October 4, 2007. Coffeemuggers, Grand Junction, Colorado.
After settling in to our hotel, we retraced our path to downtown Grand Junction. The wind coursed around late 19th century buildings, rattling leaves that noisily and resolutely clung to the trees, and shoved us in through door of the empty cafe. We found ourselves face to face with a short, handsome youth with tidy dreadlocks. "Those remind me of my old dredlocks," Ji whispered to me later, adding "they look clean."
Our host, Torin, was gracious and most accomplished. As we sipped the fine, hot beverages offered, we learned that he works in about 5 of the restaurants downtown, and gets demands for more hours all of the time. "I'm pretty organized," he admitted without a trace of ego or it's subtle counterpart, self-deprecation. Apart from the work-a-day-and-night business, he plays music and has been apprenticing with a glass blower for quite some time, and intends to open a shop in the near future. We applauded his resolve and enjoyed the company.
Noticing the lack of patrons, he apologized for the wind that drives people away from downtown. But every town has its peculiar dour assault upon business... rain, snow, football games, even the blooming sun - "It's too nice a day," and so on. So we understood. However, Torin refused to give up, and went to calling his considerable network of friends. From there he started stopping the few passersby, who promised to come by after dinner. He explained that they've only had a few concerts at Coffeemuggers since they changed locations, and it's been hit-or-miss, and weirdly unpredictable. All in all, if you are going to blame anyone for a lack of an audience, I find it is best to blame Ji.
It's true. It really was Ji's fault. He cursed us during our orientation-walk earlier that afternoon.
"Well, we can be glad that we've never four-walled it," he commented as we peered into the windows of little galleries and knick-knack shops.
"What does that mean, 'Four-wallin' it'?" I innocently inquired. Well, that's a lie. I secretly knew and dreaded what he was going to say.
"It's when you're only playing for yourselves and the four walls around you," he explained and began chuckling in his peculiar, silent way. I decided to cut those chuckles short.
"Shut it!" I cried, "You're going to jinx us!"
He admitted that the jinx might possibly happen, and we quickly turned to rapid verbal visualizations of tons of people showing up to a coffee house on a wednesday evening in a quiet town, as if these hopes could band-aid the unsettling picture of four empty walls.
But the walls were not so empty as all that. They were adorned with brilliant artwork, reverberated with sound, and housed a fantastic rehearsal of some old and underdeveloped material we longed to bring to our road repetoire. And later, after taking Torin's advice and soliciting other clubs, where the owners readily accepted our press materials, ( I swear that kid knows every soul in town - to their uniform delight and admiration), Ji and I admitted to each other that strangely enough, we'd both felt positively rich and successful while performing. Basking in the glow of this odd and wonderful truth, we settled down to watch "A Rebel Without A Cause" while eating grapes, resting up for the drive through the Rockies the following morning. Thank you, Grand Junction.
After settling in to our hotel, we retraced our path to downtown Grand Junction. The wind coursed around late 19th century buildings, rattling leaves that noisily and resolutely clung to the trees, and shoved us in through door of the empty cafe. We found ourselves face to face with a short, handsome youth with tidy dreadlocks. "Those remind me of my old dredlocks," Ji whispered to me later, adding "they look clean."
Our host, Torin, was gracious and most accomplished. As we sipped the fine, hot beverages offered, we learned that he works in about 5 of the restaurants downtown, and gets demands for more hours all of the time. "I'm pretty organized," he admitted without a trace of ego or it's subtle counterpart, self-deprecation. Apart from the work-a-day-and-night business, he plays music and has been apprenticing with a glass blower for quite some time, and intends to open a shop in the near future. We applauded his resolve and enjoyed the company.
Noticing the lack of patrons, he apologized for the wind that drives people away from downtown. But every town has its peculiar dour assault upon business... rain, snow, football games, even the blooming sun - "It's too nice a day," and so on. So we understood. However, Torin refused to give up, and went to calling his considerable network of friends. From there he started stopping the few passersby, who promised to come by after dinner. He explained that they've only had a few concerts at Coffeemuggers since they changed locations, and it's been hit-or-miss, and weirdly unpredictable. All in all, if you are going to blame anyone for a lack of an audience, I find it is best to blame Ji.
It's true. It really was Ji's fault. He cursed us during our orientation-walk earlier that afternoon.
"Well, we can be glad that we've never four-walled it," he commented as we peered into the windows of little galleries and knick-knack shops.
"What does that mean, 'Four-wallin' it'?" I innocently inquired. Well, that's a lie. I secretly knew and dreaded what he was going to say.
"It's when you're only playing for yourselves and the four walls around you," he explained and began chuckling in his peculiar, silent way. I decided to cut those chuckles short.
"Shut it!" I cried, "You're going to jinx us!"
He admitted that the jinx might possibly happen, and we quickly turned to rapid verbal visualizations of tons of people showing up to a coffee house on a wednesday evening in a quiet town, as if these hopes could band-aid the unsettling picture of four empty walls.
But the walls were not so empty as all that. They were adorned with brilliant artwork, reverberated with sound, and housed a fantastic rehearsal of some old and underdeveloped material we longed to bring to our road repetoire. And later, after taking Torin's advice and soliciting other clubs, where the owners readily accepted our press materials, ( I swear that kid knows every soul in town - to their uniform delight and admiration), Ji and I admitted to each other that strangely enough, we'd both felt positively rich and successful while performing. Basking in the glow of this odd and wonderful truth, we settled down to watch "A Rebel Without A Cause" while eating grapes, resting up for the drive through the Rockies the following morning. Thank you, Grand Junction.
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