Author: Saintsteven

My friend Diane asked me if I could (or would) take her to Iowa City to hear her son’s band, Notes From The Underground. Mike is their drummer. I have been so enthused by my recent solo trip to IC in order to record David Zollo And The Body Electric that I readily agreed as soon as I checked my calendar. The calendar confirmed that I have not had any good adventures for several weeks.

This is not-so-much about the recording itself as it is about the trip and the stay. I promised myself not to listen to my phone for directions because it seems to think it best to go east to Waterloo and then south through Cedar Rapids to Iowa City on “380”, which didn’t even exist 50 years ago when I haunted that corner of the state. “380” is NOT the way to go, according to me because there is Cedar Rapids in there but somehow I did it again. In some pretty heavy rain. It was neat. I have never had a massage but I think I still need one after that. Did I mention I was driving a vehicle unfamiliar to me? Diane’s vehicle was the obvious choice for the trip because it has many more features, one of which slows down the van when it’s coming up upon a slower vehicle. Once I learned how to synch THAT to the extra-featured cruise control I think we were good, but in partially blinding rain, that’s disconcerting and at the same time quite handy when you’re trying to figure out the defroster and can’t necessarily see the (truck) in front of you anyway.

But we got there in one piece, and dare I say, pretty much on schedule. The next challenge was finding Mike’s house. I like to think I know my way around Iowa City, but in reality there are vast sections that didn’t exist when I did know my way around. I’ve only been there a couple of times since I left in 1973 and those were day trips to concerts and the like. My phone let me down and wouldn’t give me any clues as to where the hell we should go, but Diane’s phone did, and got us there. We had several hours before show time to chat about stuff. I’ve known Mike and Diane since my Spencer store days and before we knew it we had filled several hours with conversation to the point where it was about time to be late for the gig. Mike had a stop to make along the way and rather than follow him we asked Diane’s phone to please send us to the Highlander, which HAD existed in my day, but I didn’t know how to get to the Interstate because our starting point was a neighborhood that wasn’t there when I was.

When I lived in Iowa City, The Highlander was a supper club that I couldn’t afford and I’m not sure that I ever went there. After I left town, they added the ballroom, the hotel and the pool, and over the years fell onto hard times, later rescued by a benefactor in 2019, just in time for the pandemic.

I liked the place. The hotel had comped the band a couple of rooms, one of which was intended to be mine. But when I encountered the wonderful woman at the front desk who must have ultimately decided that I should not be out in the jungle by myself, I told her I didn’t know whose reservation it was, probably the band’s. Apparently I convinced the woman (did I mention wonderful?) that I did belong to some band and she issued me the “key” to room 241 (and also the exterior doors).

The peace sign on the left is not the key; it’s the smaller one on the right. You wave it at the thing on the lock that looks like it has something to do with wireless-ness. I might add, you wave it “just right”. But anyway, it’s the plastic one; the cardboard one has your room number on it. After further instruction with the wonderful woman, I got in there. Unfortunately, the room was not made up. Another trip to the front desk. Oh no, we are so sorry-once we figure out what to do about this, we will bring you another room key. I was getting a little uptight that I hadn’t even surveyed the room the band was playing in, and it was about start time, so I hurried down the hall with both of my bags (electronics and overnight stuff) and two tripods and quickly set up and tried to set my meters and the light and POV settings on my new video camera which I still don’t completely understand. I left my messenger bag on the floor since I only had it because I didn’t have a room yet, and unnoticed by me, it got moved and mingled with some of the band’s bags.

One tripod was useless because it uses a quick release feature that requires a second piece that’s attached to the device, and I had left that at home, connected to my camera where it always is. But I got stuff started, pro that I am, and all of a sudden, there’s Damon, whom I have probably not seen for more than twenty years. Damon is from my hometown, a musician, and was a devout Rainy Day Music customer. That got disrupted a little when he was hired by a chrome and glass competitor in the mall, but I never felt any animosity over that, and we’ve stayed in touch over the decades, but never crossed paths until now. Damon and Mike have been jamming, and it was virtually guaranteed that we’d have some good conversation about the “old days”, three hundred miles away from where we were now when those things happened.

The Highlander has menus posted all over the place. It’s a nice menu. We were hungry but couldn’t figure out if the restaurant was somewhere out of sight, or in several banquet rooms or the pool or the bar or where. Turns out the entire place is the restaurant or something-you just tell somebody what you want and they bring it to you. I wanted a steak. It seemed vaguely under-priced and I really didn’t expect much but I got a superior piece of sirloin done properly and an absolutely magical baked potato, interesting vegetables, some of which I ate, and a cool couple of hard rolls with honey butter. I actually would have asked the kitchen to pass the steak over the fire for another thirty seconds per side, but about twenty minutes into the second set, something happened. I don’t really know what because I was tearing all over the hotel looking for my black messenger bag, which seemed to have disappeared. That included visits to my original room, my replacement room, and vehicle outside after I got Diane’s room key and found the keys to the van. There were a couple of visits to the front desk in there. That part was getting to be fun. It also included another trip around the building when I locked myself out again.

When I got back from all that empty-handed, Damon pointed out that my recorder had stopped but the band hadn’t. Aw crap would be something I’d usually say under the circumstances. I don’t know how that happens, unless the power bank that the camera is using goes to sleep sometimes. So the second set is a little short and comes in two parts, sorry, but we got “No Way Out”, for which I had been given a heads-up.

At the conclusion of the gig, we had a nice long gab session and I smoked enough tobacco outside to run me through the night and retired to the Replacement Room. Once I figured out the tricky lights I decided to check Facebook to see if anybody loved me. The wireless password was nowhere to be found. I trudged all the way to the front desk again to ask about that. By now the shift had changed, and a guy who made me think he was a student told me the password was “HIGHLANDER in ‘big letters'”. I asked if he meant capital letters. “Yes, capital letters”.

That wasn’t the password. I don’t know what it was. I gave up.

In the morning I walked around the building to check out, having once again locked myself out of the building. I was beginning to feel quite negative about their peace sign “key”. There was the wonderful woman. “Room 141, right?” “Nope. 235”. Uh oh,………. she asked me if Roger had checked out. I didn’t know. She said she’d take care of that and figure it out.

I miss her already.