Watering plants helps them grow

Because I simply cannot get enough of whatever special goodness it is that Atlanta seems to offer, on Friday evening I made my second of two trips to Sherman's favorite kindling. Ostensibly to see a show by talented, quiet, bearded and flannel-wearing Canadians, Great Lake Swimmers, but mainly just to hang out with my dearest pal MB and her hubby, Reynoso. (I think I named him something else on a previous post but I'm too lazy to dig that out. My sincerest of apologies, Reynoso, who, I should note, is not remotely of Spanish descent.) Marisol sat this one out as she thinks my music is "weird." She's usually right.

While I've come to think quite highly of GLS, this was primarily MB's show. For reasons best known to her, she seems to have a thing for hirsute, flannel-wearing Canadians which should make her an ideal Bachman-Turner Overdrive fan. Thus far she has resisted their particular pull. Perhaps it a weight issue as I'm pretty sure the entire GLS crew's combined weight is somewhat less that of Randy Bachman, alone. Google him. Or don't. Either way, just know Mr. Bachman is as large as his songs are annoying to me, which is to say quite. I'll never speak of him again.

Needless to say, MB had been jazzed about this event for quite some time and even greeted me Friday with a cheery "Happy Great Lake Swimmers Day". To the best of my knowledge there is not actually a holiday so named but I hated to tell her. I'm nice that way and only provide needles for balloons of the deserving.

Since the venue (The EARL) doubles as a restaurant, a couple of her other friends were meeting us there. Since I was the first to arrive, I took my customary spot in the corner of the booth to better observe folks and prevent any sneak attacks. It should come as no surprise, but with my lengthy enemies list, I really don't like to sit with my back to the door. Anyway, the others arrived and that hipster brew of choice, Pabst Blue Ribbon, flowed. Never fear, dear reader, I flew the flag for temperance and drank the better part of a gallon of water and had a tab of $0. They did not but that loosened them up to discuss all manner of subjects, none of which are of relevance to this post but were as bawdy as they were entertaining, which is to say quite. Thinking me a more delicate flower than I actually am, MB said half-jokingly she wished she had "earmuffs" for me. Sweet. I responded by flipping off the camera as she took a group photo.

Delicate flower? More like delicate badass.

In the midst of all the reverie, the bad weather began to hit with a couple of tornado warnings even coming across for North Atlanta. Figuring there were enough McMansions and Mercs between me and the godless tornadoes, (not to mention the makings of a sunset) I figured we were okay as we headed into the stage area. No sooner had we gotten in there than the unmistakable sound of rather large hail began hitting the roof. (The EARL is tiny and has a tin roof and this was a quiet show.)

I texted Andy for a weather update and was not reassured: the radar is black (not green, yellow, orange, red or even purple, but black) over East Atlanta. He helpfully added that he'd never seen that before. Great, I'm going to be blown away with 20 strangers, MB and Reynoso before we even get past the opening act. I suppose it really doesn't matter if one is the victim, but if I'm going to die from rock and roll, I'd prefer a more fitting soundtrack. My ears will melt and then my eyes. Perhaps.

There was little danger of spontaneous combustion Friday night, however. We were being lulled to sleep by an opening duo who could have given church mice lessons in silence. On the bright side, we'd be able to hear our impending doom since Mr. and Mrs. Snoozy McSnooze were making no effort to raise above their whispered vocals and oh so gently plucked guitars. I've seen many concerts in my day, some bad/some good, most fairly memorable. However, I have never been to a show in which the weather outside drowned out the performers inside. I'm pretty certain Motorhead has never had this problem.

But the weather lightened and the McSnooze twins mustered up enough energy to amble off the stage before, presumably, collapsing in the corner where they probably still are now. Afterwards, a pleasant enough performer came on and did her thing to a response of more than general indifference. Not too much though. And then MB's night was complete as GLS stormed onto the stage with all the ferocity of a schoolboy on his way to the library, which was fitting. Theirs is not exactly music that lends itself to stadium gestures, smoke and a bitchin light show. That didn't stop the assembled tens from annoyingly snapping pictures throughout the performance.

Honestly, I'm sure they're swell guys (and a gal) but, MB crushes aside, not exactly what one would call lookers. And even if they had been, their stagnancy onstage would tend to negate the need for multiple pictures. Or so I would think. The guitarist is looking at the singer. Now he's looking at the drummer. The drummer looked back at the guitarist. Holy shit. I think I just wet myself.

All this is no reflection on the band, their music or the show itself. On the contrary, it was all rather enjoyable. Quality music, performed by quality folk for quality folk. True, MB didn't get the goosebumps on her ankles she was hoping for (beats me). And much to my disappointment I didn't meet anyone named Gord, but so it goes. They can't all be Motorhead.