Our next gig was at the Cambridge House of Blues in the UMass district of Boston. But since Saturday's gig was in Newport, RI, and since the nearest Motel 6 was in Newport, we Terry opted to just check in there to hunker down till next Thursday when we would head for Northhampton, Mass. This would mean we'd be going first to Newport, check in, then go to the gig up in Boston, about 90 minutes away. Although the HOB manager, Theo, was saying it was 40 minutes, he was thinking Providence, another 30 miles north of Newport. We figured all this out on the fly, of course, as it seemed much more complicated at the time.

As we headed north on I-95, skirting NYC, the character of New England began to emerge. The autumn leaves, now orange and burnt sienna, framed the highway with miles of wooden fences alternating with old stacked rock walls. Colonial architecture, eagle icons of brass and iron, rocky embankments, and narrow streets set the ambience. As we pulled off for a pit stop--I think it was New Haven, Connecticut--another feature of New England was painfully evident. Freeway signs, arrows, and other necessary navigation indicators were hopelessly small and just too close to decision points for turns. By the time we had time to read the signs, we were passing our turn opportunities. If we drove slowly in order to respond accurately to these teeny signs, impatient locals would blare horns at our Oregon license plates. This pattern continued consistently into Newport, and later throughout Boston. Ambiguous and absent signs were responsible for tacking on an additional 50% on all our transit times.

It took us about four hours to reach Newport. The motel was on the Middletown side of town on Coddington Hwy., just down from the Naval Base, and across from the "Water Pollution Treatment Plant," the obvious source of the occasional methane stink in the air. The primary fragrance, however, was the refreshing marine of the nearby Atlantic ocean. It felt good, with reminiscences of the Oregon Coast. Thankfully, there was time for us to take a nap before heading up to Boston, and we were all looking forward to chowing down at the House of Blues, notorious for great food.

Ambiguous and inadequate road signs put us about 30 minutes off course just getting to Boston, but once we got into the city, Theo's directions were more than adequate. We rolled up to the Original HOB around 8 p.m., giving us plenty of time to load in and eat before the 10 o'clock show. This House of Blues was literally a house--a big house, with three levels--a pub in the basement, a restaurant on the first floor, and the entertainment on the second floor, which was actually a double height ballroom, about 90 feet long. Funky decorations in the HOB voodoo-Cajun style packed every bare square inch of the walls, and were entertaining to watch.

The sound man, Doug, seemed competent enough, with an Eddie Vedder soul patch and long curly hair. The load in was not real easy, as we horfed our shit up about 24 stairs, but apparently it was better than the last time Terry was here. At that time there was an outside fire escape, and the band had to load in during the dead of winter. Brrr....Now, however, the staircase was covered.

After setting up my kit, I had my opportunity to head to the green room and order up some grub. Everyone else had already made themselves at home and were chowing down. The drummer is always the last to sign in, sign up, load in, load out, and pretty the last to know, period. Hey, it's my instrument of choice. I ordered the rosemary grilled chicken with veggies and a salad. The high point of the food, was the corn bread I had asked for. It had the spices of turkey dressing--sage, thyme, etc.--with chunks of corn kernels and carrots. Mmmmm...the best!

Kenny was a bit peeved after he looked at the stage from the green room loft. Since I had set up on the carpet where it had been center stage, he ended up being crowded up against Jesse's gear. On Jeff's side, there was plenty of room. "This shit is not going to happen again, damn it," Kenny griped. I took Doug aside and said, "Hey, man, I hate to do this to you, but we gotta move the drums and mikes over about 10 inches." He was amenable and together we simply dragged the rug the drums and mikes sat on, over a foot to make more room for Kenny. Kenny thanked him for being cool about it.

It was yet another 20-something college crowd, of course, being right on the UMass campus and all. But by the end of the first set, the crowd was with us, and Terry was in fine form. The band seemed a little nervous, and there were some clams. Notably, Jesse, after breaking the D string on his blue Strat, ended up breaking the D string on his white Squire, leaving him no choice but to change the string. The timing was not great, however. Jesse yelled to Terry a couple of times that he had to change a string, but Terry already had decided to do "I Got Loaded," a song with a guitar intro. Once Terry realized Jesse was going to be busy, he said to Jeff, Kenny and me, "Let's go anyway, just the three of us." So I just counted it off and started, but Jeff was left like a deer in headlights. He didn't know Jesse's guitar part, and to just come in with his part wouldn't work, either. After stumbling twice, and then coming in too slow, we finally got it going. By the time the guitar solo section came around, Jesse was back. It was embarrassing, but the crowd didn't seem to mind.

The second show was a little raggedy due in part to Doug cranking up both the mains and the monitors, for some reason. It was loud. We had asked Doug to record the whole thing, so we were wincing a bit at the thought of having to listen to it. But, I was really curious, and had been the one who had first asked Doug to record, with Jesse backing me up. Kenny was pointing out some drum stuff I was doing that seemed to clash in his mind, but I wasn't sure what he was talking about, so a tape would tell the tale.

We ended the show with "One Way Ticket," a rockin' R&B number, and left the stage after a limp response from the audience. Not that we necessarily sucked, just that the crowd was young, and obviously used to other genres of acts other than blues in the House of Blues--a curiosity about Dan Ackroyd's concept for HOB I still don't quite understand.

We loaded out efficiently--a lot easier going down all those stairs than going up--and we on our way back to Newport by around 3 a.m. Kenny drove us back, while Terry ate the rest of his food. He doesn't like to eat very much before shows, preferring to save it up till afterward. He shared each dish with everybody, including some of that scrumptious cornbread. Mmmmm...