77 bloody skins

I'm getting appropriately noir-y for my belated comments on 77 El Deora's last appearance at Cafe Du Nord.

Several things were remarkable about that night, not the least of which was FishStix playing with a sliced finger. Earlier in the day it seems he caught his glove in, which pulled his hand into, an industrial drill press. That does not sound good. He had wrapped the gash and then taped it up in the finger of a latex glove, thinking that would do it. And trooper trouper that he is, he played.

As far as fingers go, I imagine drumming is pretty much the definition of a high impact sport, and not good for the gash. He sounded great though, despite the bloody mess his finger was after the set. I helped him heal by buying him shots of Jack Daniels. My good friend is good for something other than getting me into trouble.

Me, FishStix, Coco

Coco is the perfect wing-woman for dives and honky tonks. And I mean that as a compliment. She and Jeannine met at the last Brisbane show (rumor has it the Lost 23 Club was shut down for some alcohol violations, which surprises me zero), and the three of us enjoyed a dark corner of Du Nord and thoroughly enjoyed the set.

Coco and Jeannine had a cool conversation about the evolution of the urban Honky Tonk/Americana country fan. Coco loves urban country (I can't bring myself to call it "rockabilly"), but she started out as a total punk girl. So, it seems, did Jeannine, who was a punk videographer back in the day. Out of their conversation I learned that it is a very common progression, punk to honky tonk, and most of the fans in the usual crowd experienced a similar journey. Jeannine and Coco agree that it's a rebel thing.

I for one (as it says in all of my online profiles) love live music in small venues, and the thing that draws me to the local Americana scene is the same thing that draws many to this sub-culture: not only is the music well crafted, but the scene is hip without being too popular. It's alternative, but cool. I'm rarely one to embrace the mainstream. It's a manageable crowd of like-minded people whose minds are unlike other people. As RMJ might define it: there's a filter. The mass of the general public whom I might find so annoying aren't going to be there. (They are going to be at the Colosseum or a Hannah Montanta somesuch and thank God they are not here.)

Jeannine has a similar and better-articulated theory along these lines. The camaraderie with strangers, the soulful music, the small off-beat venues, the feeling of belonging among complete strangers—all of that and much more which I'll have to ask her to repeat. She calls it Ambient Sex. I love that.

Dancer that I am, sometimes I take to floor at the 77 shows. Jeannine is a marvelous dancer, but compared to my 6'2"/6'3" frame, she is remarkably lilliputian and it is a difficult lead for me. Even though we both kept squirming in our seats, I did not ask her to dance. In addition to the height differential, I am generally reluctant to dance when the scene is crowded hip/urban like Du Nord, and no one else is dancing. If you head up to the stage and dance then it becomes all about you.

And you'd better bring it.

Unable to resist any longer, we went up front for their single encore number. We weren't three measures in before another woman appeared, pushed Jeannine away, and claimed me for her own.

I did know this woman—Kate and I have become "club friends" over the years as we follow the same sorts of bands around town, and particularly 77 El Deora. And we can dance. She's also club friends with Jeannine, who graciously allowed Kate to cut in.

We brought it.

Seriously.

Double-time with the swings, hard on the two-steps, sultry with the slows, and even glamorous on a waltz. Kate remarked that she thought I had gotten so much better, when truthfully it has been more a lesson of experience with her. The more I dance with her the more I know what she is capable of and I can take it up a notch at a time.

We were like freaking trapeze artists with the throws and catches. She was rock solid and right there with every spin. Which is a good thing as else she would have flown into an amp at close to 30 mph.

During the next band, sets of visitors took our picture or videoed us, two more women asked me to dance. And by the end of the night three women had asked me for my phone number. I didn't have the heart to tell them I was gay. (A week later Kate offered to start telling my female admirers "as a public service.")

I do think that if you are going to ask a guy to dance with you, particularly someone who has been burning it up all night, you should have some basic skills yourself. Such was not always the case. After I while I just settled into a generic swing with the new girls, because when I'm leading a simple swing I can force them to move and land as I want them, and on the proper foot. If you can't count the rhythm, please don't take the space on my dance card.

I'm just sayin'.

At the end of the night a very nice girl approached me with her wing-woman, and was clearly working me. She was sweet and kind and I just couldn't work my penchant for the mens into the conversation. And frankly, sometimes it's nice to pass. Dunno why. Just feeling the love I suppose. She followed me I saw her again Sunday afternoon at Thee Parkside. Kate was surprised she didn't know I was gay (this is when she offered her Public Service Announcements). I said I probably shouldn't have led her on by letting her blow me in the bathroom. (Totally kidding of course, but Kate completely bought it and was appalled for the 10 minutes I let her rant about it. That was probably evil, but it amused me so. And that, we all know, makes it all right.)

Back to the dancing— During one particularly slow song, Kate and I found a sultry groove and cradled in each other's arms. Very romantic. We had a moment.

During this moment, a tall blond clad in all black with leather pants strutted onto the dance floor. She was swaying her hips and strutted with a purpose. Me being me, I though she was coming to cut in (ha!). She prowled to front and stage center, took off her top layers, and then began humping the stage/dance floor. OM f'ing G.

I still had my eyes open as I was leading, but Kate had closed her eyes and succumbed to our moment. I started leading her around so she could get a look. I kept wanting to nudge her out of her reverie to check out Batshit Crazy.

By the time she was down to her bra, she was humping and flailing like Tawny Kitaen in a White Snake video. I totally thought the band was going to break into Here I Go Again On My Own.

Ultimately Mau, Jeannine, Fisher, Coco and I were enjoying each other's company at a table in the back. Batshit Crazy tried to engage. At first she hit on Mau, aggressively. Good friend and wing man that I am, I totally bailed on him, fled for my own life, and left him to manage on his own. I heard him work the word "wife" in to the conversation five or six times.

He barely escaped, but only by sloughing her off on our table where she worked her way from Fish to me to Coco. Hence the introduction: Coco, this is CooCoo. CooCoo, Coco.

It was also around this point in the evening that Coco, ever efficient, discovered that while the small glasses of well vodka-sodas were $7, an enormous pint of Long Island Iced Tea was just $9. One by one the table moved from their beverage of first choice to the More Bang for the Buck. And thems were tasty. We converted Jeannine to LIITs, but diminutive as she is that could have gotten dangerous.

And again, shout out to David O. You know who you are. :)

I'll leave you with one final vignette before I'm off for the night and start back blogging the weekend that just was.

While sharing drinking stories, Coco told us of a recent night when she wound up drunk at home (the safest place to be). A week later there was an unidentifiable charge on her card to GoDaddy.com (web hosting/domain name parking service). In her stupor, she had the clever sense to go online and register the domain name: GoddessOfDrink.com.

Coming soon.

It only cost her $21—appropriate as it is also how old you have to be to visit the site.