We went to see General Public last night. They played at a place called Barracuda which is a enormous meet-barn off Burnside with a fakey beachy-island type theme and huge aquarium behind the bar. Well, the bar in the part we were in. It was a huge place, there was another downstairs half with another bar and an upstairs and pool tables. The women’s room had 12 stalls – I counted. There may have been more than one women’s room. I didn’t check.
It’s the kind of place with drinks served in giant fishbowls and lots of room to see and be seen. I would have *loved* this place when I was 21 but at this point in my life, I felt like I was getting away with something just by being there. And on a work night.
Bob had called in advance to get our tickets and was informed the band would go on at 9pm and we arrived at 9pm and were not thrilled when at 10:30pm the band still hadn’t started. Come on, people. There are grownups in the audience. It’s way past our bedtime. The $2 Rolling Rock (sponsoring the event) was only mildly placating as the basis for my agitation was a desire to be fully functional on Friday. Drinking a bunch of cheap beer would not further my cause.
The crowd, which was modest, is impossible to categorize. I saw a little bit of everything but at least 1/4 of the room was people our age. Just about the time I was preparing to incite a riot, the band came out and after about three bars of “Tenderness” all was forgiven. I loved every minute of the show and when the main set ended I looked at Bob with a hint of outrage and demanded to know how long they had played.
Almost an hour and a half. They came back out and played more and ended with “Save it for Later.” Perfect.
On the way back to the car there was this young woman standing in front of a glass door and she had a dog and recall I have this adult onset irrational fear of dogs thing and I assumed it was some sort of blood-thirsty deathhound and as we got closer it looked like some sort of goofy cartoon dog with a sweet face and batboy ears which he flapped a little as we walked by. We saw the sign for the shop and it was Voodoo Donut (The Magic is in the Hole) which we’d heard about at the Neal Pollack reading.
Next thing I know, Bob is charging in there. It’s a cramped space with a counter and a bench and while we were there, some mad professor type guy who was talking loudly something about a bicycle and a ditch. Bob bought a lemon cruller and a maple bar thing and I had a bit of each and it was awesome. I think they use extra fat and sugar.
We were in bed, lights out a 1am (ouch!). Totally worth it.
