We were warmly welcomed by friends, K. and B., into the loving arms of Madison, Wisconsin. K. and B. are hip sociologists who live in a hip neighborhood and do hip Phd work. We got to relax for two whole nights in these surroundings, all the while feeling not-quite-cool-enough. We got some long-overdue curry in our bellies (K's suggestion via Lao Laan-Xang. YUM), and a dinner at The Weary Traveler, which had a great menu and even better atmosphere. We soaked up some local humidity, gaped at houses and farmer's markets that could give Portland, OR a run for its money, and tried to accomplish as much business as possible.

Quite satisfied with ourselves, we sauntered down to the Glass Nickel Pizza for our show. The booking was a little last-minute so the crowd was understandably on the small side. In fact, I think they were all employees of the GNP, plus B. who joined for a beer on a school night (awesome). Now this crowd may have been slight, but My God, it was mighty. Dare I say, the best audience yet????? There were screams, there were cheers, there were free shots and toasts (now, to be honest, there WASN'T any breast-signing or panty-throwing, but that's what a second tour is for!!!). The pictures didn't turn out, but we were tickled pink, as they say, and went home with big smiles and even bigger love for Madison, WI. If only it didn't get freakishly cold there in the winters.

On the way "home" to K. and B.'s, we stopped by the ultra-hip Mickey's Tavern, took many a stoic, self-pleasing picture, and lamented that so many bars generally sell all the same liquids, so why not put the extra effort into interior design? Show them the light, Mickey's!

Onto Sheboygan:
Not only does this town satisfy a deep and urgent wish to play a show in all the locations ever mentioned in a Tom Waits song (and for the record, we've already hit Euclid Avenue, Kankakee, Tipp City, and we left Montana) , but there are some big ol' juicy hearts to be found, and we're willing to make the hunt easy for you. They're at The Green Room on Indiana Avenue. Jerry, Cleo, and Jackson welcomed us into their family, where we met Montana Skies in a serendipitous double-booking. The poster read, "Tumbledown House from Montana and Montana Skies from Georgia". So true. What a night! If you haven't educated yourself on the works of MT Skies, check 'em out. We're willing to bet you haven't seen a cello ravaged in public quite like this. Post-show, we took lessons from the venerable scholar Cleo, on the intricate study of Horny Buffaloes. Delicious!

We couldn't help but notice that the man in the front left of the picture, who goes by "Chowda" bore an uncanny resemblance to a certain bartender on a certain longest-running-animation/show-on-TV. Take another look:
Or perhaps you would argue he looks like a certain tall, lanky next-door-neighbor on a certain TV show whose title is Seinfeld. Either way, Chowda promised to fix the overwhelming gas smell in our van the next morning, despite the fact that he's not a mechanic. This all made perfect sense in light of the horny buffaloes, but by morning we were treated to a civilized breakfast by Montana Skies and felt the old pull of the road. Thanks to Scott (Buffalo Joe Band) for letting us take up his real estate, facilities, and for supplying Tyler with beer until dawn. Sheboygan, you snuck up and stole our tattered little hearts.

Off we went in search of bright lights through the corn fields and dairy barns. Our GPS system seems to have been programmed by a crack head, and often steers us directly into the heart of the ghetto. That's how we knew we had arrived in Milwaukee. After a few Alice Cooper quotes (via Wayne's World), we arrived at the fabulously decorated Art Bar:

This bar was decorated by Don (likely the coolest man in Milwaukee and surely the best hugger within city limits) who after 15 years as an interior decorator, decided to design a bar that HE would actually hang out in. Multiple local artists are featured including a "Painting of the Week" which is one canvas that is repainted by a new artist every week. After a year, they take it down, throw a huge party, and cut the thick painting into 52 pieces and distribute a chunk to each contributing artist.

Everywhere one looks in this quirky lay-out, there is something subtle but fabulous to draw the eye. Bottle caps (from sodas no longer in existence) intricately placed into a pattern on two huge columns, a row of wine corks mid-wall and all the way around the room, a collage of paint-by-number portraits...It really deserved a whole blog itself but I'm in a cheap motel room and probably riddled with H1N1, so forgive me, Don! I will mention, however, that he owns the bar next door as well ("Two") and designed it with the theme of couples, lovers, and flirtation. There are kissing booths that are never entirely private, nothing but love songs on the jukebox, and sexy red lighting to go with red retro furniture, flooring, and walls. Everyone looks phenomenal in there. Really. Suspiciously good.

We caught a fantastic dinner at the best Vietnamese restaurant in the city (of course we forgot the name), which happened to be on the same block, and our inner urban muse started to feel whole again.

We had our first repeat audience member who saw us on a fluke in Sheboygan and made the effort to come find us in his native Milwaukee. Thanks, Dave! Hmm, hope I got that right. Milwaukee, we will see you again soon, Darling.

My dear friends: in reporting on our evening at Palmer's Bar in Minneapolis on Sunday I'm not sure what should be included and what should be left to ferment in the whiskey soaked annals of the bar's checkered past. Our evening began with a white-knuckled navigation of the Minneapolis freeway system, being the first real driving experience in heavy urban traffic with the trailer. Having arrived in the West Bank (which is only marginally safer than the region of Israel bearing the same name), we scanned the dismal parking situation until we found a suitable spot large enough for Rocinante's proud and healthful girth.

A brief inspection of Palmer's interior quickly revealed that this night was likely to be among the most memorable that we've shared. An extremely diverse crowd was at once welcoming, the staff was incredibly polite and considerate, and musicians were setting up on a dimly lit stage in the corner. We noticed that the piano was held up on cinder blocks and that there were chains suspended from the ceiling. Additional musicians continued to shuffle in. We took our seats and sat attentively as the band began.


This gentleman here is Cornbread Harris. He is 82 years old, has no teeth, and has been playing music twice as long as I've been alive. There were two separate film crews present, each filming a different documentary about this man, which may give you an idea of the level of mystique that surrounds him. He doesn't drink, doesn't go to the doctor, and can still tour for weeks at a time or capture the heart of a young girl. Honestly, I've never seen anything like it. At one point, he was giving a rundown of the events that were to take place that evening. He seemed to be reading off a slip of paper and mentioned 'Tomahawk', which I thought might be a new misinterpretation of Tumbledown House. I was delightfully mistaken.. More on that later.

Cornbread shares the stage with a slick, fast-handed rockabilly piano player named Cadillac Kolstad, who recently returned from New Orleans. Cadillac wears his hair in a thick top-heavy pompadour that is reminiscent of a cross between Elvis and a funeral director. As the music heats up, Cadillac's foot starts pounding, he stands, beats his hands on the piano, and the once impecabbly groomed pompadour flails wildly, spilling greasy hair all over his face. Amazingly, after the song is over, he whips out a comb and with a couple of well honed swipes, his 'do is back to its original position. This band uses no electricity for its instruments (vocals being the only exception) which I have an increasing amount of respect for. So many acts these days rely on excessive volume to hold their audience captive, and it's extremely refreshing to see a band that doesn't need electricity to convey intensity.

After Cadillac pounded out a few more numbers, a few gals strutted in dressed as Native American vixens, and I saw that Tomahawk was not another mispronunciation of Tumbledown House, but was in fact a Cherokee themed burlesque dancer. Of course! I should have known! So she proceeded to get up on the piano and stomp her moccasin-clad feet so hard on the lid that I was almost certain she would break through the wood. Lo and behold, she commanded a keen sense of balance as well as a thorough understanding of the structural integrity of a vintage piano. As the night progressed, clothing may or may not have been removed, and I may or may not have pictures that won't be posted here.

In conclusion, I must HIGHLY recommend that anyone in the Minneapolis area go check out Cadillac vs. Cornbread on Sunday nights. Like all good things, this too will someday end, and I pity the fool who has the opportunity to witness such a unique and respectable act and passes.

Our set was received very well, and we thank all of the kind folks who bought CDs, showered us with generosity (and whiskey), and put us up for the evening (thanks Adam). The night wouldn't have been complete without a trip to the Hard Times Cafe, which is a seperate blog entry all together.

We begrudgingly left Minneapolis, and spent a relaxing evening camping near Lake Wissota near Eau Claire, WI and headed to Madison, which easily captured our hearts with Laotian cuisine, hip coffee shops, and close views of the lake. We look forward to our show at the Glass Nickel tonight, and a great lineup tomorrow with Montana Skies in Sheboygan. An article was written about the Sheboygan show. You can check it out here.

Also, check out more info (including some great youtube footage) on Cadillac, Cornbread, and lady Tomahawk here.

Cheers!
TR

Greetings from the road! Our trusty steed, Rocinante, has now carried us safely over a thousand miles to the quiet little town of Mankato, MN, where I sit now enjoying a caffeine buzz and recalling the last few days for our beloved readers.

Gillian's birthday party was a thoroughly enjoyable evening! Special thanks go out to Corkworks Wine Co. for contributing to the tasty reds and whites, Archer's Mob for pumping out the perfectly appropriate groove tunes, Rhea for providing the delicious gluten-free goodies, Chum and Sally for all of their hard work and crisis management skills, and all of our friends and family from near and far who pitched in to make the celebration nothing short of spectacular.



We had a great time at the Filling Station, and our Bozeman crowd really came through to send us off in style. Our first stop on our national tour was Billings, which we found to be a little anti-climactic after the excitement of packing up the van and setting out upon the open road. Nonetheless, after picking up Gillian (see attached photo), we had a great time playing at the Railyard. Special thanks go out to Morris for bringing a wonderful group of folks to our performance! After the show, we braved the mean streets a bit and found some extremely drunk guys to kick our trailer for us (thanks dude!) and headed off.



In the morning, we found ourselves in gorgeous Spearfish, South Dakota. Not knowing what to expect, we were pleasantly surprised to find a very inviting landscape whose natural beauty could rival that of Penelope Cruz and a population whose taste for booze could give Bukowski a run for his money. The staff and patrons at the Spearfish Chophouse and Whiskey Bar couldn't have been more generous and accommodating. They even named a shot after us: a scrumptious concoction consisting of whiskey, ginger, and grenadine. A few of these inspired one of the largest dance parties we have ever seen to our music and a very pleasant sing-along rendition of 'Rocky Racoon' to close the show.

A quick note: While in the black hills I read a little about DUSEL, the deep underground science and engineering laboratory that is currently in construction in Lead, SD. When completed, the lab will be the deepest underground facility in the world at 8000 feet. The idea of scientists in white coats studying things like dark matter and neutrinos over a mile and half under the surface of the earth appeals greatly to my inner dork, and I look forward to following this project because I think it is so damn cool.

After an extremely long drive to Sioux Falls, we arrived at McNally's, which has the most amazing air ventilation system inside a venue that I've ever seen. The pub had a gorgeous interior and we were treated very kindly by the manager (thanks Lacy) and patrons. After the show, we hit the road again and had one of the best nights of rest in the van thus far.

Tonight we play at Palmer's in Minneapolis! One review of Palmer's claimed "Dirty P's is a very fitting nickname for this bar (as I have heard it called). Somehow, it feels cozy yet kind of gross....sort of like a relatives house that very faintly smells of cat urine". This is obviously our type of place. We're opening for Cadillac Kolstad and Cornbread Harris. This show is going to be so awesome.

In conclusion, our spirits are soaring and so far we have had nothing but good experiences. Rocinante seems in good health and we are honing our skills in the fine art of backing up with a trailer. Our only complaint is that our free time while on the road is fairly limited and we have to apologize in advance if we haven't kept in touch as much as we'd like to. Thanks for reading, we'll see you soon when the lights go down in the city.

Cheers,
TR

Recently the Tumbledown House crew set off to historic Virginia City, Montana to play at the Bale of Hay Saloon. For those of you unfamiliar with Virginia City, it's like Tombstone without the gift shops or Deadwood without video poker. Virginia City (and neighboring Nevada City) have done such incredible jobs preserving the original look and feel of the late 1800's that they both stand today as shining examples for every other boom-town-turned-tourist-attraction.


They have not only done an impeccable job of maintaining the exteriors of the buildings, but many of the structures contain the actual relics from the original time period, allowing you to peer inside to check out its 19th century goodness. Here, for example, is one of many storefront windows complete with shoes, gloves, and other weird shit.

Other stores contain original canned goods that were for sale. Some of them are augmented with mannequins that are intended to enhance the overall effect and make the history seem more "alive", although in my opinion they just look contrived and downright creepy.


On the particular night that we were to perform at the Bale of Hay, Virginia City was hosting its annual parade and ball, where hundreds of period nuts bring out their corsets, parasols, and cummerbunds and parade up and down main street. While I unfortunately was unable to get a photo of them in en masse, I was able to snap this shot of a few musicians in the main room of the Bale of Hay. One of these psychos is actually a former teacher of Gillian's, which explains a lot.


If you've enjoyed the blog thus far, you'll be delighted to know that I have yet to reach the best part. After our show in Virginia City, the next morning we headed to neighboring Nevada City, which is maybe even a little less touristy. Lo and behold, dear reader, there we found the most incredible thing. Some may call it the source. Others may refer to it as the Largest Collection of Automated Music Machines in the world. Oh my fucking god. Behold:



Unfortunately, neither the pictures nor my limited vocabulary can do this mecca justice. They have player pianos whose pitch wavers as their mechanical insides grind together to churn out ghostly melodies. Automated organs billow out clouds of noise that can be heard across town. Mallets, xylophones, and beaters beat out rhythms along with the throng. So, what does the municipal township of Nevada City charge for entrance to their fair music hall? $20? $10? $5? No, you guessed it.. It's free. And the machines cost a nickel to operate. Jesus. I would have given a kidney to witness this splendor.


So in conclusion, you need to get your ass down to Virginia and Nevada cities and check this shit out. It's just amazing. Here's another pic from Nevada City. These people are just walking around in their bonnets. They don't care about anything. And if you do go, please behave yourself and watch your children. We saw one ungrateful little bastard complain that the music hall was "boring" and was tugging on one of the machine's fragile wooden parts. Don't be that guy. Don't let your kid be that guy either. If you think that in a hundred and fifty years there will be a museum with 'Golden Tee' and 'Dance Dance Revolution' you are sorely mistaken.

As an added bonus, as you are exiting Nevada City, there stands a house that can only be described as Tim Burton's wet dream. I hope that it is condemned, because if anyone lived here the envy would just be too much for me to bear.



Thanks for reading. We leave for our massive tour in two weeks. Currently our van is in the shop with possible engine issues, we're having trouble with some of our gear, and I may be getting sick. Somehow, I'm confident that it will all come together.

Cheers,
TR