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Minneapolis: Fine Line Music Cafe. 20th September.

21st September 2017

Up early doors.

Sluggish.

Took me a while to get all limbs to communicate with the motherboard, but managed to be packed and dressed in the lobby by 10:30 to leave for the airport and Minneapolis.
The roads were clear and we made good time.

I, yet again mislead by air con, am too heavily attired for the high temperatures.

I like wearing a hat. It saves me brushing my hair. Too hot for that. I look rough. I don’t know. I can only keep up that lady regime for so long before it dulls me out. Getting beautified is so interminably repetitive. I respect the girls that keep it up. That’s dedication. Dedication is a virtue. I am very happy to stall at the gate in that race. See ya! *waves*.

I show my boarding card and wait.
‘You want it back?!’ Barks the Gate attendee.
I don’t know the rules here.

This low cost airline. SouthWest I think it was, have very good seats. No sniff of the easyJet about it. Dandy.

On arrival, we head straight for a radio station. I am doing a pre record with Jim McGuinn for KCMP & The Current show.
All goes well.
Back in a cab and we hit the hotel. There is a corner of it selling ready meals. ‘Do your rooms have microwaves?’ I ask.
‘Yes.’
I pick up a frozen sesame chicken carton from a sparse shelf. That will be lunch then.

I like that I am eating hot. The chicken though has the consistency of matzo dumplings. I’d kill for some dark cabbage, but only if I could get away with it.

I ponce myself up as best as I can be arsed and put on my stage uniform. We leave for the venue.

The club is a small, patently well-toured establishment. We are all delighted by the feel of it. It takes me back to my pub rock days. The kind of place where the band is up close and the dressing rooms are dark with old graffiti and cave paintings of optimistic cocks. Bands are a funny breed. Rebels who still think crayoning vagina murals is wild and sexy. Bless their innocence. We’ve all been there.

John Garden

Sean McGhee

The sound on stage is remarkably dry. Nothing bouncing back at all. Great for clarity but less vibe behind the wedges. I don’t think I have played this town before.

We are not sold out, but the bodies are crammed and close and perfectly deep enough. I needed more push tonight. The voice was there but I felt my volume was lacking. Maybe that was the stage sound. Out front, I am told, there was punch a plenty.

Another audience both attentive and ready to flail. New material appreciated. Old material celebrated. We’re in it together.

I am glad I have made it here once at least. I am tired tonight. I am ready for some stillness. We don’t have to leave the hotel ’til 1:45pm tomorrow. That feels like a holiday.

Tomorrow is a travel day. I’m not sure where to.

Straw Woman

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