Photo credit: Jake Thomas
Listening to Buck Owens in the van now on the way to San Diego. Driving through Bakersfield where my mother grew up. I must have something of the west coast in my blood and I’d like to think it’s the sunshine, but just now I’m thinking that it might be the smog. I’m not tired, I just have smog in my veins.
We played the Great American Music Hall in San Francisco. It was magnificent.
Everybody was very nice to us—they made us all a wonderful dinner, they have a great lighting person, an excellent front-of-the-house sound man, and an attentive monitors man with beautiful eyes. Above is a photo of the venue before the show, and then three photos of us on stage being hella cool. Obviously.
The atmosphere is the best thing about the Great American. Try to imagine the most decadent party you could have gone to 100 years ago and this is the place. The colors are red, gold, and magic. For musicians, this is the Sistine Chapel.
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