Thursday, March 13th, 2007:

Saturday morning...seven am...large rays of sunlight are trying to make their way through the split bamboo blinds that adorn the living-room window in my small second floor apartment. At first glance theses rays seem bright and intrusive, but upon further inspection, they are nothing more than thinly tinted beams, poking through the flat grey wash of clouds above. It is raining...hard!!! I suppose everything looks bright at seven in the morning when one wakes up after a hard night of self-abuse at the hands of a once, ¾ full bottle of Jack. It's funny, everything seems loud at this point as well. But now the evening (as well as the bottle) are both gone, and it is time to rise (albeit begrudgingly). The usual morning routine includes going to the kitchen to cue up the coffee maker, followed by my return to the bed. Here I will sit on the edge pathetically trying to convince myself that a couple more hours of shut eye might do me some good. Of course sunlight (and the three alarm headache win out), and I proceed to spend the next several minutes waiting for my coffee slumped over, with my head in my hands.

By now, my two cats have been alerted to my state of consciousness, and anxiously circle the bed (like two sharks) hoping to coax me from my station, where they proceed to have their way with me. I soon rise, and proceed to the kitchen. My feline companions follow close behind in anticipation of their bounty. They have both grown quite fond of Meow Mix. First things first, I need my coffee. As I extend my arm for my treasured credit union coffee mug, an overwhelming sensation of guilt overcomes me. Looking down, I see both Lucy and little Stinky peering back in a most woe-full manner. They are sitting side by side, and perfectly still. This is the only time of the day that my two roommates are not fighting with each other, chewing on something, or shredding something to pieces. And today, they appear to be on top of their games (as far as good behavior goes). My precious coffee-time is momentarily put on hold, as I put down the coffee mug, and proceed to fill their food and water dishes. As they gorge on the fish and chicken flavored delight, I scratch the backs of their tiny heads. Neither are especially friendly cats, and this is the only time I will actually be able to pet, see, or hear them today. My only contact will most likely be the faint sounds of scratching, as they attempt to destroy the woodwork in my humble abode. I will yell for them to cease and desist, but only in vain. They will ignore me...for I do not scream in a tongue they understand. Although I swear, I think they know exactly what I mean, and merely choose to ignore me. These days it is becoming all to clear to me that I am not really in charge of my makeshift nuclear family. Finally...it's coffee time!

As I return to the edge of my bed (coffee in tow), I hit the power button on the television set. Two hours later, I awake to the sounds of the Travel Channel's "Most Haunted" and a wet carpet. As I struggle to find reason in what just happened, I realize that I have fallen asleep once again (this time sitting upright on the edge of the bed), only to spill my "what was" a fresh cup of "joe" onto the carpet below. Funny...there are two other coffee stains that almost a perfect match to the newest addition. It is damming testimony that this is not the first time this has happened. Begrudgingly, I proceed to soak up the newest addition in the collection of messes I call my home. It's time to start preparation for my trip to the Brackney Inn tonight.

Gig day preparation is always a funny sequence of events for me. One part routine, and one part superstition...it is a strange combination of gathering the stuff I will need for the evening, tons of phone calls to make sure everyone has what they need (as well as figuring out what time they will be there), watching the weather channel, resting, and fasting. The last two in this list are kind of misfits, and probably do not really belong on this list. I always try to take a nap before we leave for a gig, but it never seems to happen. I go through the steps of re-setting the alarm so I awake in plenty of time to take a nice long shower before I leave. I'll set the sleep timer on the television so as to not have any interference with the proper rest that I require pre-gig. Unfortunately the nap never seems to happen. I will outlast the sleep timer one or two times, and proceed to reset, hoping (in vain) that I will eventually drift off into golden slumbers. I usually end up watching the count down on my alarm clock. The alarm will ring in a taunting, almost "I told you so" sort of way. It's funny, but until I had this alarm clock, I never really thought an inanimate object such as an alarm clock could have a personality, but I have definitely changed my tune in regards to this matter. And as far as the fasting goes...anxiousness (to play) always seems to keep me from eating until I get to the venue and see other people eating. On this occasion, the big fat half pound burger...topped with portabello mushrooms and provolone cheese proved to be too strong of a temptation for me to resist

Another one of my usual pre-gig rituals includes my week's quota of telephone calls. The subject matter of these phone calls range from arrival times, set lists, making sure everything we needed was packed up, and driving arrangements. This may be the only area (as far as the band goes) where I surpass Brian in the "anal retentive" category. I guess there is just a certain piece of mind given in this somewhat annoying routine performed religiously the day of a gig. I am relatively sure that my incessant phone calls make no other in the band feel that much better. They are made purely for my own piece of mind.

Today several of my pre-gig phone calls included my neighbor John Champlin. I told Darin (who usually helps with the band merchandise) that my neighbor would be interested in working our table at the Brackney, so we were hashing out details. John would ride down with Ken and me. One of the subjects that broached our conversations was the topic of the impending weather. Of course I was remaining somewhat defiant towards the doom and gloom forecast earlier that morning by the weather channel. Winter storm warnings...HA!!! I laugh at your winter storm warnings. It is merely an early spring-like rain. And besides...everyone knows it is much warmer in Pennsylvania. There is no way we will get this winter storm the news has clamored about for the past four days. Fetish Lane is playing...it's impossible! I couldn't really tell if John was placating me or not, but my neighbor dutifully agreed with my summation of what the weather would in fact be (and did not blink an eye in the process)

It was now quarter of five as I see Ken's little red Toyota Matrix climb the slight incline into John's driveway (at the foot of my apartment stairwell). I have previously instructed Ken to use my neighbor's driveway instead of my own, because it would probably just be easier transferring gear under the cover of a car-port. It was still raining pretty hard at the time of our last communication, and I really didn't care to spend an entire evening with wet shoes and socks. I could've sworn Ken had passed by the house five minutes earlier, and promptly interrogate him on this matter the moment we greet. He immediately denies my accusation (much to John's amusement), and we proceed to load the car. After ten minutes of precariously balancing guitars and equipment (as well as several other questions regarding the mysterious red Toyota Matrix that happened to pass by a mere five minutes before Ken's arrival), we are able to squeeze John into his riding position, and we are off.

We make our way through the narrow streets of Sidney, and are quickly on I-88. As we bear right to the on-ramp, the driving rain suddenly stops. As we face west, the grey blanket of clouds open up, and we face a beautiful sun-drenched sky. "You see...didn't I tell you? I told you this winter storm watch would turn out to be nothing," I say in my best gloating tone. I speak as if my will power alone vanquished the clouds that threatened our performance. Once again, my neighbor John agrees (as if merely placating my meteorological prowess). He even adds commentary regarding the last satellite photos he happened to view before leaving that most certainly support my theory. All I can think about now is Kurt's apprehension about the impending weather, and how the Brackney Inn was a bit of a drive for some people in the winter. I have been telling him all week how it's nothing. I reassured him all week that the weather men are never correct. Why would they start now? I remember my last comment on the subject being something to the effect of "boy, if this rain was snow, we would have at least a foot of snow!!!"

And the rest is history!!!"

Fetish Lane is an American Roots Music Band. Members include Ken Held, Israel Lorimer, Ed Gliha, John Edick, Darrin Trass and Brian O'Connell.

Photography featured on this website was done in large part by friends, fans and family of the band including, but not limited to the following folks: Nikki Bisaha, Sarah Lewis, Aliscia Gaucher, Stacie Edick, Noelle Dasilva, and Johann Cash.

Website design and construction by: Thirsty Fish Graphic Design and Fetish Lane.