Last night, the spouse and I actually went to a show! Thanks to Myla Mud of Mud on My Bra for putting on a great birthday show at Cafe Racer, a weird and welcoming space walking distance from Square Pig HQ. We hadn’t heard any of the bands before and didn’t expect to know any of the musicians, so of course the fiddle player in Merchant Mariner was someone we’ve known for years. Sometimes Seattle is still a small town. And a bottomless well of band names, such as:
This sounds like a goofy rom-com about lowering expectations and doing something you like with someone who likes you. (I first encountered them when they followed me on Twitter, a big deal because I have only 14 followers. So I was pleased to see them come up in the club listings so soon.)
I choose to believe it’s a cat or other modest-sized mammal, not something that’s going to ARRGGGHHH . . .
Professional respect. The octopus, like the writer, is reclusive, clever, and if threatened, disappears in a cloud of ink.
How to bro in three easy steps.
The third band from Myla’s birthday provides the much-needed fifth entry. It manages to sound both punchy and elitist. Extra points for performing in matching masks and beanies.