Soil from Stone

Saturday night I went to The Laughing Goat coffee house to hear Down With Naked. It’s a small coffee house on Pearl Street in Boulder between 16th and 17th. It’s small and homey with a nice atmosphere. A nice place to take a date. Unlike Iron Mountain, the Goat is designed for sound, although they could use some speakers in the front room. I could hear the music OK, but speech was somewhat muffled. There were occasional and seriously unpleasant feedback problems. The sound was run by a Goat employee. I can’t say if those two facts are related. Possibly not.

It was pretty crowded when I arrived at about 8:20, with standing room only in the main room. I recommend getting there early if you’re going for the music. The crowd thinned to less than half that by 10pm.

The two bartenders (is that the right term at a coffee house?), Fern and Reaca, both sported mohawks. Fern wore a t-shirt that read, “Reaca did it first.” Reace wore a t-shirt that read, “Fern did it second.” Speaking to Reaca off and on, she seemed very nice. The pinkish-purple hair really didn’t look all that bad. I’d go out with her. And wouldn’t it be fun to take her to church?

The University of Colorado-Boulder is less than half a mile away, so I wasn’t as surprised by the clientele as I would have been in…say…Thornton or Aurora. They seemed to place a significant amount of pride in a complex sort of simplicity. Most of the girls wore their hair straight, in pig tails, or short and ragged, all probably very expensively styled even if I couldn’t tell. They wore either blue jeans or skirts that brushed the floor. I think I really like that look. Too bad it’s just a fad.

The men wore hats. Knitted hats to be precise, and the goofier the better. They also tended to wear their hair long, on average probably longer than the women. No pig tails, though. Just ponytails and dread locks over flannel and thermal. Two buses collided at the edge of the Rockies: “Hey! You got your rasta in my grunge!” “No, you got your grunge on my rasta!”

There were some older men there, too. They looked like professor types trying to be young and hip. I guess this would be where I whistle and look innocent?

Apparently something happened to the band’s bass player, so the individual members took turns playing and singing solo, which wasn’t half bad. Duo, in the case of Jon Sousa and Michael Reshetnik. (They’re regular players every sunday night at Conor’O'Neils Irish Pub.) It made for a nice variety and a much more intimate experience. It’s just as well, since I doubt there would have been room on stage for a full band. They are all talented and enjoyable, but Tierney Kathleen and the Sousa/Reshetnik duet were definitely my favorites. Jon with his banjo is a blast to watch. He so obviously loves what he does, and he’s very good at it. Jon and Jenna will be playing at the Laughing Goat again on February 8th, and Jon will be back yet again this Thursday, January 25th, with Celtic fiddler Jessie Burns.
You can listen to some of Jon’s and the band’s music at these web sites:

Jon Sousa’s MySpace

Down with Naked MySpace

Down with Naked Web site

Tierney Kathleen’s MySpace

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I went to Iron Mountain Winery Saturday night to hear Aural Elixir. It was a much smaller and less pricey place than I expected, but still higher end than a middle class guy like me is used to. I was hoping for something more, though–a larger crowd, for one. Both of the bartenders were beautiful young ladies, and, when I arrived, there were another two dozen beautiful young ladies and only two men seated at the tables. If character showed through the skin, then I was definitely in a good place. If I hadn’t thought I might get arrested or at least asked to leave, I would have spent more time appreciating the scenery. One long table of twelve such beauties all turned in unison to look at me when I spent a few seconds too long looking at a window display past their table and across the courtyard outside. For a moment, I entertained the fantasy they might invite me to join them.

Well, I did say it was a fantasy, didn’t I? I learned later that they were a bachelorette party. They cleaned out the cash register of singles before they left for the hotel to meet the stripper. If had any doubts about skin being opaque to character, they left me then.

Speaking of scenery, it was a little difficult reconciling the upscale intent of the establishment with the shopping mall location. I recommend sitting at the bar, or at least facing away from the windows. The barmaids made for much better scenery than the storefronts outside. One was short and stout, the other long and lean. Both were well worth my attention.

Jesse of Aural Elixir has a full, pleasant voice. Unfortunately, and unlike the menu, the acoustics were completely in keeping with the neighborhood. The two plate-glass walls made everything sound like it was in a bathroom. It was nearly impossible to understand the lyrics, and the notes all blurred and squashed into one another. The sound quality improved when the bachelorette party left, but some heavy drapes over those windows would have helped even more.

From the menu I started out with a glass of gewürztraminer, the pronunciation of which I will still not attempt without medical assistance present. Very fruity. Good for people like me who aren’t overly fond of wine.

Iron Mountain isn’t a restaurant, so the alimentary portion of the menu was very short: several different kinds of cheeses and two pizzas. After I finished the wine, I ordered a margherita pizza, which was excellent. The only other choice sounded even better, but included a pork topping.

The water wasn’t bad either. (What an odd thing to write!) A few slices of cucumber were transformational. Maybe they dress the water up so finely everywhere, but you’ll have to excuse my ignorance. My muscles recherché are somewhat atrophied after too many years of Applebee’s.

When the pizza arrived I ordered a glass of monastrell, which was even better than the gewürztraminer. Spicy and perhaps not the best choice to complement the delicate flavor of the gourmet pizza, but still excellent in my non-cognoscenti opinion. I’m tempted to go back for an entire bottle.

I don’t know whether it was the wine or the slowly vanishing crowd, but the sound of the music continued to improve through the night. I was hoping the wine might raise the temperature outside a bit as well, but no such luck. It was about six degrees when I arrived and three when I left. I think Broomfield’s sobering tax rate offset any positive affects of the alcohol.

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