Rain In The Summertime


I was sitting on the dining room table, writing yesterday’s post, when I saw a post from the Rebel Stage and realized that I wanted to see two of their artists in early afternoon.  As an independent stage, their  schedule is not dictated by the Overlords Of Summerfest, but it is also not part of their app schedule, so you have to figure it out.  Anyways, Wife Sublime was so excellent to drive me down so I could see a solo set from Eoin McCarthy and one from Andrew Weber, both from Whiskey of the Damned and dammit you should know that damn band.

I spent a fair amount of time there, and got to know many artists.  Because musicians are beautiful people.  But after a while, I had to bail so I could go get a place for Roger Clyne, who is also an artist nobody (other than mikey) knows.  And that is kind of when the rain started, on an off-and on pattern.

Roger was awesome, and I think he was better than when we saw him last year, but maybe that was because I was right up front:


And then it started raining with more enthusiasm.  Roger said “in Arizona we consider rain to be a blessing”.  Sorry, buddy, but in Wisconsin we find rain to be a pain in the ass and it tends to dilute our beers.

We sloshed over to the stage where the Wooldridge Brothers was supposed to play, and they were scrabbling to recover from the downpour.  It took forever, and the band (a large band, 7 piece) were considering playing without monitors but they managed to get the magic in place, to allow them to play a hard and fast half hour set.


Hilariously, their bass player Jack Rice immediately scampered to the neighboring stage, to play with Radio Radio, a local new wave cover band.  After much mopping, the band managed to play the first Cars album front to back (with extras) and a couple of good augments.  But I felt like the Cars themselves probably were not as good.  And certainly, they never had an ASL interpreter as part of the show….


After this, I needed to buoy my glucose, and so I got a couple of tacos, and then we wandered for a bit, but hangin long enough to see Pat Benatar or Rick Springfield was, for me, a difficult sale.  So we bailed.

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