So you should know that the Din Mutha’ isn’t just a catchy name; really, it’s a profession. I not only write about music on the Root, but I also write about my noisy-ass life as a mother on my personal blog. So this is the story about how the Din Mutha’ took her noisy-ass life (aka Magnolia, 11 years old and Jules, 7) to the Twisp River Pub to listen to some music.
I found this email from DJ Joe Pop saying, “Laura Love is playing with the Pasayten Quartet at the Twisp River Pub. You should go and blog about it.”
I went. With my squids. And it was awesome.
A little shameful confession of mine is though I’ve talked with the marvelous Laura Love before, I have only seen her sing once (the star-spangled banner at a roller derby bout last year) but I hadn’t really seen her perform until last night.
That gal’s got some lady balls. She is a show-mama of epic proportions. There aren’t many people in the world who look some completely at ease with a crowd. Her voice is fluid and vibrant and sassy as hell.
It’s now easy to see why she’s such a local celebrity. She’s capable of belting out some great tunes all the while providing hilarious commentary about herself, the crowd, and her fellow musicians.
During one of their more funky grooves, Laura stood back in awe of guitarist extraordinaire, Terry Hunt, and yelled, “Terry! What do you mean you aren’t black? You is one funky Caucasian!”
Torrents of laughter and applause erupted from the crowd.
But yanno what? He is one funky Caucasian. Again, this was a first for me. I had never seen Terry Hunt, local music virtuoso and documentarian, perform live. He and the Pasayten Quartet (forgive me if I don’t remember the names of the other 75% of the band…I’m new here) wowed the crowd with their nimble and lively performance.
My daughter became immersed in how Terry’s fingers flitted from string to string as he played Dave Brubeck’s “Take Five.” Her jaw gaped and after she said, “His hands danced! It didn’t even look like his fingers hit the strings!”
My son was more interested in Laura’s singing (my kids are almost finished with voice camp at the Community Center and set to play the Pub on Friday). Jules has been nervous, so he watched for nuances like how far Laura’s lips were from the microphone and when she took a breath. But most importantly, he was stunned at how well Laura Love remained upright. “Look at her! She can do all of that stuff! All of that standing–in high heels.”
Well spotted, son.
Not only could she sing and stand, in heels at the same time, but Laura took important moments for trivia. Winners were given GMO-FREE cucumbers from Laura’s GMO-FREE garden. Magnolia won the cucumber named “Mr. Happy.” My little innocent asked why the vegetable was given such a joyful moniker, and I asked for a beer.
But quite possibly the coolest thing about the night in the beer garden was all the familiar faces sitting next to me and my spawn. I got to catch up with friends who retreated to their gardens for the summer and folks that I only get to wave at on the road in passing. We all swayed and grooved in our seats, smiling at one another all the while.
Nearing the end of the night, my son lovingly curled up in my lap and gave me a drowsy kiss on the cheek. I sighed and melted like every mother does with good babies, good music and good beer all up in her system. It was blissful.
Then my darling man-child patted my face and whispered, “This is fun, but if I don’t go to bed now, I’m gonna die.”
Hauling a 70-pound sack of sleeping kid out of a restaurant is a challenge–but a challenge made easier while grooving to the tunes.