I’m reposting this ish because our site crashed and I lost the post… As such I can’t re-post the show list, but it wasn’t much going on…
I’m gonna step away from our lil’ saga for a day and fill you in on what happened this past weekend in the Jam Van’s world.
Friday night, the Gorilla, Budaphest and I took a cruise down the PCH to check out our buddies (ed. note: err, dirt-bags) the Muddy Reds at the Malibu Inn (ed. note: Maaaliiiibuuuuu). They went on at like 1130, which was the perfect time as far as I’m concerned. Not too early, so I get ample pre-show couch marination, not too late, so I don’t fall on my face before the shit starts. The Reds were their usual funk-nasty selves. Nick must have been extra mashed because he was pretty fuckin’ funny with his crowd banter. Didn’t dedicate a single song to a sex change operation. I struggled between thinking that was a good plan and thinking that maybe he just burned a tradition. However, from out of the ashes of that arose a new tradition. Dedicating a song to Tramedal, the same type of doggy pills that we fed to this hippie, Joel II, at Bonnaroo 2011 (ed. note: Long story, he was a train hopping hippie, he just got mugged or some shit, and all he wanted was some pills, the Betty Hound had just had surgery, BOOM, synergy)(ed. note to self: don’t give a stray cat food, don’t give a train hopping hippie drugs, the same reasoning applies to both).
The music aside, the other fantastic part of this past Friday was that the Malibu Inn was packed with fucking Vampires! I’m not even bullshitting, like, for real people that were for real either vampires or under the impression that they were vampires, because they looked, dressed, and acted like vampires. You had your dudes with long hair and cloaks and pale white skin, that just screamed vampire at you. Then you had your more refined, “True-Blood,” and “Twighlight” looking vampires. I don’t know if this is the usual shit that goes down at the Malibu in or if it was just for the Muddy Reds or Them Howling Bones who played before them, or if the Vampires just decided to have their monthly club meeting at that spot for the night, but whatever it was, these fuck-heads were vampires, and I refused to take a piss in the bathroom or be alone by myself in that spot for the entire set. I’ve seen that movie, I know how that shit works. Fuck that, I’m not getting bit by a shit-head vampire. I got my music fix and split out, neck intact.
Saturday saw me taking in a lot of couch therapy with my geologist. We shared the experience of watching my Michigan Wolverines rape Nebraska’s face, which helped to balance out my Chakras and shit, which came in handy when night fell, because oh yeah, we had a show that night.
So thanks to Elevaters, MTHDS, and of course Mr. 2na, for helping make our second Jam in the Van presents concert a smashing success. Thanks also to the Central S.A.P.C., this spot is a blast, the dudes who run it are solid dudes, and we’ll be happy to pack it again real soon.
I’ll put the highlight of the night at “Quality Control,” a cut I’ve always enjoyed. Interestingly enough, it also coincided with the lowlight for the evening, as in the middle of that song a scuffle broke out up front and Chali cut the jam and jumped off-stage to be a peace-maker. I don’t have many details past that, and past the fact that I talked to a sweaty Chali about it after the show and he just wanted it to be known that he doesn’t condone violence, and he wasn’t having none of it at his show. Nice to catch that point of view from a rapper once in a while. Doesn’t have quite the same ring as “Bitch Suck Dick,” but “Bitch no Fists” could be just as catchy if you threw a T-Pain hook over it or some shit.
At any rate, Chali hopped back on the stage after the scuffle, and he finished killin’ it through til the morning. Our evening done-zo, I gave the Budaphest a fist-pound, and found my way to a taxi. That’s where I place my last thank you for the evening, which is a thanks to myself. So thanks self, for being so out of it by the end of the night that you left your (ed. note: my) back-pack in the taxi-cab that took me home. So if anyone sees a taxi-driver maneuvering very strangely around town, well, I think he probably dug around (ed. note: not even that deep) in my backpack, because shit was full of fun. If you do see that, could you please just ask him for the bag back? I had that shit since like high-school, it’s been many a sketchy place with me, and I was hoping to keep on making memories with it for years to come.