A Party in my Ear

..and everyone was invited.  That’s about the size of the racket we all generated last weekend at the first (and hopefully not the last) Provincetown Rocks festival at the very fingertip of Cape Cod.  By now, anyone in the know about Boston rock has heard that there were potential problems, cancellations, scheduling issues, nobody got paid, etc.  So let me just state for the record that we were slated to appear at 10:30pm on Thursday at Good Times, and at 8 on Friday night at Vixen.  Well, amazingly enough, we went on at 10:30 on Thursday and at 8 on Friday, to pretty good crowds each night (and I mean it was more than just other bands there to see us).  So frankly, I have no complaints about this thing, and I salute Martin Doyle for sticking his ass on the burner and leaving it there until it was good and blistered.  This was a worthy endeavor that a lesser man would have been unable to pull off.  Thanks Martin!  Great work man.

Following a nice writeup in the Boston Globe, we all rolled down on Thursday afternoon in two cars (one for the band and one for the ladies), found the traffic over the Bourne Bridge to be mercifully light, and were at our cozy little bayside motel by five or so.  We unpacked, cracked a beer to prime the pump, and then it was time for Ptown proper.  I don’t know what you’ve heard about this place, but I think it’s all true.  Yes, the love that formerly dared not speak its name is out and about, and proud about it.  There is actually a fast food joint called Burger Queen, and there’s a jewelry shop called Spank the Monkey.  I also saw a lot of families with their kids walking the strip, some old salts, some townies, and of course a bunch of Boston musicians all looking for another place to party.  The overall vibe of the town in general, and the strip in particular, is that of a big, neverending street festival.  The streets are Europeanishly narrow, and mostly devoid of sidewalks.  The cars don’t get going much faster than five miles an hour through town because there’s some topless  body-painted dude passing out flyers for henna tattoos, a cop directing traffic while spinning around in the street (that guy’s been at it for at least fifteen years now, I’ve seen him before), bicyclists riding against traffic, people wandering.  Typical beach town stuff like homemade ice cream, overpriced doodads involving shells, a lot of mediocre art (and some really good stuff too) in any of twenty-odd galleries, salt water taffy.  There is only one beach town in all the land, you know.  It’s always the same, but it’s always awesome.

And of course, like any good musicians, we brought the party with us.  Adam and Whitney somehow managed to find a house, as did Boston super scenestress Abby, so it was all night every night.  We made it out of Thursday’s hijinx around 4:30am, which was about ten minutes before the cops showed up.  Just like playing the stock market exactly right, we sold high!  And we managed to get about twice as many people into the “hot” tub as really had any business fitting in.  It was more of a “luke warm” tub, but still a worthy effort.  As for the next night, it turns out Abby and Ryan found a place that was built circa 1773(!) and is still in excellent condition.  There’s nothing like an ancient dwelling with tiny rooms and doorways to make you feel tall, and dizzy, because there is not a right angle left in that place.  Or maybe that was the beer.

In our three days, we saw solid performances from our friends The Luxury, Gene Dante and the Future Starlets, Aloud and The Shills, and caught up with intrepid sonic chroniclers Playground Boston. We summed up our time out there in an interview with The Boston Herald. It was an odd experiment, but a great time and a worthy effort by Martin.  Too much beer, not enough sleep, just enough rocking.  Let’s do it again next year!


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