Marin, CA – “With Gallagher” – The Marin Wine and County Fair – June 5, 2001

Tangled horsehair and golden straw drift lazily in the air, carried in silence over the sun-soaked fairgrounds. Somewhere in the distance, a carousel echoes faintly, and a sun-bleached red-and-white cotton candy stand flutters in the breeze, batting playfully at it like a kitten. Cakes, crafts, and critters with first-place blue ribbons lean sideways in the shimmering heat. Everything and everyone moves heavy and slow, as if this heat could elongate time itself, stretching moments endlessly like saltwater taffy on the puller. Technically, we’re late. Sure, in this heat, “late” feels irrelevant, but we understand that we should probably get our giddy up on. We drive around in a white, Moby wannabe, Dollar rent-a-car looking for “Livestock Entrance #5” where we’ve been directed to find our stage.

“How many people are we s’pecting today—hundreds? Thousands?” Kenny asks from the back seat,.

“Hundreds,” I reply, though my skepticism grows as I glance around at the hay-scattered, empty fairgrounds, which barely seem to stir.

At our livestock entrance, there’s a man is standing with a red walkie-talkie and a face that’s melted from the heat into a shriveled scowl. He requests credentials we don’t have. But being “technically late” works in our favor, and he eventually escorts us over a livestock barricade to something called a Foot-and-Mouth preventative mat. “Pad your feet here,” he grumbles, his disdain permanently etched into his sunburnt skin. We dutifully comply.

“Over there,” he points past the main stage where Gallagher (yes the food smasher/comic) will be performing later. “Yu’ll take a left at the candied apple stand, go ‘head past the coin toss and the livestock tent and yu’ll see it right in frunta ya.”

As the stage approaches, a sarcastic Soucy mutters: “I think we have to lower our expectations from hundreds to dozens.”  He’s not wrong.  There are colorful benches set up under a tent on the lawn facing west and a medium-sized stage facing a corn dog booth and a large brick wall, which will later bounce our vocals back to us on stage 1/2 a note flat. Not that this is a bad time. It’s not. In fact, it’s probably a great time. I’m just tired and grouchy from our week-long failed search for a new drummer and breaking up with Jack.  Kyle’s agreed to fill in here and there but Jen is almost due, and it won’t be long now until he’s officially a daddy and no longer a drummer.   I’m just happy he got us through recording, and with Shotgun at the presses, I’m finally feeling like I can catch my breath. But we need a drummer and we needed him yesterday.

There’s another tent off-stage left. This is the ‘backstage’ where there’s a water cooler, one crooked beige folding chair slanted on the uneven grass, and, thankfully, some shade.  I pull out the final draft of the album artwork to show the guys. I feel awkward when they point at Jack on the back jacket with raised eyebrows—such a permanent picture for such a short-lived fling, I think, before getting their approval and shoving the accordion lyrics back into their jewel case. It wasn’t something that could’ve lasted, though Jack was quite sweet. Our two-month turn will forever be memorialized, for better or worse, on the back of this record.

We ambled about backstage. We were looking forward to meeting Gallagher.  Surrounded by all this instantaneously smashable produce, we figured he’d be in his element—practically giddy. He wasn’t. After loudly complaining about our soundcheck volume, he told us he needed 100% silence to prepare for his show. We decided to skip the backstage meal to avoid him and instead, had steak and artichoke hearts with Chris’s parents, Judy and Bob Delucchi, who were lovely and generous hosts.

The fairgrounds flipped from molten heat to icy cold as the sun fell. My flip-flopped feet stiffened against the biting aquamarine grass as we got back to the stage. A hypnotist was performing Ten shirtless teenage boys, hypnotized into believing they were the Village People, were swinging their clothes wildly above their heads on stage.

I would have been shocked, surprised, and even delighted but we’ve already had a hypnotist opener, so, you know…the novelty was gone. Our show was pretty good, ‘cept for the cold and the drag

Was it a great time? Probably. I was just too tired to fully enjoy it. Thank god our next few shows are on home turf.

The search for a drummer continues.  Stay tuned.