Winter on the road. We stop along a wharf lined with taco trucks for what turns out to be some surprisingly delicious grilled nopales – the kind of flavor you’d expect more from an open pit grill than inside a truck. I’m not sure who “taco trucks on every corner” was meant to be a warning to…(Ok, that’s a lie. I can make an educated guess. 😉 )but I’ve gigged outside of the city enough at this point to say I’d welcome this type of thing more often over your standard “highway rest stop” type fare.
The venue we played in Western Mass was Anchor House of Artists, a space which, much like Fountain House here in New York, provides live and work opportunities for artists with mental health diagnoses. (While Pronoblem did not have such diagnosis, I and other musicians he’s worked with do.)
The urn Rachel brought in to be “bathed in noise” sat on a chair in the middle of the audience, looking like a small pagoda, especially since she’d placed a number of ferns in the box around it. It pulsated with an energy that prickled my arm, so I grabbed my bow and joined with John and Jack in a swampy churning improv before we officially began, violin grinding it’s way through a turbo rat pedal.