Band Practice.
You say band practice and Old Hank’s eyes will glaze over, roll back in his head, and off he’ll go on a magikal (sp on purpose) journey back in time to endless late night sessions at that legendary shithole shrine to rock and roll, Funkadelic Rehearsal Studios. Where for 20 bucks an hour (early 2000’s dollars), your band got a tiny room with JCM half stacks that sometimes worked. A Roland keyboard amp that always did. Drums that no matter how beat down they got were still too loud for the room. A PA that never got the vocals over the band. Broken drum thrones intent on anal rape. Mics that were so full of spit germs you got Mono just looking at them. Frayed, ungrounded cords. Layers of old cigarette smoke to gum up your fretboard.
And so much spilled beer, vomit, bud and cocaine on the floor you could get arrested for what stuck to your shoes on the way out.
In short, it was heaven.
If you are/were in a band, you know. Band practice is the best 2 or 3 nights of the week (if you get along). Working out a set or just jamming. Dreaming of fame. Fighting, fucking and fraternizing with other bands. Always one last beer or bowl or both before heading home.
Well, you wanna know the best kept secret in Charlottesville live music?
On any given Monday night, you can head out around dinner time and catch one of our best bands–Chamomile and Whiskey–play a practice set or two for the happy hour regulars in the greatest rehearsal space God in his infinite wisdom ever created.
*Durty Nelly’s.
It’s free (but tip the damn band and the waitress). It’s an easy in and out. It’s short and sweet (maybe an hour). If you get there a little early it’s still happy hour. And it’s far, far safer and more dare I say, wholesome than the above description (hell, even Funkadelic has cleaned up its act these days). You can even get a tasty DN sub for dinner. It’s just a great band in a great bar as they work shit out, play stuff because it makes them laugh, drain a couple beers, and generally have an awesome time.
Old Hank was unusually productive this last Monday, so he deserved to spark one, jump in an Uber, jet across town to the Durty to catch C&W run a practice set, and down a couple of Cinco de Mayo ‘tila shots and a Yella Belly before that amazing Knick game—Fuck Boston! (the band was also celebrating a birthday as well).
I’m not gonna go into songs or how the band played and that kinda stuff, this isn’t that kind of show review blog post—trust me, they rehearse damn near as tight as they stage. But there’s always a surprise, like Monday’s fun, lounge-y version of “Muskrat Love”.
And you generally might see local music dignitaries stop by for a look-see. Last night Marie’s dad was there–who genuinely seems like one of the most peaceful and kind souls I’ve ever met.
Anyway, if you love live music, a kick ass REAL bar and most of all the creative process, just go.
You’re welcome.
And see y’all at Overman/Pony Friday night.
Old Hank.
*Bands don’t be slidin’ into Durty Nelly’s DM’s to see if you too can rehearse there. You can’t.
