The downtown is empty. No one is on the streets. We've never played Pontiac but promoter Greg Baise has been telling us about the Crofoot and sure enough the place is sprawling hub for all things nightlife and music.
Greg is one of those people that has an infinite amount of knowledge
about music and art and loves sharing with others. In 1998, John and I
first met him while opening for the Dirty Three and he opened his house
for us to stay, took us to breakfast and record shopping. We talk over
dinner served at the venue and then he, Volker and I head for coffee
across the street.
At the Cafe someone is watching a black and
white French movie while waiting for a friend. Is that Godard? Lots of
driving shots thought 1950s France.
We head back into the
night and are surprised at the evening's exuberance at the show. The
crowd starts yelling things like "smash your guitar" and "take it off."
Toward the end of the night a girl hops up onstage to help sing
backups for "Victor Jara's Hands." The bouncer is watching and I nod
that all is ok. Thanks, Pontiac!