The Poison Control Center

MARCH 4 – BUSKING AT FRIDAY FEST, PANAMA CITY, FL [SHOW #164] [JT] No show today between Tallahassee and Mobile on Saturday night, so we decided to head to Panama City to try our luck there.  We rolled into town at dusk, and as soon as we hit the downtown strip on Harrison Avenue there were road blockades closing off the street for what appeared to be a huge street festival.  What luck!  It turns out to be Panama City’s Friday Fest, which takes place on the first Friday of every month, and today is the first of the year.  Six blocks in downtown are closed off and are lined with classic cars, food vendors, live music and more.  We grabbed our acoustic guitar, snare drum and trumpet and took to the street.  We found an empty area between two vendors and after talking with the festival organizer and convincing him to let us busk, we played for the hundreds of passerby’s.  Adults were amused, kids were wowed by the rolls and splits, and even some hipsters took notice.  Made some decent cash and sold a CD in an hour’s time, and we even ran into Jef – an old Panama City friend of Mike Turner.  He was shocked to see us.  “I’ve been trying to get you guys to come to Panama City for years!”  he said.  He suggested that we go down to the A&M theater down the street – an upstairs art space that used to be known as Gallery Above.  A special art opening was taking place featuring paintings and prints by local artists, and there was food, wine, and live music by a fantastic pianist named Mike Andersen.  We introduced ourselves to the curator Scott, who was happy to meet the “busking band” that everyone was talking about.  He welcomed us to the space, introduced us to some of the featured artists, and talked about all the improvements they had been making to the room since taking it over a month ago.  He said that we would love to have our band play in the future and gave us his contact info.  We offered to play a show right then and there, but it was getting late and the festival was beginning to wind down.  We hit to street again and moseyed around the remains of the fest.  We strolled down to the pier and looked out over the black bay and the lights of the beach resorts in the distance.  The air was cool and breezy.  There were a few lonely fishermen hunched over the rails and some random teens running about.  On the way back to the van we stopped at one food vendor that was still standing, and they unloaded the rest of their deep-fried foods on us:  two blooming onions, fried pickles and jalapenos, fried green tomatoes, shrimp on a stick and gator on a stick.  “Take it all,” they said, and we loaded up our hands full of greasy baskets.  “Good,” the woman said “now we can go home.”  We brought the food back to the van and had feasted on the ground in the parking lot.  We got about halfway through the baskets when we cut ourselves off, feeling gross.  With nowhere to go, we sought an Econo Lodge on the edge of town and booked a room, our first of this leg of the tour.  We fell asleep to a hilarious local cable show “Club Hour” that was showcasing all the spring break hotspots, hosted by a young woman that was going from club to beach to club getting progressively more hoarse and drunk. 

MARCH 4 – BUSKING AT FRIDAY FEST, PANAMA CITY, FL [SHOW #164]

[JT] No show today between Tallahassee and Mobile on Saturday night, so we decided to head to Panama City to try our luck there.  We rolled into town at dusk, and as soon as we hit the downtown strip on Harrison Avenue there were road blockades closing off the street for what appeared to be a huge street festival.  What luck!  It turns out to be Panama City’s Friday Fest, which takes place on the first Friday of every month, and today is the first of the year.  Six blocks in downtown are closed off and are lined with classic cars, food vendors, live music and more.  We grabbed our acoustic guitar, snare drum and trumpet and took to the street.  We found an empty area between two vendors and after talking with the festival organizer and convincing him to let us busk, we played for the hundreds of passerby’s.  Adults were amused, kids were wowed by the rolls and splits, and even some hipsters took notice.  Made some decent cash and sold a CD in an hour’s time, and we even ran into Jef – an old Panama City friend of Mike Turner.  He was shocked to see us.  “I’ve been trying to get you guys to come to Panama City for years!”  he said.  He suggested that we go down to the A&M theater down the street – an upstairs art space that used to be known as Gallery Above.  A special art opening was taking place featuring paintings and prints by local artists, and there was food, wine, and live music by a fantastic pianist named Mike Andersen.  We introduced ourselves to the curator Scott, who was happy to meet the “busking band” that everyone was talking about.  He welcomed us to the space, introduced us to some of the featured artists, and talked about all the improvements they had been making to the room since taking it over a month ago.  He said that we would love to have our band play in the future and gave us his contact info.  We offered to play a show right then and there, but it was getting late and the festival was beginning to wind down.  We hit to street again and moseyed around the remains of the fest.  We strolled down to the pier and looked out over the black bay and the lights of the beach resorts in the distance.  The air was cool and breezy.  There were a few lonely fishermen hunched over the rails and some random teens running about.  On the way back to the van we stopped at one food vendor that was still standing, and they unloaded the rest of their deep-fried foods on us:  two blooming onions, fried pickles and jalapenos, fried green tomatoes, shrimp on a stick and gator on a stick.  “Take it all,” they said, and we loaded up our hands full of greasy baskets.  “Good,” the woman said “now we can go home.”  We brought the food back to the van and had feasted on the ground in the parking lot.  We got about halfway through the baskets when we cut ourselves off, feeling gross.  With nowhere to go, we sought an Econo Lodge on the edge of town and booked a room, our first of this leg of the tour.  We fell asleep to a hilarious local cable show “Club Hour” that was showcasing all the spring break hotspots, hosted by a young woman that was going from club to beach to club getting progressively more hoarse and drunk.