19 February 2006-Fernie
Hey lover,
I keep forgetting that, although the venues are new and I might not know friends in every city we descend upon, the routes and roads are familiar. I’ve driven through these cities enough to know them intimately and they predictably rise along highways like good friends, waving as you pass. It’s comforting! Makes me miss home less.
In Fernie, I played at the Blue Toque Diner on my previous tour. Really connected with Geoff, the owner and an inspired chef. So when I let him know I’d be back in town, he invited Peter and I to dinner. It was a brilliant meal, topped with the total satisfaction of getting exactly what you want when you want it. Doesn’t always work that way out here.
Peter doesn’t have the same benefit of knowing these roads and letting them soothe his heart. When we get out east our positions will be much reversed! Then again, it’s his first romance with the Rockies—so instead of the intimacy I’ve acquired from knowing this body, Peter is wrapped in the thralls of first love. His heart is racing and mine is slow and deep. We’re the perfect pair.
The show at the Northern was . . . unpredictable. The crowd was thin while Peter worked through his set. There were some attentive listeners and the sound was so very delicious that Peter was really getting into it. During his last song, a huge group of totally drunk English travelers burst in on the scene, cheering madly for Peter and totally waking up the joint, slamming about the dance floor, hooting and hollering. Peter handled them expertly. He agreed that he would play one more song on the condition that the kind English drunkards would sing along. They were thrilled.
The rest of the audience watched, laughing uncontrollably, as Peter launched into a sweet, slow version of Cyndi Lauper’s “Time after time.” The drunks were not shaken. Lighters blazing, arm and arm, they swayed and sang with passion and zeal, finally ending the song alongside Peter on stage. Peter looked at me knowingly. “Carrie you’re going to have a great set!” Peter joked from the stage. “Fuck you, Peter” I said from the audience.
But the English blokes were terribly accommodating—disturbingly so. I walked up to the stage, feather boa trailing behind, grabbed the electric guitar and launched into “Weather” with all the attitude I could muster. The burly English blokes were hushed, seating themselves in a semi-circle in front of the stage. Although they chatted animatedly between songs, they maintained a respectful silence during the songs unless invited to sing, clap, whatever interaction was permitted. And of course, we had to extend a few invitations. By the end of the night, our English friends were departing, all donning a Peter Katz T-shirt and arms loaded with CDs.
Wish you could have seen it. It was a scene your playful heart would have much appreciated! It was great hearing your voice last night. Only temporarily felt sorry for myself for missing the curry feast you whipped up and great night out with friends. Say hi to the people that know me (sound familiar?).
Love C
I keep forgetting that, although the venues are new and I might not know friends in every city we descend upon, the routes and roads are familiar. I’ve driven through these cities enough to know them intimately and they predictably rise along highways like good friends, waving as you pass. It’s comforting! Makes me miss home less.
In Fernie, I played at the Blue Toque Diner on my previous tour. Really connected with Geoff, the owner and an inspired chef. So when I let him know I’d be back in town, he invited Peter and I to dinner. It was a brilliant meal, topped with the total satisfaction of getting exactly what you want when you want it. Doesn’t always work that way out here.
Peter doesn’t have the same benefit of knowing these roads and letting them soothe his heart. When we get out east our positions will be much reversed! Then again, it’s his first romance with the Rockies—so instead of the intimacy I’ve acquired from knowing this body, Peter is wrapped in the thralls of first love. His heart is racing and mine is slow and deep. We’re the perfect pair.
The show at the Northern was . . . unpredictable. The crowd was thin while Peter worked through his set. There were some attentive listeners and the sound was so very delicious that Peter was really getting into it. During his last song, a huge group of totally drunk English travelers burst in on the scene, cheering madly for Peter and totally waking up the joint, slamming about the dance floor, hooting and hollering. Peter handled them expertly. He agreed that he would play one more song on the condition that the kind English drunkards would sing along. They were thrilled.
The rest of the audience watched, laughing uncontrollably, as Peter launched into a sweet, slow version of Cyndi Lauper’s “Time after time.” The drunks were not shaken. Lighters blazing, arm and arm, they swayed and sang with passion and zeal, finally ending the song alongside Peter on stage. Peter looked at me knowingly. “Carrie you’re going to have a great set!” Peter joked from the stage. “Fuck you, Peter” I said from the audience.
But the English blokes were terribly accommodating—disturbingly so. I walked up to the stage, feather boa trailing behind, grabbed the electric guitar and launched into “Weather” with all the attitude I could muster. The burly English blokes were hushed, seating themselves in a semi-circle in front of the stage. Although they chatted animatedly between songs, they maintained a respectful silence during the songs unless invited to sing, clap, whatever interaction was permitted. And of course, we had to extend a few invitations. By the end of the night, our English friends were departing, all donning a Peter Katz T-shirt and arms loaded with CDs.
Wish you could have seen it. It was a scene your playful heart would have much appreciated! It was great hearing your voice last night. Only temporarily felt sorry for myself for missing the curry feast you whipped up and great night out with friends. Say hi to the people that know me (sound familiar?).
Love C
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