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The Sun Will Shine Again
Mar. 22nd, 2025 08:07 pmJeffrey Dean Foster and The Arrows with Florence Dore, Gas Hill Drinking Room, Winston-Salem, NC, Saturday, February 15
While I love making the most of my trips south, hotel hopping is not my favorite part. Alas, it is sometimes required to make the most of my trip, or in this case, when a second show presents itself and it makes sense to book the closer-to-home second-night show with a closer-to-home hotel. Which is how I found myself staying at a different Hanes Mall hotel off Silas Creek Parkway near the hospital in Winston-Salem (aka The Ben Folds Five song). It was a dreary drive in, and I had to kill time before hotel check-in, so, among other things, I drove to the venue to assess the parking situation, but not before I had a message from Foster himself, asking if I would kindly be is Mistress of Merch that night. His partner, J, was back stateside but still very sick, and wouldn't make the show that night. I agreed without hesitation, since it's a low-stakes gig that involves parking my butt in the back of the venue (on a stool!) and chatting up anyone who happened by. We've known each other 11 months at this point, but have grown close chatting after shows and between visits, and it pleases me to no end that he thinks enough of me to ask me to handle his merch and money.
Buried in my perpetually-half-packed suitcase I unearthed the JDF Angel Skull t-shirt, and decided to go for it, figuring the only more ridiculous thing I could wear would be the lowest-cut top and pushy-uppest bra in the arsenal. I was shaking off my earlier mood, and was full-on extrovert by the time I sauntered through the doors just minutes after they opened.
"Can you let Jeffrey know his Merch Bitch is here?" I beamed upon entering, and had at least three different people cracking up at this. When Jeffrey popped out from behind the scenes (actually the upper level of the Ramkat proper), I repeated my statement, to his distress, and let him know I was his bitch for the night. Pushing it? yeah, probably. I later told his partner J of this exchange and she thought it was hilarious. Always be on good terms with the other half.
I took some really bad photos and even worse video (still uploading). The crowd wasn't huge, but they were ALL IN, which is fantastic ... until you're trying to push merch on people who've known the band for decades. Florence was a treat, and talking with her husband, Will Rigby, turns out he's the drummer for The dBs, and had played in Dayton back in the late 70s "at some place in a parking garage?" Yup, I know the place: Gilly's. It's closed now, but was the OTHER musical institution in Dayton for years and years (the first being Canal Street Tavern, of course).
Florence has a book out, called The Ink in the Grooves: Conversations on Literature and Rock & Roll that sounds freaking amazing. oh, and she's a professor at UNC Chapel Hill.
Clearly, this is not a concert review. I was mentally bouncing all over the place, enjoying the music but not capable of retaining anything remotely pertinent to writing a review. I think we were all a little out of sorts, just three weeks into the new regime and reign of terror. "Fuck that guy," indeed.
Bonus: Gas Hill has an Art-o-Mat!
sigh. maybe i'll revisit this one? maybe I won't. it was a rough weekend. not as bad as that triple-header a couple weeks prior, but clearly, these are troubled times and I need to do something about it.
While I love making the most of my trips south, hotel hopping is not my favorite part. Alas, it is sometimes required to make the most of my trip, or in this case, when a second show presents itself and it makes sense to book the closer-to-home second-night show with a closer-to-home hotel. Which is how I found myself staying at a different Hanes Mall hotel off Silas Creek Parkway near the hospital in Winston-Salem (aka The Ben Folds Five song). It was a dreary drive in, and I had to kill time before hotel check-in, so, among other things, I drove to the venue to assess the parking situation, but not before I had a message from Foster himself, asking if I would kindly be is Mistress of Merch that night. His partner, J, was back stateside but still very sick, and wouldn't make the show that night. I agreed without hesitation, since it's a low-stakes gig that involves parking my butt in the back of the venue (on a stool!) and chatting up anyone who happened by. We've known each other 11 months at this point, but have grown close chatting after shows and between visits, and it pleases me to no end that he thinks enough of me to ask me to handle his merch and money.
Buried in my perpetually-half-packed suitcase I unearthed the JDF Angel Skull t-shirt, and decided to go for it, figuring the only more ridiculous thing I could wear would be the lowest-cut top and pushy-uppest bra in the arsenal. I was shaking off my earlier mood, and was full-on extrovert by the time I sauntered through the doors just minutes after they opened.
"Can you let Jeffrey know his Merch Bitch is here?" I beamed upon entering, and had at least three different people cracking up at this. When Jeffrey popped out from behind the scenes (actually the upper level of the Ramkat proper), I repeated my statement, to his distress, and let him know I was his bitch for the night. Pushing it? yeah, probably. I later told his partner J of this exchange and she thought it was hilarious. Always be on good terms with the other half.
I took some really bad photos and even worse video (still uploading). The crowd wasn't huge, but they were ALL IN, which is fantastic ... until you're trying to push merch on people who've known the band for decades. Florence was a treat, and talking with her husband, Will Rigby, turns out he's the drummer for The dBs, and had played in Dayton back in the late 70s "at some place in a parking garage?" Yup, I know the place: Gilly's. It's closed now, but was the OTHER musical institution in Dayton for years and years (the first being Canal Street Tavern, of course).
Florence has a book out, called The Ink in the Grooves: Conversations on Literature and Rock & Roll that sounds freaking amazing. oh, and she's a professor at UNC Chapel Hill.
Clearly, this is not a concert review. I was mentally bouncing all over the place, enjoying the music but not capable of retaining anything remotely pertinent to writing a review. I think we were all a little out of sorts, just three weeks into the new regime and reign of terror. "Fuck that guy," indeed.
Bonus: Gas Hill has an Art-o-Mat!
sigh. maybe i'll revisit this one? maybe I won't. it was a rough weekend. not as bad as that triple-header a couple weeks prior, but clearly, these are troubled times and I need to do something about it.
