Gee golly, we thought Mr. Bob Husak might’ve disappeared in to the hard partying world of the international rock star and forgotten little us in his dusty wake. BUT ALAS, Bob returns!
And oh what a story he tells. So without further ado, the man, the plan, the caravan: BOB!
You thought I was through? Heck no. I’m back from Europe with another irreverent recap of The Blakes’ never-ending musical journey, taking care as ever to respectfully omit the best parts so as not to incriminate or publicly humiliate any and all parties involved. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? We were still in the UK when I left off, so let’s take it from there, shall we?
The most prominent memory I have of the day off after the Nottingham show was a visit to Nottingham Castle, which has been transformed into a legend-of-Robin-Hood-exploiting tourist trap, albeit an interesting one. I also picked up some pretty fantastic records, including an original German printing of the first Stones LP (that Brian Jones was so handsome). We had a show the next day at a club called Faversham in the Northern city of Leeds. It took us forever to find the place as usual.
We made our way back to London town the next day for our big show with red-hot Reverend and the Makers at famed venue The Roundhouse. This was the same room that housed the UFO Club in the sixties, which showcased the earliest performances by Pink Floyd, The Soft Machine, Tomorrow and countless other classic UK psych bands. The ever-polite Rev wished us luck before our early set, which came off very well even though we were rushed through a five minute sound check. At the end of the night, Garnet and Snow got into a brotherly brawl outside the venue for reasons unkown and Garnet took a hard face first spill onto the concrete. He thought he’d broken his hand, but it turned out to be a severe bruise.
The next day we made the long flight back to Seattle. I had breakfast in London, lunch in Chicago (if you count a hot dog and an Old Style), and dinner in Seattle. Because that’s how I live my life.
We had one day off before catching a plane to San Francisco for the weekend to play the Noise Pop festival and to shoot guerrilla-style street performances with crazy French director Vincent Moon. We went it alone, sans management. We rented a car at SF International and made our way to the venue, The Mezzanine, a tad late but still early enough to have nothing much to do for several hours. So we hung out in our shared green room drinking beer with Airborne Toxic Event and shooting the shit. We played second out four bands that night to a fairly sizeable crowd and put on a pretty loose, entertaining show, despite the fact that we were all more or less exhausted. Some friends and fans turned up, including three of the six members of former tour mates The Magic Bullets and a few of the ReHab folks that worked on the Sound of Color project with us. The Virgins headlined and effortlessly turned out their brand of New York dance rock during their set. I liked it. We located our hotel downtown after the show and turned in for the night. The next day we hung around the Mission District and took in some sun before meeting up with Vincent Moon and crew. They shot us playing several different songs in public places around the general area, including one in a port-a-potty, one in a laundromat, one driving around in a van, one in a bar and quite a few in the middle of crowded streets. It was a lot of fun, but I was very sore for the next week or so from jumping around and shaking maracas like an idiot for the amusement of others. We heard Two Times on the radio as we were saying our goodbyes and it seemed a perfect ending to a successful trip. We flew back to Seattle early the next morning.
In the week plus interim between this little excursion and our next trip to France we mainly took it easy, but we did manage a drunken, spirited interview with Albert from Seattle Gay News (man, I always end up sounding like a numbskull during interviews) and we played a free show at the High Dive with The Detroit Cobras that was filled to capacity about three hours before we went on. Our booking agent, Patrick, flew out from Chicago with his girlfriend for a vacation and it was nice to see him at our show.