How are you? It has been wonderful to see so many of your happy faces lately at the D Note. We do love to see you have a good time.
Tonight, Thurs May 3, after trivia, at 9pm, we have the renowned Martin Gilmore leading the bluegrass pick. Bring your axe.
This Friday night at 5pm we have the lovely Esther Sparks. Free. Then at 7pm we have Cowgirl Up, The Duke Street Kings, Bad Brad and The Fat Cats, The Current featuring Tomara Conrad. Get your ya yas out. Only $5.
Saturday at 6pm we have a fun band called Girl Jam at 6pm. $5
Then for Cinco de Mayo celebrations we have two tribute bands, a Santana tribute band called Soul Sacrifice and a War cover band called Cisco Kid. Should be epic. $10
Next Tuesday we have the Big Band Jazz of Bob's Big Band. 7pm. Free.
Then next Wednesday we have a VERY SPECIAL farewell to THE CLAM DADDYS.. The Clam Daddys have been playing the D Note for 8 years! They are taking a well-deserved sabbatical. We hope that everybody who knows and loves the Clams will come see them off in proper style. Free of course.
Next Friday night we're excited to have Something Underground back in the house.
That's the news for now,
Extra credit: There's a fantastic new book of fiction by Patrick Grainville called The Cave Of Heaven. It reads like poetry. Here's an excerpt..
"The voluptuousness of charging along the void of the gigantic highway. An asphalt desert drawn out like a boundless back. He felt as though he were inventing the landscape, creating his route solely by pressing the accelerator. Traffic was sparse. He’d chosen an uncrowded weekday and was sliding down this flawless toboggan course, a solid river quivering under the wheels. Now and then, defying the speed limits, he hit 110 MPH. The tensed, crackling vehicle emitted a curious moan, a death chirr. A paradoxical sensation of standing still seized the driver. Space and time contracted in a straight, vibrating line. The glass and metal capsule sustained this climactic velocity. It could all come undone, fly apart at any second. But the machine held up. Simon was thrust back against a sort of compact thrumming wall. He soon thought of nothing. His past evaporated and the panorama escaped his senses. His brain and body, lodged in the metallic pod, quit the realm of existence, entering a hard, atemporal zone. A cannonball purified to an absolute smoothness, shorn of regrets, desires, biographical anecdotes, the continuing saga of duration. Simon was clutched to his eternity. Suddenly, a song sprang from his throat, a cry as if his memory had been slain, crushed under his wheels. A gentleness invaded him. Without slowing down, he relaxed, lightened. And the stripped, ascetic condition of the automobile extended a promise of glory and aridity. He thirsted for a universe without compromise, a bone-dry cosmos in the guise of an enormous solar stone."