2022 is halfway through, and Harwell-Grice Band returns to our hometown stompin ground tonight. The story of how we ended up there tonight is post-worthy... maybe... in a never-say-die weekend warrior's gig diary.
So we had booked a little pre-Independence Day party tonight at a rather trendy club down on the lake, (Smith Mountain Lake, if you're from here, is The Lake... I reckon everybody has one; that's ours) Anyway, they closed the road to it for bridge work or something. How ya' like that?! The only way in/out of the place, and they shut down the road, this weekend. That must be one heluva bridge. Hey, maybe we dodged a full-on band tragedy.
Well, there's more than one joint in this County to drink and dance and light sparklers, so they found another venue over in Rocky Mount. I didn't get the whole story straight when Josh called, because he was either really excited or aggravated, or hopped-up on energy drinks and wasn't annunciating well, but either the ceiling fell, or the floor collapsed, possibly some combination of both had rendered the place un-gig-able. Me, I like to look at the road not taken sometimes. Like, the ceiling falls after soundcheck, but before downbeat. In my mind, that definitely sucks more. Maybe more than a sketchy bridge on the lake.
So at the happy end of it, the fine folks over at Chaos Mountain Brewing Co. always big supporters of our little troupe, opened up their place for us to raise a ruckus tonight. Josh and Gabe got the word out to everybody else, and the party is [ON]. My Persuader 5-string and Ol' 621 are next to the door on ready-alert.