Monday, March 28, 2011

Keepin' It Real Quiet

Monday, March 28, 2011

Two weekends ago, we were asked to play at Uncle Billy's on Barton Springs Road in Austin. Pre-Story Side Note: For 2 out of the last 4 gigs we've played in Austin, we've been misspelled on the marquee. It's really interesting how people choose to spell Possum Posse. As you can see from the picture, Uncle Billy's spelled it "possume," as in "don't make a poss out of you and me." Jovita's (not pictured) spelled it "possum pose," which made me think of a Parisian model making some sort of uber-hip play-dead pose for the cameras at the end of the runway. My favorite spelling suggestion is from Dawn Elder, who was also at the gig, which is "P-awesome Posse" because it points out the fact that we're awesome, or at the least implies that we are in fact awesome. Anyway... Uncle Billy's is a cool place - they make their own micro-brew beers and have a nice, big patio for sitting around and drinking said micro-brewed beers and purportedly, to listen to live music. We were told that because of a certain neighbor of the bar, who had chosen to live in the middle of "the live music capital of the world," but who also does not like music, we would need to keep the sound level under 70 decibels. For those of you who are not familiar with the decibel system, 70 is roughly equivalent to the noise caused by creasing a fresh sheet of paper. So basically, we were asked to perform at roughly the same volume as someone making a flock of origami swans. And if you've been to a Possum Posse show before, you know 1) We rock way too hard for that... and 2) We are not good enough at controlling our instruments (and certain band members) to keep our sound within a reasonable volume. As always, I brought my foot-drum (see picture). I receive tons of compliments on it everywhere I go. People say things like... "wow, that thing actually plays?" and "what did you do to that perfectly good kick drum?" and "is that the ratchet strap you borrowed from me that I keep asking you to give back?" - all in a good context, of course. I have it "engineered" to play both a tambourine and a kick drum (and a snare, which I left at home on this particular occasion), but I knew the kick drum would be way over the 70 decibel level, so I told the manager that I would only be using it for the tambourine functionality. I used the word "functionality" to make it seem more like some sort of high-tech device and less like a piece of crap I strapped together and duct-taped into place. She seemed agreeable, but perhaps a bit suspicious. We started off with a nice, peaceful tune about doves or puppies or something - basically a Colorado-bluegrass style thing where we all sing in high and lonesome whispery voices that are barely audible to humans. The manager walked to the back of the deck and pulled out the decibel meter... after a quick reading she shot us a thumbs up. Boom. Business time. She disappeared into the inside-dining area and we immediately broke into our rendition of "What's Goin' On With Grandpa" - with heavy kick drum and group shouting (see photo of "Grandpa" lyric writer, Ross Baxter enjoying the show and a cold micro-brew). Soon we were on to other songs that included synchronized clapping, liberal usage of the vibraslap, Jes's wailing electric guitar solos, and heartfelt yelling. Of course, the crowd went wild. People were weeping for joy, dropping pulled pork bbq from their amazement-induced open jaws, and as a general rule, moving to the grooving. We were giving out tons of our Demo CD's, which incidentally make great coasters (see picture). The weather was great, and people really seemed to enjoy themselves. The tip bucket was filling up, the CD bin was emptying, and good times were being had by all. At one point, I noticed some people dancing toward the back of the patio. This is not uncommon at our shows because our music is so infectious, the good vibes tend to spread like whooping cough. Turns out, it was the manager and some random guy, dancing the night away. I guess she had slipped back out of the restaurant without our noticing and didn't mind the fact that we had grossly neglected the city's noise ordinance. After the show was over, we packed up our stuff and waited to see what the verdict was. After about 15 minutes, and no police or angry neighbors, we decided that nobody seemed to have noticed our raucousness. The management even invited us back for the next weekend! I think it was Robert's amazing performance during "Party in the USA" that was the nail in the coffin (see picture). I guess it's sort of like the great writer Aldos Huxley once said... "After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music." Also, kind of like he said... "Silence is golden, but not when The Possum Posse is doing a show." - I think he said that. Photos by Chris Corona and Mike Wolfe