RICH'S SHOW DIARY
University District Street Fair
5/21/05
Hooray! Our first festival. I always wondered what it would be like to play one of these street fairs. 

We lit out from Hoagie�s at some ungodly hour for musicians, like 12:30 pm. This promised to be a uniquely grueling day, as we had a second show booked way out in Bum Fuck (actually Stanwood) later that night. 

We arrived a bit early, and enjoyed some acoustic group whose name slips my mind with a killer mandolinist. Or is it mandoliner? Whatever the term, the guy that played the fucking mandolin was great. A quiet uneasiness set in amongst us, as we realized that we had to follow this down home mellow a pickin� and a grinnin� with face melting psycho pop. I hoped the paramedics were nearby, as we were about to rattle the windows of the IHOP across the street. Yeah, I got your boysenberry right here!

Upon taking the stage, I announced �And now for something completely different,� and it was off to the races. We played a really short set to a wildly diverse crowd covering seemingly every age range and nationality. Sure, the young punks made it up front to rock out. But I swear I saw a guy old enough to be my dad bobbing his head about and lip synching.
Another odd thing was the smoke wafting across the stage. Nope, didn�t need the machine this time. Instead, we were alternately salivating and gagging on the smoke from the giant grills up the road. 

As this was an all ages event, we thought it would be cool to have Seth, Greg�s son, run out and hand me the Gabba sign. And cool it was, as he handled the job masterfully in his Ramones shirt and sunglasses that made the young girls swoon.
It felt great to win over a crowd, which seemed to number in the hundreds at our stage, who mostly were only there for the corn on the cob. Helping matters was the fact that our set was as tight as it�s ever been. Amazingly, I made it through the entire set without swearing. I figured it would probably be frowned upon in such a family setting, albeit a family setting where there�s a bunch of middle aged guys in wigs jumping around and screaming about sniffing glue. 

After enjoying a tasty funnel cake, I left to the soundtrack of a 3 piece pop punk band covering �Heaven� by Bryan Adams. The band was good, as was the cover, but I am here to officially request a moratorium on punk covers of soft rock hits. In its place, I suggest turning punk songs into easy listening music. I have a dream of hearing a gently lilting version of �California Uber Alles� in an elevator. Then again, I am heavily medicated.
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