Thursday, October 1, 2009

The Oktoberfest Diaries 2009 Part 3: Sometimes You Get Lucky

While the things that Oktoberfest call to mind: beer; brats; music; being drunk; intoxication; vomiting; getting wasted; drinking too much; are all fun, it's the cool experiences that hit you out of the blue that make the trip worthwhile. After killing our memories of The Remainders with enough alcohol to kill all the clone troopers and all the trade federation droids in the Star Wars universe, we entered a dank hole of a bar where we found something beautiful and cool.

We were just sitting there, drinking heavily, when an attractive twenty-something took the postage stamp of a stage with an acoustic guitar and played an amazing set. She went by Abby Lane which was her real first and middle names, so I'm guessing mom and dad were into the Beatles. It wasn't just that she could play the guitar or that she had a voice like Kathleen Turner (before she got old and went insane). Check out this set list:

Genesis -- Taking It All Too Hard
Bonnie Tyler -- It's A Heartache
Radiohead -- Creep
Pete Townshend -- Let My Love Open The Door
PotUSA -- Lump
Fleetwood Mac -- Landslide

This girl has talent. She was never a Remainder.

It was incredible. In the middle of the set, a guy who had been sitting at the bar with no shirt on got dressed and took the stage. I had pegged him as a meth addict who had wandered in off the street looking for change but it turned out he was a musician friend. With Ms. Lane on the guitar, he belted out a ridiculously good cover of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers' Breakdown, with his dad doing the high end backing vocals.

It was by far the coolest and most interesting thing that happened all weekend. How we could wander into a tiny little bar with pee stains on the floor and get a free concert from an amazing singer when we're paying to watch the likes of The Remainders I'll never know.

The whole vibe in the bar was great; Abby's boyfriend was really cool, the bartender had a big smile on her face and made great (read: stong) drinks, the professional alcoholics were the friendly banter-for-a-moment-then-leave-you-alone type; it was just a damn good time.

That would all change when we went back in the evening. That story involves a bartender that is to mixology what The Remainders are to music, an owner who drank more before 6:00 pm than I did all weekend, and a barfly that I think gave me the black plague just by talking to me. It's also a story for another time. Like tomorrow.

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