's a chance.

So Steelhead took the stage. I sucked in my belly and put on my sunglasses. Yes, I know it’s around eleven at night. And decided which line I would try, settling on "Pardon me, but on the off-hand chance that no one has mentioned to you, those jeans are giving you a great ass day." But before I could take a chance at getting kicked in the coin purse, the crunch of a guitar chord blew out of the speakers, and hit me in the chest. It felt like some invisible dude was trying to give me heart compressions.

What the hell?!? This most definitely was not the Batz! The drummer was laying it down with authority. Mike’s bass was punching through great. He was showing how a rock bass is supposed to be played, like a punch in the face, and the duel guitars were on top, ripping it up, peeling off riff after riff.

And check this out kids, there was no front man ... they all took turns on vocals from song to song, and did great ... No, beyond great. They had come and taken charge, showing why they were the headliners.

Guy Live was doing his usual magic with the sound board. There is something about Guy that always seems to be missing when he is in the room. NOW it hit me…He needs one of those tall pointed wizard hats. Somewhere I bet he has one.

The dancers down front were really getting in the groove, and cutting the rug. I started watching this chick I have seen around; a real tall cool drink of water that had on tight black leather. Nice package, dancing alone with a tambourine, lost in her own world of the music.

Then I heard something that made my heart fall into in to the black abyss. They said something like "and for our next song, this is Pink Floyd." I know there are bigger Pink Floyd fans than I, but I have never met them. I know the lyrics to at least the last five albums by heart, plus a lot of Rogers’ and Gilmore's solo work. David Gilmore can do more with one note than most can do with the whole fret board, and it takes a wall of effects units to do it right. So I stopped head-banging, and sat down and lit a smoke. Then they jumped into it. After the song got going, I started paying attention. They were not trying to do a bad copy of Pink Floyd, they were doing a Pink Floyd song as Steelhead, slight changes in the arrangement; while staying within limitations. They didn't try and over-extend the sound. It was clear crisp and right on ... they nailed it! I was stunned! The rest of the set was just as good. Do they make Steelhead shirts in triple XXX?? OK, OK stop snickering ...four XXXX, a little breathing room won’t hurt. … And before I knew it, I heard the dreaded "Thank you for coming, everyone drive safe!"

Now the disappointment set in... Goble Warming was over. I had waited months for this show, and it was worth it.

I dragged my ass back to the trusty old truck, dropped the tail gate, crawled in, and fell asleep with a smile.

SUNDAY MORNING

Way too soon the heat from the sun was warming things up. This time I had slept with my head towards the tail gate, so no more sunburn issues. After rolling out of the sack, I saw about twenty rigs of the "smart folks" still parked in the lot. A few bodies were stirring around and I hung out on the million in one chance someone would open the bar for breakfast … I fall for that one every year. So I chomped down a sandwich, stood up this time when I poured the last of my ice water over my head, and took inventory. Everything was OK, except the fact it’s 364 days until Goble Warming.

After sitting on that tail gate pouting for an hour and saying “goodbye” to folks, I heard a mandolin, guitar, pennywhistle, and hand drum coming from the camping area in those dark woods. I was in no way going visiting down there ... the music was most likely IRISH. I had visions of two hundred grinning faces setting on top a pile of empty Guinness beer cans, shouting, “We are The Chancers and we are here to play”!

So I loaded up my gear and started the truck. I stopped before getting on the highway and daydreamed for a bit, looking up to that empty hole in the sky where Trojan’s cooling tower use to be. Strange, how I came to miss it. The magnificent sound of a pair of Harleys flashed by in a blur of black leather and chrome. That sound just says FREEDOM … what a weekend.

Then that little inner voice spoke up again in my head. It was a quote about the counter culture movement of the sixties, from Hunter S. Thompson: "Look to the west; and with the right kind of eyes, you can see the high water mark where the wave finally broke and rolled back."

I could still hear those Harleys in the distance, and I looked to the west. Man, I haven't seen the ocean in ten years ...the salt in the air…watching the sunset…there are friends I haven't met yet, story's I haven't written, music I haven't heard, and bands I haven't seen.

Then I looked east. A dead end job, the crush of bills, gas no one can afford, a yard that needs mowing, firewood to cut, five-thirty a.m. alarm clock buzzing day after day ... for a pay check that is an embarrassment to my sanity, mind destroying reality TV, and let’s not forget the daily news report of today's body count of the war of the week …Politicians telling you black is white, two plus two is seven, and you must give up these rights so we can protect you …You can’t do this and you can’t do that, so we can say now you have freedom.

I looked back to the west…..lets take inventory…a crumpled pack of “Old Golds” with two smokes left ... an eighth of a tank of gas…twelve bucks in the wallet…pennies on the floor, and an orange pop that has set on the dash in the sun for two days. I hung my head ... 364 days.

I reached for the radio dial and halted my hand. The echoes of the weekend will do just as nicely. Maybe I just didn't want to hear the news reports. I put the old truck in gear, and turned right ... to the east. As the crunch of gravel turned to the hum of black top, I heard someone yelling to someone else in the parking lot. I glanced over ... It was one of The Chancers. He was yelling: "HEY man, where is the closest whiskey bar?"