MPMF wrap-up


Disclaimer: this blog features brutal honesty. I name names and probably will piss some people off with this, but frankly don’t care.

I’m back in Boston now. Specifically Cambridge. The girls and I drove back east on Monday morning, enduring a fourteen-hour drive amidst a heinous thunderstorm. It sucked ass, but we definitely had some good albeit delirious conversations. About an hour into the worst section of the storm, we started contemplating the horrible injuries we would incur from a seemingly inevitable catastrophic car accident. I lamented the loss of my face, while it was determined that Randi would certainly die and Dhy would become paralyzed. Discussing our fears and anxieties curiously helped keep the mood upbeat.

Where I left off in my last post was that I had a show on Friday, the 24 at Neon’s. Well, I don’t know if it was a show, exactly. It was a songwriters in the round. 4 songwriters up on stage, jamming on each other’s tunes. Great idea in concept? Pretty much everyone who came to see me was extremely disappointed since I only played four songs, each one accompanied by the haphazard instrumentation of my peers onstage and interrupted by the next 3 dudes who played. I had a great time, jamming on the songs of other people and the relaxed vibe was fun for me. Was it fun for the audience? Not especially, I don’t think. I performed “I Need a Reason” “Wrong” “Trophy Fuck” and “What Did I Do.”

The next day, we rehearsed a lot and got our set figured out for our show at the Inner Peace Center. While the guys working the sound were sweethearts, the venue was pretty bizarre. I mean, it wasn’t a bar, so there was no bar traffic, and it was kind of removed from where the other venues were. The other bands on the bill were good but had nothing in common with Mrs Danvers sonically, and didn’t bring in much of a crowd at all. We were also the first band, going on at 8:00, and the stage manager tried to end our set fifteen minutes before it was supposed to be done. Frankly, we got shafted, in terms of lineup and venue and promotion.

I’d also like to note that the only press we got from Citybeat was a microscopic blurb (every band got one) that commented on how we “littered” genres. Passive aggressive, much? Despite our aggressive flyering and attending others’ shows, none of the local musicians with whom I’ve played shows throughout the years attended, much less acknowledged me when I saw them on the street (Eric Diedrichs, hello? Guys from Wussy, hello? Anyone from No No Knots would it have killed you to come to our show?). Is it really true that people in Brooklyn and Boston, supposed east coast hipster elitists, are actually nicer and more welcoming than midwesterners? Regardless, hometown heroes, we were not.

That’s the negative. The positive? CincyGroove.com covered the show, posting videos and pics. (Thanks Scott). Somehow a horde of lesbians found out about the show and came, which fucking rocked. My friend David lent his fog machine and bubbler which we used to fun effect. And my mom and two of her friends and Dhy’s family came and all had a blast. I mean they loved the show, which made it worth while. Songsparrow loved the show, saying that we were their favorite act of the entire festival.Plus, we sold a shitton of merch that covered our gas on the way home and then some.

I can’t say that I didn’t leave with a somewhat bitter taste in my mouth. I think we deserved a little better. Two fourteen-hour death-defying road trips brought my band and I closer together as people. And connected at least Dhy and I to our families in a really cool way. I think the music community in Cincinnati just has a ginormous, pretentious stick up its ass. When it extricates said stick, I will be back in a heartbeat.

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