Day 7
Swedish American Hall, San Francisco, 29 January 2005
We're developing a bit of a routine: get up, “meet in the lobby”, drive to airport, get lost, check in luggage while Rob drops off the car, take off all our clothes and go through security, enjoy a beverage and perhaps a pastry before boarding a tiny plane and being forced to sit on my amplifier because it won't fit in the overhead locker, listen to some music while watching America glide by far below, land, wait in the baggage claim area while Rob picks up the rental car, get lost on the way to the hotel.
Today Roberto's mysteriously heavy bag has failed to arrive. We will later discover that it is so heavy because he has absent-mindedly packed twenty-five t-shirts.
The venue is strangely ecclesiastical. The seats look like they ought to have kneelers underneath them. It's once again hard to believe that the two hundred seats will all be filled, but they are.
It shouldn't be, but this is growing tiring. Matt seems to have developed a cough. Often, when we are fighting adversity, things become foolish. I think this is because you spend a few idle hours backstage getting bored and wondering how it's going to go, so when you actually get on stage and find out, you experience a strange lift in your spirits, and foolishness ensues. Tonight it's partly because someone makes a request for 'When I finally get my own place', a song we have never performed live before, in which we have to include huge pauses while we remember the words. Then Matt decides we should make up a song in honour of the area we are in, Castro, which goes down very well. These things are often better received than the actual songs, and I'm afraid this only encourages us.
