October 3rd, 2011 | by Loch Lomond Music | Posted In: Tour Diary

Loch Lomond: Bathroom Sipping is Not a Crime (Santa Barbara/Visalia)

     
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Almost everything is bigger in California.

We pulled into Santa Barbara to play the Mercury Lounge.  Think Regal Beagle of Three's Company fame. That's Orlando, I know, but this was it in shoebox form: a hamster coffin decorated like Jack Tripper's pickup bar.  KCSB, one of the best college radio stations ever, broadcasted the show live (first time in school history) using the finest equipment and audio engineering techniques college radio has to offer: two mics at the back of the room.  So really, they broadcast the audience live.  It was awesome nonetheless.  Special thanks to Ted Coe who set the whole thing up.  We love you guys.

 


Many a weird-German-beer later, I slipped out for some hard licks at the liquor store next door.  Bathroom sipping is not a crime.  Janet, Chrissy and Mr. Roper helped us up onto the VW Van–sized stage where somehow I managed to whack poor bass–playing Perry in the head repeatedly with a plastic whirly tube we use for sound effect on some songs.  Whack! Whack whack! … Whack — whack!

On the patio outside, after the show, an older "gentleman" was creeping around trying to bet people he had "the biggest cock in the club. I betcha $20!".  You couldn't make this stuff up.

The next day we walked down to the University of California Santa Barbara campus -- a square mile of 45,000 college students.  It might as well have been a third world country gone wrong.  Never let your daughters into student housing down there.  Burning couches on the sidewalks, trash and beer cans everywhere, everyone in pajama bottoms.  Yuck.

After two hours in this alternate universe of debauchery, we drove north to Visalia to play The Cellar Door.  It's a small-town-booty-shakin' club five nights a week, and wine bar/live–music venue on Fridays.  At about 7 o'clock we were sound checking when two little Asian ladies trotted their giant fake breasts in the door followed, of course, by two jocko-types.  They were all wham-drunk and began hollering, "Party.  Let's PARTY!  We wanna fuckin' dance."  Gyrating in a silicone wobble, one pointed to Perry's upright bass and shouted, "You can't party with a giant violin!".



We played that night with Athens, Georgia natives Futurebirds, who are incredibly badass.  An amazing, amazing band.  The bass player looked like a fictional character; think fluffy-headed muppet with a huge mustache and deep Southern accent.  He all but ignored the gorgeous girl hitting on him, and instead spent all his time chatting to me about wasted touring incidents.  Man, talk to the girl -- the girl! Nope, just stories about illicit chemical balancing acts and anonymous romantic golden showers.

We left with a parting gift of 82oz Coronas from the bartender, and faded off into the night to sleep on a hospitable fan's floor.  Little did we know we were staying next to a Navy basic-training base, and were woken up with the sun to the Drill Sargent hollering and a, "YES SIR! Stomp stomp stomp … YES SIR!!!"  We've been walking in lockstep ever since, chanting: "Twenty bucks is on the line, says your cock is bigger than mine". 

 

- Ritchie Young


Extra: Ritchie's drawing of what tour looks like:

 


 
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