Last Wednesday I had the joy of attending a video release party for the new Ruffled Feathers single, Blueprints For Our Failed Revolution. It was sooooo good. The video can now be found on youtube (and the song is available for free download).
The lead vocalist and guitarist for the group is Gina. I first met Gina at an open mic night at the Gallery pub at UBC. She is one of the most remarkable people I know. Her voice is haunting and she is amazing armed with a fender telecaster. During our undergrad we frequented the Gallery on Thursdays for the open mike nights run by Allen. He substantially improved my guitar playing with his tips and positive reinforcement. (He is back in town for a few days and I had lunch with him today!) Gina eventually convinced me to get on stage. It was primarily a result of her encouragement that I got together the balls to play guitar in front of other people and it was Allen’s guitar I used that night. I played Please Don’t Bury Me by John Prine. My father had asked me to learn it so that I might play it at his funeral (I later did). Also present at my first stage performance was our mutual friend Sarah who is another a fabulous musician (the same Sarah for whom I ran 6.1 km this morning). Completing the circle, both Matty and Sam, now of Ruffled Feathers fame, used to play in the 10th Floor View with Sarah. Sarah has since run off to London. I miss her.
But wait, there’s more. The song, Blueprints For Our Failed Revolution, was written by Charlie who I also first saw play at the Gallery. Back in those days he frequently used a melodica to impress and entertain.
I don’t really know Andrew the horn player, though we have been introduced. One thing I can say for sure: he is good at his job.
The video was put together by Geoff. He and I have adventured together. It was a gnarly three-day winter excursion in Manning Park that involved extreme exhaustion and a fair measure of dehydration. We inadvertently burnt some potato soup on the first night and so all the water we produced by melting snow retained the charred essence of the crud in the pot. It was the most disgusting thing ever. But we relished every drop of our “chipotle water”.