Colorado, home of the Megasode. Where a man can walk a mile high.

Denver Rock City

The last time we were in Colorado we were treated well. We played to great crowds and made a lot of friends, walking away from each show with smiles on our faces and sweet, sweet beer in our bellies. We came home to OKC with a plan to return as soon as possible and hoped to do so by summer. So it should come as no surprise that we were feeling pretty good about ourselves as the Denver skyline came into view Wednesday afternoon. We played a great warm up show in Nebraska .We had followed through on our promise to ourselves. And there we were, entering the mile high city.

Denver felt like the real start of this thing of ours. Its is the second gig in what will be a run of six shows in seven days that will see us traverse the Rockies and drive 1376 miles to the Puget Sound and my sister’s welcoming arms. Our days off had been fun but this was going to be more than we had ever attempted. To have this realization dawn on us in comfortable environs was a plus. For things to go as well as they did during our time in Denver was a pleasant surprise.

Three Kings tavern is a great place to play. Good sized room without being so big it swallows everything. The staff is kind and very cool. Good P.A. And pinball!!! I love pinball. And these were new machines. Manufactured by a company named Stern. I had thought Pinball manufacturing in the US was dead but by the grace of the gods, there is one company still making fun in America. Kaboom! It wasn’t all cherries and sunshine however, we were tired. Very tired. There is a certain amount of freedom that comes with having nothing to do but play music. You fill your time with booze. And bad jokes. And more booze. The hours drag and then they don’t. The minutes pass and then you wonder where they went. And the whole time when you would be doing your normal routine you’re doing the opposite. When you would normally be active, you’re sedate. When you’d be resting, you’re sweating and unlike normal life (or maybe just like normal life for some of you) there is always someone with a highly alcoholic beverage aching to enable you. So needless to say we had to summon all of our strength to get to show time. Dally was poopy. Merchy was sleepy. Panda was half shit faced. Abe was meticulously stroking his beard. Snow Cobra was walking around the block talking on the phone and I was pacing.

Archons (sorry guys, the name was misspelled on the megasode and it took so fucking long to put it together we couldn’t summon the strength to fix it) was a metal band from San Diego that were more brutal than I have words to describe…like if Slayer got stranded on the moon and wrote songs about the lack of oxygen. Does that make sense? No. It doesn’t, but I’m running with it. Lots of demonic growls, soaring solos and a drummer that attacked his drums like they owed him money

Next band…us. We played. People liked it. And cool shit happened the next day,

The Dropskots played last and they were damn good. A little Jimmy Eat Worldish but in a good way (I actually like J.E.W so that is definitely a compliment), and they could definitely PLAY.  All said and done, a good show. We sold some merch, made a little money and even more friends. After party, floor, sleep, next day.

Denver

Special thanks to Vic and Joel from St. Fall Apart for booking the show and doing shots with me…respectively. Without them the show wouldn’t have happened and wouldn’t have been as fun.

So there are a couple of people that we befriended in Denver that offered their expertise and kindness to us and I want to stress how incredibly cool it was for them to do so. Jason from Kitchen’s Ink (who we met at the after party) offered all of us free tattoos (for the record neither The Panda, Merchy nor I accepted while Cool Boobs, Abe and The Snow Cobra jumped at the opportunity). While that was happening Justin Henkl (formerly of the Blackout Pact and now in Only Thunder), luthier extraordinaire, did a complete set up on all of our guitars. In addition he showed us the inner workings of Suburban Home Records. where he makes sure shit gets done. Do not fuck with Justin Hackle.

Virgil. Proprieter. Owner of  Suburban Home Records, took pity on us and donated  enough free music to get us to the Pacific Ocean without having to listen to Thin Lizzy again. Oh and we got coozies…and some good stuff to send to Dirk in Iraq. It was a long day so we were running a little late having basked in the glow of generosity. But fortunately we got to Ft. Collins just in time to eat free pizza.

Ft. Collins no matter what.

I love Ft. Collins. Something. Maybe it reminds me of home. Maybe it’s the college town vibe. Maybe the kindness of it’s citizens. Or maybe it’s the fact that they have so many breweries that offer enough free beer to get a mid afternoon drunk. In any case, when going west we will always stop there. It also happens to be right where we are going to route every western excursion we take.

Surf side Seven is a bar/pizza joint with a very small “stage” set-up. And by small, I mean smaller than Kirby’s beer store. In fact it’s basically a small drum riser. It’s tiny…moving on. This actually makes it a more intimate experience. A small crowd can have a lot of energy and we can feed off that. Surfside provides pizza to the bands as well. The value of this and the quality of the pizza cannot be overstated. Good stuff. The staff was again awesome. We had a lot of fun and made some good scratch. We stayed with Dally”s friend Coslon that night and headed to Colorado Springs… but not before a brief pit stop at The New Belgium Brewery. Beer. My favorite liquid. Free beer. My favorite free liquid…

Thank you for giving the world JJ Nobody, Colorado Springs.

We were tired. There were tuning issues. But other than that we had a good show. Played with our friends Kings and Thieves at The Triple Nickel (JJ Nobody’s bar) and had the pleasure of busting out the hoodies in July due to the wind coming off the Rockies. Which was weird and strangely gratifying.

Colorado had been a whirlwind and the whole time we drove up and down I-25 I kept looking west at those imposing peaks, daring us to cross them with our gargantuan trailer.

Onward to Salt Lake and the ghost of Brigham Young. Where the liquor laws are more fucked up than Oklahoma’s. Utah on Sunday…well I’ll get to that later. Some notes on the Megasode.

It’s long. We’re sorry. You should have seen the first cut. It was even bigger and dumber. We’re going to try and catch up but only having one computer hampers our efficiency.  There is no really narrative to the Megsode either. It does seem to feature Garrett predominately. His rendition of ‘Snow Cobra” the song is my favorite part.  Well that and the mini bike that almost got me killed. No brakes! No brakes!

-paul

red city radio


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