Where in the world do I start?

To say that the inaugural SPA show was enjoyable (at least from my small vantage point) is a bloated understatement. The festivities began - after a morning’s work @ The Gap, battling an all-day-long headache, and snake annihilation (see previous posts) - with a pleasant, although nervous, soundcheck with The Good Eggs.

These musicians are Good Eggs in my humble estimation:
Brent Milligan (”Scarce” producer)- bass, singing, all-around hipness
Paul Eckberg - drums, gentleness, kindness
Cason Cooley - keys, easy-goingness
Andrew Osenga - electric, singing, toelessness

Wrapping that up, we dashed across the street to Judge Bean’s BBQ where we joined the entire SPA cast along with wives/husbands. This was a restaurant that Andy Gullahorn (a native Texan) highly recommended. Note: If a Texan ever recommends a BBQ joint, then it’s probably worth your dineros. I ordered a brisket quesadilla that was bigger than a hubcap on my Volkswagen. It tasted better than a hubcap though. I ate a whopping 3 bites and retired from the table. Not wanting to waste food (or money) I got a to-go box and set said meal inside my car during the show. The minivan smelled delicious like meat later that evening while loading out. I’ve always been a nervous performer, meaning that I can’t stand to eat a full meal just before I sing, hence my inability to partake of any more of the quesadilla. We scurried back over to 12th & Porter to catch the beginning of Matthew Perryman Jones’ song. You’ll forgive me for not remembering the order of performers, but suffice it to say that everyone was glorious and graceful. As the night wore on, it dawned on me that that this was not merely a folk-pop concert; it was far more Biblical than that. My feet were, in the few fleeting decibels of the evening’s events, being washed by 11 of my peers along with 100 or so paying audience members. I get choked up even now thinking about it…. They made themselves servants. And I knew full well this moment was completely undeserved.

Botched lyrics, my typically awkward nervous stage demeanor, a broken string and a warming comfort as the jitters eventually wore off, the margarita kicked in (thanks mom) and “May Your Tenderness” came to a rousing cajun finale, I became hopeful for the first time in a long time. Hopeful, not only regarding career stuff, but in the hazy recollection that I deserve absolutely nothing good….. but when Good comes roaring forth from the lion’s den - which it inevitably does amid all our sordidness - it sweeps me out of pathetic fright into gratefulness, a place I haven’t visited in many moons.

If you’re a Square Pegger and you’re reading this, thank you for welcoming me into the fold. The first shall be last and the last shall be first. If you were in paid attendance last night, thank you for letting me & The Good Eggs sing an armful of epistles. You were a balm and a tonic….

And to prove to you that this inaugural SPA event actually took place in authentic, American time, here are a few pics of the show:
(all photos courtesy of Norman Chin)
http://squarepeg01.shutterfly.com/action

All my best to you-
EP