After hours of relentlessly gorgeous drive-by scenery, we reach Atlanta in mid-afternoon, scope out the venue and head for the home of our host, Tedi’s long-time friend Audrey, where we spend a comfortable few hours before loading in. It’s another indie rocker, a little more upscale and decidedly less testosterone-infused. But still… It’s called EARL. What can I say. The crowd is good, the right poster is displayed prominently and we deliver a solid performance, minus a few words that come out sideways, as usual, from me. No amount of memorizing can counter the effects of old equipment, I suppose. We spend the night in separate houses near to one another, one quiet and full of art seemingly of the school of horror vaccuii, the other full of musicians who while away the night following a reportedly splendid klezmer mandolinist. I don’t hear a note.
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