Category: Archives
-
The Tour Rider
TRAVELING PARTY – Brett Carradine (Vocals/Guitar/Keyboard) – Paul Newman (Guitar/Vocals) – Lawrence (Drums/Occasional Vocals) – Female vocalist (certain shows) – Deacon McCurdy (Manager) – Karl (Bus Driver)
-
Red Rocks
The Uber drop off was at the bottom of the hill. I wasn’t out of shape, per se, but I wasn’t in shape either. A few blocks walked with Deacon and back to the hotel made for sore quads and calves. I bought two bottles of water from a vendor and chugged one of them.…
-
The Hotel Bar
The last thing I wanted was more driving, even twenty minutes to and from the amphitheater at Red Rocks. I swallowed four Ibuprofen with a beer at the hotel bar while I waited for my Uber to arrive.
-
Deacon’s Story
Deacon McCurdy lived in a condo off Larimer Square. He was a “walk with me” sort of guy, a perpetual ball bouncing from place to place getting things done. By the time I left my hotel, rode the 16th Street MallRide shuttle, and arrived outside his condo, he was already there in gray slacks and…
-
Onward to Deacon
“We made it, James,” I said to my imaginary friend with the best seat in the house, atop my right shoulder with a view of the Rocky Mountains as I sat on the hood of the car at a pull off outside of Aurora. A Polaroid of the moment – arrowheads from indigenous giants pointing…
-
Meredith’s Story, Pt. 3
There’s the time before the show in San Francisco, where we both wanted tacos and got caught up in that secondhand shop across town. Funk Police went on at 6. Spin Cycle at 7:30. Plenty of time for us to explore the city hand in hand, feeling the electricity of a new connection. It’s June.…
-
Meredith’s Story, Pt. 2
Of course. Yes, she was beautiful, with a voice like a rusty harp. I don’t blame you. Who would? I was with her, too. We all were. But no, that first night we listened to music. We ate popcorn and sat on that dingy lime green couch soaked with beer, you on one end, me…
-
Meredith’s Story, Pt. 1
Hi, Fender. Your Dad, right? This story makes me smile. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. We were somewhere around Barstow…
-
I-70 W
A rosy gauze unrolled over planet earth the morning I headed west towards Denver. No map needed: I-70 or bust. I still set the GPS to maintain nine miles per hour above the speed limit.
Mike Writes 