(Part Two of our adventures in Spain this February. You can read Part One here.)
We saw Gibraltar the other day. As we drove along the expressway, not far outside Estepona, Pepe, our Spanish agent and road manager, pointed to a promontory on the the horizon and said, “Do you know what that is? That is England. That is part of England.”
The Rock of Gibraltar. The Pillars of Hercules. Site of the Neanderthals’ last stand. I got a kick out of seeing that.
Delta Moon’s Tuesday night show at Louie Louie in Estepona went well, even though we didn’t draw much of a crowd. The date had been booked on just a few days notice after our Granada show was cancelled, so it was impossible to promote properly. Still the people who did come, along with the club staff, were all smiles at the end of the night. Afterward at the hotel, I collapsed on the bed fully dressed and slept hard.
The next morning the Citroen van kept wanting to stall out when idling. Throughout the day the problem got worse and worse. When we pulled in front of La Alquitara in Béjar, after six hours travel, it died completely. We unloaded the luggage and gear, and somehow Pepe was able to coax the van back to life long enough to get it to a garage. The mechanic tried a few things before saying he would have to keep it for several days. Luckily, Pepe got a good price on renting a Peugeot van that was almost the same thing — more room for gear, a little less for people — and he met us back at the club in time for sound check.
We’d played Béjar twice before, the first time at same nightclub and then last summer at a big festival. Since the venue owner also owns a first class restaurant, the food has always been delicious. We played a strong show with an enthusiastic audience. It was a good night.
In our six-hour drive the next day, Mark, Franher and I worked on teaching Pepe to speak English as it is spoken in the American South. On our last tour he mastered some basic phrases like “fixing to”. Since then other American musicians have expanded his knowledge somewhat. We’ve been helping him to put it all together. Now he easily says things like, “I’m fixing to open a can of whup-ass on y’all.”
After what will likely stand as the best dinner of the tour, we played a fantastic gig at Sala Son in Cangas, on the Atlantic coast of Spain, just north of Portugal. Ten minutes before the scheduled show time there were maybe twenty people in the place. I despaired of drawing any kind of crowd. As often happens when a room is near empty, the promoter asked us to start a half hour later. By the time we walked on stage the room was packed and the air was electric. The band caught the energy from the audience and sent it right back, and then things got wilder and wilder. Delta Moon loves Spanish audiences, and we loved this one especially. The promoter told me it was the best concert he’d had in eight years. On the road you always take that sort of thing with a grain of salt, but I’ve got to say it was right up there for us, too.
Now I’m back at the hotel, with no heat and a list of nine passwords for nine wifi networks, none of which reach my room. Later I’ll try to post this from somewhere else.
(To be continued.)
Photo by Jose Antonio Serrano Sabate.