Our last show in Bisbee was a bit strange. We were booked at the historic Royale Theater. A beautifully big building at the end of the downtown strip. A prime location that features food, beverages, and shows movies, and apparently has live music. I mean, it is certainly set up for that. The space was a dream to perform in. The sound guy, Dan, was an absolute ROCKSTAR to work with! The staff was friendly and did what they could with the LITTLE-TO-NO information they’d received about us, our agreement, or our show. The management, however, was abysmal.
We were NEVER even greeted by the woman who booked us…WHO WAS THERE ALL DAY! (After showing up almost two hours late and shirking her door responsibilities). The owner was on vacation, but managed to scream over the phone at a cook so badly that she walked off her shift and quit. (We found out later that that is a common occurrence.) Our show was great, but the event was lightly attended. My opinion was based off the fact that the reputation for The Royale is not good. SEVERAL people in the community had said to us, “I won’t go there anymore.” Or “Since the new management, that place has been horrible.”
I will say this, our friend Trish originally got us this gig to try and help the place out and get us one more show while in Bisbee. Thinking that bringing in some real talent and doing a brunch would be a great combo. Well, in theory she was correct. But in practice it was a rough go. The AC unit wasn’t working, and the owner wouldn’t call anyone back to talk them through the fix. Trish ended up taking money at the door, helping seat people, and RUNNING DRINKS from the bar! And she DOESN’T EVEN WORK THERE! All while the “manager” sat around and barely looked up from her phone. (Jared here: In fairness to her, I did see her running around a bit, frantically and looking frazzled. But I can’t tell what she was doing. And yeah, she did seem to be on her phone, scrolling around a lot.) She did come in to record us at one point, but that was the end of it. Not a single “Hi”, “Thanks for playing here.” “How is everything?”… Literally NOTHING!! I can’t remember, even at the worst venues, and EVEN if we weren’t liked, being this poorly received and disrespected. I also haven’t seen Jared so mad in a while, but it was justified. I think it stood out as odd because it was really opposite of the rest of the GREAT experiences we’d had in this town the past couple days. And it’s not like this was a shit bar. The place is an absolute baller of an event space that should be banking in the cash from weekend shows. I am telling you…
Here, please take this business model. It’s almost fool proof with the venue, sound system and sound guy already there:
Monday-Tuesday- closed for book keeping and sanity
Wednesday- open mic night
Thursday-Local music acts
Friday-Sat- Touring bands
Sunday- Burlesque or Drag brunch
There. You are welcome.
Anyway, here is the beautiful stage that I absolutely LOVED performing on and a system that was a joy to sing through.
My husband, wearing his “Hey. At least I’m not swearing” face, while toasting the audience and silently wanting to strangle the higher-ups. Of course, there I am in the back, twirling about like a six year old princess without a care…
Speaking of six year old princesses, here’s my little protege, Miss Lilly with the “Kukelele” (please smile at her socks with me…she was so darling).
The face is at least AS important than the skill set. She’s definitely got that down!
A corner full of merch!
Showing off the original Bob Mackey piece I got at “Bitchin’ Pickins” and my new (used) pink boots!! Because “Glam Folk” can’t be squelched!!!!
After the gig was over, we enjoyed some very complimentary words from the sound guy, but again were COMPLETELY IGNORED by the manager. Even the cook (that was still left) said “Good bye”. That decided it. We needed along walk and a cold beer.
We loaded up our gear, hung our sweat-soaked clothes out to dry, tossed on shorts and tank tops, and I put my Birkenstocks on over my fishnets (because…fashion, of course), and we took off. We grabbed some lunch with Trish at a taco joint. We ordered margaritas (strong ones) and then a table that had ordered one too many (no such thing, IMO) gave us their extra one! So now we really needed that walk. We parted ways with Trish and started exploring.
The town was quiet enough that we could hear every little noise: cars on the hill, night birds coming to life, street voices laughing, music coming from basements, and the sounds of single voice and guitar somewhere in the distance. We stumbled down a street and saw several bars, one with a sign that boasted “Room 4: Arizona’s Smallest Bar!”. My new friends, a cluster of amigos who daily occupied this particular corner, and I’d chatted with a few times, recognized us, said “hi” right away, and then directed us to go up to the bar to hear the music. We walked up a long flight of stairs to an opening with what looked like a picked over catered food spread on a large table. On the wall, with an arrow pointing down the hall, was a small sign that just read, “Bar”. We followed down the hall, slowly beginning to feel like Alice after ingesting the “Eat Me” cookie, to a small, enclosed, space, no bigger than a medium sized restroom or a large pantry, that had a full bar and four barstools. I laughed out loud. This was real life and it had brought us here. I loved it. We ordered two beers and walked out to the patio to see where the music was coming from.
A kind-looking, tall man was playing and singing with a soft, unoffensive voice, full of character. Jared enjoyed his creative chord choices and rivers, I enjoyed his demeanor. We finally relaxed. We spent the next half hour or so listening to the end of his set, enjoying him telling jokes and wishing his friend a happy birthday in between tunes. It was apparently a celebration for his buddy, but it was also a public listening event, so we were okay to hang. We had such a lovely time. It was therapeutic to just enjoy someone else making relatable, creative music, who also appeared to be genuinely happy. He even got the audience to sing along on several tunes. (Jared here: His name is Mike Montoya. He was a breath of fresh air.)
As we raised our perspiring beers along with our warbling voices, in sloppy harmonies and mumbled words beneath the warm summer air, it felt serendipitous to be there. Right there, on this specific patio at the top of the stairs, amidst the locals, celebrating one of their own, listening to one of their own, and feeling like one of their own. I’m only sorry we didn’t get a picture of the bar, but there was barely the room enough to take out my phone to snap one!
It was just the balm we needed to smooth over some of the burn from our experience at The Royale.
