The desert heat must seep into your brain. We hit town at rush hour and everyone on the road drove infuriatingly rudely. Tucson seemed dirty and full of grumpy people when we arrived. Although, after meeting the fine folks at The Grill and getting a much needed meal, we realized that driving 9 hours in the desert might have skewed our perception.
Even so, downtown Tucson creeped us out a little.
Next door to the Red Room we visited the dustiest and most disorganized music shop
. They resell janky, used drum sticks by the bucket full. A gem might lurk among the junk, but the over-priced metronome they tried to sell Ian doesn't qualify.
The Red Room layout required us to set up on top of each other - as they say, "all up ins." (And by "they", I mean "we.") Carl Hanni
spun some old school records before we put together a somewhat subdued set for the bar crowd. Several people came out to revel in Arizona's brand new state-wide smoking ban. Wanting a beer or seven and a little Spaceship Jazz shouldn't require smelling like butts afterwards.