KANSAS CITY
When I wake up in a bleak hotel room, I want to leave as quickly as possible. It’s just tough to go anywhere quickly when you have a group of four people. Gary takes a really long shower, leaving me optimistic for a good facility. This was not the case. Like all classically bad hotel rooms, the shower is fucked up. Without warning the temperature of the shower will shoot from camping trip frigid to scalding inferno. I start laughing out loud it is so ridiculous. I try to duck in and out of the oncoming spray like a prizefighter, taking turns freezing and scalding. It really sucks.
I find some hippie breakfast place online that sounds promising. We get there to find it crowded with sorority girls in Saturday night makeup and stoned bearded guys digging into plates of organic pancakes and kind veggie miracle breakfast burritos. I order something called the “compost heap” since I forgot to eat anything last night. The food has no seasoning to speak of, and the waiter calls us “Duders”.
We drive to Kansas City.
Kansas City is hosting the Big 12 Basketball Tournament, so there are a million guys in backward baseball caps and shorts walking around with their party sunglasses on. We have nothing but time until load in, so we decide to go to the Contemporary Art Museum, which turns out to have a pretty good permanent collection and has free admission to boot. A word to the savvy band traveler, this museum also has a terrific private and clean men’s room to launch a “solo album” if you know what I mean. Clean facilities like this help to remind you that you are a human being and not a barnyard animal like most bathroom facilities you find on the road that have been befouled by God Knows What.
Next stop is the World’s Largest World War I museum, located right there in Kansas City. I have no idea why this is located in Kansas City, but I have to say it is pretty impressive. It’s always nice to spend an afternoon perusing what were modern ways to kill people in the early 1900s. Once again, the Germans win style points for their uniforms. Why everyone in Germany is now currently dressed like Mad Max extras or scientists, I don’t know. Eighty years ago, they still had style. Well, that’s what I took from the museum anyway…
When in Kansas City, you have to eat bar-b-que. Arguably the center of the bar-b-que universe, KC is the home of some of the world’s greatest joints. We decide to go for the gold standard, “Oklahoma Joe’s”. Named as one of the 13 Places To Eat Before You Die by travel writer and crank Anthony Bourdain, this place is great. Why? Well, first off it is located inside a gas station. That’s a great sign for barbeque. Also, there is a line that stretches out of the building apparently as long as they have food available. We stand in line at the gas station for 45 minutes, and I’ll be damned if it isn’t worth it. I’ve had some good barbeque in my travels, but this is probably the best. It's tender, juicy, flavorful, and pretty much perfect. Even the sides are amazing. I slather on the extra hot sauce on brisket and slow cooked pork. The slow burn of the sauce makes me sweat like crazy. It’s great. I can’t recommend this place highly enough.
We head on over to Davy’s Uptown Rambler Club to find ourselves the only ones to meet the 7pm scheduled load in. We decide to go to a nearby Starbucks and see if we can Priceline some civilized accommodations in San Antonio the next day. By the time we head back, the other bands are loading in and setting up backline. We have connected pretty well with the folks in “Oh My Me”. They share a couple traits that we have in that they have a dark sense of humor and like drinking alcohol. I have a couple Ranger IPAs with Joe from Wussy and some Oh My Me folks while we watch University of Cincinnati get smoked in the Big East tournament by Louisville.
We play our set and stick to the plan of no repeat songs. In three shows we have now played three entirely different sets of music. Some guys from Nebraska drove here to see us, and I feel bad that they get 45 minutes from us instead of 75. On top of that, they didn't even get all "the hits". Too bad guys, we have a plan. Still, that’s a long drive for a quick set. Everyone seems to like us tonight. Gary is especially good, so much so that the bartender remarked to one of our people, “Is that guy gonna play slide now? God. He’s gonna kill us!”
I hang by the merch area and talk to some people that are interested in what we are doing. I meet a guy that was a crab fisherman in Alaska for a couple years, and he’s drunk. Really drunk. He keeps asking me again and again for a free CD as it will “get our name out there”. I explain to him that is our only real revenue source for the tour. He says he understands. Then he asks me for a free CD to help get our name out there. This conversational circle continues for what seems like a thousand lifetimes.
We load out and I notice how totally fucked up Leo is. I saw him doing shots with the Oh My Me guys, dangerous Kentucky bourbon drinkers. I’m sure he smoked weed out back with some local degenerates too. That all got washed down with plenty of cheap local beer Leo recalls being named “Guitarslinger” brand. There is probably NO CHANCE this information is correct as he is slurring like a stroke victim.
We pull into a grim Days Inn by a busy street. Leo falls asleep immediately and sounds like a Sleestack from “Land of the Lost”. That sound combined with the steady stream of screaming police sirens tearing up and down the street outside, and I have a long sleepless night. I can't believe I gave away my last earplugs...
Effin' Garage had to close, that woulda been a freaken GREAT gig...
Aaaah...See you at the Beachland or Grog shop then