No Mark

We were particularly eager to see Ian and the Bump Band after the Dallas trip. Last Saturday night they were playing at the Gypsy Tea Room, so I spent much money for tickets (!) and we took Claire and Nick.
Almost everything was unfavorable. The Gypsy Tea Room was rather surprisingly like the Lucky Lounge or the Continental Club, but with less seating than either place. The show was set to start at 9, but two different bands opened, first a beginner band that played pieces that would have worked for video game themes, then a humorous band from Austin, the Small Stars. They had costumes, fake names, original songs, good musicianship...
And it was 11 before our band came on. Ian was disappointed at the small crowd, and Claire and Nick were fading fast, having stayed up late the night before. Unlike the Lucky, where Mark and Scrappy sit close together on the small stage, on the Gypsy's slightly larger stage they stood. Mark did not look so relaxed and happy, he looked actually a little tense. They played some songs that were not on the usual playlist, and as we left early, we didn't get to hear Lucky or Whatcha Gonna Do Bout It.
So there was a need to get things back to normal, regarding the Bump Band.
Alas, Mark was not there, so it wasn't completely normal. Another bass player sat in, and Don pronounced him perfectly satisfactory. We got to hear the songs we missed. I've been meaning to write down a bit of Lucky (as best I can understand it): Take me on a soul trip . . . show me what I'm missing . . . take me to the daybreak . . .baby, will you take me home . . .
Romantic, eh. That's what's great about that song, a sort of brooding, longing romanticism.
Sexy.

The First Anniversary

We made an early start last night, anticipating a big crowd for the anniversary and hoping to get there early. Of course, the earlier you leave, the longer it takes to get there. Traffic was creeping from Far West south, and it took a good 40 minutes to get there.
And it was raining. At home the rain had stopped, but downtown, there were still some drops falling. Don kindly let me and Pat out at the corner and went back to park in our usual spot near the Intel building, the never-finished monument to the last boom.
The band was hot. We'd missed some of the first set, but it seemed they played longer, with a shorter second set. Ian was more inclined than usual to talk, and he returned several times to the topic of record companies. He doesn't care for them. He spoke of an interview he recently heard with Billy Joe Shaver and how much he loved it and led into 'Hello Old Friend' which reminded me of Becky.
Actually it wasn't overfull, not like his birthday, but there were no chairs or couches free, so we stood behind the bar some, and for a while I stood up front, studying their outfits. There was not a torn pair of jeans onstage last night. Ian, who always wears bright-patterned shirts, wore a simple black one; Don Harvey wore a patterned one. Mark wore his grizzled beard and a simple white tee shirt with his jeans and black Converses, and I saw a tatoo around his bicep I hadn't noticed before. Scrappy may well have been wearing the same outfit he wore 3 weeks ago.
I noticed Don Harvey was wearing a yellow bracelet, Lance-style, so I checked everyone else's wrist. Mark wore a watch, which maybe explains why he is usually the first one back on stage. Scrappy wore a bracelet of squarish stones or beads. I saw nothing on Mac's wrists.
Probably it was being back in Austin that had Ian going. He described the club they'd played in Cleveland--'like this but dirtier...lower ceiling...' gesturing to the lovely high ceiling of the Lucky Lounge and complimenting it in passing. It was a good bunch in Cleveland, he said, a good bunch at other clubs they played recently, including Scholz Garden, but we, he said, were the best.
At the break we went up to the loft to sit for a few, and as we started down, Mark came running up, looking, he said for friends. In passing he ran a finger down my arm. He has an interesting affinity for the casual touch.
We missed 'Lucky' last night, but they finished with 'Whatcha Gonna Do Bout It.' When we went outside, the rain had stopped. We walked to the Intel building in a surprisingly bright evening sun. As I stood by the car, I looked up at the top of the building, where the columns end in a stiff fringe of rebar, and then I noticed the music of dripping water coming from the great concrete scuplture.