Maiden Post of Jamey Pink
Hello Huckleberry lovers far and wide, this here is Jamey Pink' saying howdy. And we're coming along quite nicely here at Huckleberry Slim, thanks for askin'. Nate's doing some great work on the website. I am eagerly awaiting it with beaver breath. We had an accidental first gig at the C-Note this past week as the "feature band" at the open mic with Dylan Nirvana as the substitute host. Big thanks to him for his encouragement and fine work on the mixing board. For being largley unrehearsed I would say it went rather swimmingly. Our set list was comprised of 1) TIME TO MOVE ON, 2) MISSING MISSISSIPPI MISTER, 3) a SISSY>HOLLYWOOD medley (replete with the rap), and our perennial closer of SAY GOODNIGHT, during which we had a bit of a Spinal Tap situation ala when they play the airforce base and get mixed up with the radio transmissions, when my cell phone sent the guitar signals all akimbo. Oops! We also gave away copies of our demo to anybody who wanted one. My cute brazilian friend with the cheetah tattoo on her shoulder remarked, "Baby, why are you guys giving these away for free?" To which my zen master response was, "Exactly."
Afterwards, we sojourned to our lil' nook in Union Square for a post-gig session with guest cornet player Nathan Erenrode and Rocketrain Mike on drums. We were pretty bushed after the trek from Loisiada to Broadway and pumpkin time came earlier then usual. The Lil' Brown Jug Man did not grace us with his presence, but we expect his imminent return. Who is the Lil' Brown Jug Man, you ask? A fella who comes by when we play the park (with some disturbing regularity) and proceeds to "teach" us the old children's song. He handles the verses and we are to sing the choruses, "Ha Ha Ho, Hee Hee Hee, Little Brown Jug, how I love thee." We all acknowledge the strangeness of it, and perhaps like to think that we're humoring him. But I can't help but think there's some deeper cosmic significance to him. As though he's our guardian angel -or stealing from Salinger (or to continue stealing from Salinger as I did in SHINE YOUR SHOES) he's the fat lady who's listening to the transistor radio all day long, for whom we're supposed to shine our shoes, and do our best with all our heart. Just so long as she's not near an airforce base, I reckon. I can say this, my cell phone has never chirped up or created radar like interference during a rendition of lil' brown jug, and I doubt if it ever will.
Afterwards, we sojourned to our lil' nook in Union Square for a post-gig session with guest cornet player Nathan Erenrode and Rocketrain Mike on drums. We were pretty bushed after the trek from Loisiada to Broadway and pumpkin time came earlier then usual. The Lil' Brown Jug Man did not grace us with his presence, but we expect his imminent return. Who is the Lil' Brown Jug Man, you ask? A fella who comes by when we play the park (with some disturbing regularity) and proceeds to "teach" us the old children's song. He handles the verses and we are to sing the choruses, "Ha Ha Ho, Hee Hee Hee, Little Brown Jug, how I love thee." We all acknowledge the strangeness of it, and perhaps like to think that we're humoring him. But I can't help but think there's some deeper cosmic significance to him. As though he's our guardian angel -or stealing from Salinger (or to continue stealing from Salinger as I did in SHINE YOUR SHOES) he's the fat lady who's listening to the transistor radio all day long, for whom we're supposed to shine our shoes, and do our best with all our heart. Just so long as she's not near an airforce base, I reckon. I can say this, my cell phone has never chirped up or created radar like interference during a rendition of lil' brown jug, and I doubt if it ever will.
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