We fight hours of traffic to get to Bullanaro in Vigevano Italy. People go to this town mostly to see the fascist futurist art display and sip coffee in the town square which is famous for some reason. The plaza is rocky from badly cut blocks of mineral. Bullanaro is a raw cement parlor with some notions of artwork in each solid room. The acoustics are incredible. Mama Buttme runs this club. A woman from southern Italy who talks with her hands. She is rabid about music and constantly sings on top of everything else. The request of us playing in the Bullanaro house is that her dog, Scoopee, (scoop the pee) wishes to sit in on the opening song by barking along. Our guarantee is pretty high so we concede to this odd arrangement. We asked if she could arrange a singing bull in the midst of her house, or something that moos, but she was very adamant about this twenty year old dog getting a spotlight. To make the whole show more interesting we did one opener, Ongoing Bridge Snap, over and over, until Scoopee stopped his wailing. It was a relaxed affair, the audience was small, and we were given massive amounts of soup and shown the fifty cent spaghetti sauce store.
We move onto the little tourist beach town of Massa. Mama Buttme has become our toll twister, she talks to everyone at the toll booths (which are every 200 feet) with hands gransping an invisible leaf telling directions and getting us to places where we can settle the 1800s in full glowing maelstrom form. Italy made easy for foreigners. Tago Mago is a tiny restraunt where we are given a corner to make our wonderful cabin death shack. A light is broken almost immediately. We persist in the smiles though, and for this occasion are brought a big pot of food. All pasta, much wine, some red Italian tomato beer. The show featured Allun again as an opener, doing the same set as far as I could tell. Which is not a complaint, but I may get upset the next time they play.
Caroliner's set was interesting as the whole front row sat down politely listening
and waiting for the goose boot to slap the face. It was impressive how intent
these people were in staying in one place lifting a hand casually when the occasional
body would fall on them. How did all these Italian folk fit in this little restraunt,
how did they all get in for free, how did we make all this gas and toll money
from it? It is a mystery that will have to be repeated with another round of
big grins in the next thrity years. To add to this mystery we were given a hotel
room which was an excuse to bounce and scream all night at the available pornographic
images here. Some people in the ensemble of Caroliner had never been exposed
to the naked flesh, much less the hairy and shaved Italian variety. Personally
I was stunned to silence, turning my head, while others let themselves be yelled
at waking up adjoining rooms, and Allun upstairs. Then the fascist city of Rome
which I spoke of. I still cannot believe the roads are so rocky there in Rome
after all these years. The slaves of the state left several decades ago, so
I would imagine that it is very hard to get the good help one would expect from
the regular hands.
I will return to you shortly.
Yours,
Cottypearile Weddingforke