Weird Scenes from inside The Mystic ... or The Strange, But Unobservable, Power of Greg Lisher

Captain Bradford (in happier times) and Brad(ford).

With respect to seeing live music, there are few bands I enjoy seeing more than Camper Van Beethoven and Cracker.  Indeed, of all the bands I've ever seen, I've seen these two the most.  Their shows are even more enjoyable during their holiday-period swing through California.  I particularly have, over the years, enjoyed the shows in Petaluma at the Mystic Theater.  All the NorCal CVB and Cracker fans (the diehards, like myself, refer to themselves as "Crumbs") seem to converge on this picturesque Sonoma town. 

 What a thrill it is to reacquaint myself with Big Dave and Kimmy, Steve and Jen, Cynthia, Roxy and Jane, Dave, Curtis, Nancy and Jeff and many, many others.  It is also a time of renewal, a time to branch out and meet new friends.  New friends like ... Captain Bradford. 

When I saw the Captain (whose name I had yet learned), I immediately knew, things are going to get weird.  Mind you, this is a Cracker/CVB show; the bar is pretty f-ing high for something to constitute "weird."  The hearty Captain delivered.

Where do I start with this fella, this crusty swashbuckler? 

Initial appearances matter and so, as he approached the stage during the CVB set--on crutches--he cut a worthy swath in the crowd.  Think God and the Red Sea in the Ten Commandments.  It was *a lot* like that.   

Fair enough.  Dude is on crutches.  People gave way.  

But upon reaching the stage, he removed the crutches from his arms AND...threw them in the trash barrel by the stage. 

It was about this time that Greg Lisher launched into the intro to "Eye of Fatima."  

Artist rendering of St. Vitus' Dance

Dancing like St. Vitus, the Captain occasionally let out guttural groans.  The ferocity of the groans had the pleasing effect of clearing the floor, leaving just me and him in a rather roomy spot in front of Greg Lisher.  The passion of the dance, which included full body contortions and arms enveloping head, induced a rather persistent stream of perspiration.  Oh, and did I mention his neck was covered with bandages and gauze? 

Then it got weird. 

Over the sonic sound of Lisher's guitar, he engaged me in conversation. Why me? Why not?  Why ask? No one ever conquered Wyoming from the left or from the right. 

 I verily transcribe me and the Captain.

CB: "Who is this, Cracker or Beethoven?"

Me: "Uh, this is Beethoven." 

CB: "These guys are [expletive deleted] [inaudible]." 

Me: "Yeah they are (although truth be told, I didn't hear which adjective he chose...but I assume it was a positive one.)." 

CB: [Guttural yell (think Howard Dean in Iowa, 2004)]. 

It is worth noting here that apart from the Captain's sweating, he had the rather annoying tendency to be a close talker. On the good side, he had minty fresh breath.

Then it got weird. 

CB: "Where are these kids from?" 

Me: [As I'm more-or-less the same age as the CVB guys I am amused by the phrase "these kids."] "Well, originally Santa Cruz." 

CB: "SANTA CRUZ!!!!! [Inaudible sentence]. SANTA CRUZ CAL-I-FORNIA???" 

Me: "Yeah, that one."

CB: "NO [expletive deleted] WAY!!"

Me: "Yeah, they were from there. Now they live in different places." 

CB: Inaudible preface leading to the phrase: "BUT THEY SOUND AUSTRALIAN!!!!" 

Me: "Well they were from Santa Cruz." 

CB: [Grabbing my shoulders] "THEY SOUND AUSTRALIAN!!!!" 

Me: "I'm pretty sure they're not from Australia."  

I'm not sure I convinced him CVB is NOT an Australian band.  

Then it got weird. 

Entranced again by Lisher's guitar, he resumed his dancing.  The best way to describe it would be to imagine someone in a straightjacket who just discovered there is a rather randy rodent stuck inside the jacket and wants to get out.  

Thinking my time with Captain was over, I turned to enjoy the CVB set only to be horsetackled by El Capitan.  Arm wrapped firmly around my neck

CB: "What's your name man?" 

Me: "Uh, Brad"

CB: "NO [expletive deleted] WAY!!!!"  

Me: "Yeah, it's Brad." 

CB: "BradLY or BradFORD" 

Me: "Uh, hmmm, Bradford." 

CB: [Guttural Howard Dean] "NO [multiple expletives deleted] WAY!!!!  I AM CAPTAIN BRADFORD!!!!!"

 Me: "Captain??"

Then it got weird. 

The "Captain" next launched into a diatribe, no, dissertation, on who, historically speaking, "Captain Bradford" was.  I learned, as CVB played, that Captain Bradford was at the helm of a whaling ship during the "Pilgrim years."  He was also "responsible" for bringing black people into America and, sadly (apparently), met a foul ending to his life in Massachusetts during the Revolutionary War.  

Me: "So you're named after him?" 

CB: YES!!!!  

And then the Captain disappeared (meaning, he moved to Jonathan Segel's side of the stage.)  Relieved of his command, I resumed my enjoyment of the CVB show, but nonetheless pondered. Pondered OTHER weird moments at The Mystic.  

And then I recalled.  (Insert distorted dream waves.)

My mind went back to the 2007 Petaluma show, CVB playing, me in front of Greg Lisher.  

Next to me stood a withered, crystal meth woman, my wife Arlen next to me trying to avoid the octopus tentacles of the flailing arms of an aging hippie "dancing" to one of the trippy CVB songs.

She turned to me and said she was "David Lowery's neighbor."  I asked her, pointing to DL, "THAT David Lowery?"  

She's says "No.  Him."  And then points to Greg Lisher. 

Throughout the CVB set, she kept calling for them to play "Low."  

They didn't. 

When Cracker came on, by the way, she kept calling for them to play "Skinheads." 

They didn't. 

So whether the Mystic Theater invites the weirdness, or whether the aura of the space in front of Greg Lisher draws this in (admittedly, a perplexing causal argument would need to be established), I can say Captain Bradford most definitely enjoyed whatever world HE was drawn into. 

The Captain, of course, returned to my side, for a time, during the Cracker show.  Sweat-coated and yelling, I lost my desire to find out the reason for the gauze, the bandages, the bandana and whatnot. 

Was he a ghost?  The bandages masking the hangman's rope he escaped?

I will never know.