Heaven in a Dixie cup, swingin’ and singin’

by Chris Aaland

Damn those blue laws. Back in 2005, when accompanying my alma mater’s men’s soccer team to the NCAA Division II Final Four in Wichita Falls, Texas, we were ignorant of the Lone Star State’s Sunday liquor regs. 

An appearance by the Sky Puppies in the championship game led to a big Saturday night bender and we ran out of beer. No liquor sales on Sunday meant we were left high and dry. Fortunately, one of my interns was there to cheer on her boyfriend, a reserve forward on the team. 

Big Bad Voodoo Daddy returns to the Concert Hall with its swingin’ holidy party on Sunday.

She had several bottles of Yellowtail Shiraz in her room and came up with the ingenious idea to chill a half glass of Yellowtail on ice and top with Orange Crush soda. She dubbed the concoction “Ghetto Sangria.” A few hours later, dozens of blue & gold-clad faithful fueled by Ghetto Sangria celebrated the first NCAA title in school history.

As I typed on the keyboard in my Kansas motel room Sunday night, the need arose to act quickly and decisively. The motel room itself is worthy of in-depth analysis. At $53 per night, you get what you pay for, and “The Brooks” certainly lives up to its reputation. It’s basically a hunter’s camp with HDTV in each room. The air reeks of somebody’s stale, cheap cigars. A wooden spool table on the side of the building is covered with pheasant and quail feathers, blood and guts. Hunters (like us – we rushed to finish our chores as the sun was setting today) clean their daily bounty and discard the entrails, feathers and skins into a rusty garbage can that must be a raccoon’s wet dream. The mattresses are soft and lumpy, but the staff sets the thermostat at a balmy 81 degrees to greet you when you stumble in from the fields. A small legion of fast food joints serve as your only option for dinner unless, like us, you know locals who welcome you in for a home-cooked meal.

After tonight’s such meal – pheasant a la king, mashed potatoes, creamed corn, peas and cornbread – we returned to The Brooks so that I could do my due diligence as a music and nightlife columnist. Trouble was, we were out of beer and whiskey. And Kansas, like parts of Texas, doesn’t sell booze on Sundays … not even the 3.2 variety. “Poor planning” is what my stepdad would call it.

Then I remembered my old intern’s stroke of genius. I’d brought several bottles of Guy Drew wines with me to Kansas as thank-you gifts for the folks who feed us and let us hunt their land. The Meritage went quickly at a Saturday night steak dinner. A bottle of Sweet Riesling served as our end-o-day sunset cocktail. But a few bottles of Unoaked Chardonnay remained. And I had a 64-oz. jug of cran-grape juice-like substance and a bag of Cuties oranges. Toss a couple of fingers of Chardonnay, a few ounces of Ocean Spray, a wedge of orange and some ice from The Brooks’ ailing icemaker into a cardboard motel coffee cup – the kind that usually sits next to the 2-oz. in-room coffee maker, sugar, Sweet’N Low, powdered creamer, conditioning shampoo samples and tiny bars of soap – and you have heaven in a Dixie cup. I call it “Trailer Sangria.”

This kind of goodness makes you forget the badger hole that your right foot found when you were rushing to the end of the draw in hopes of catching up to the point that your stepdad’s English Setter was making. 

It washes down the dust brought on by the day’s 40 mph gusts. Savor it and revel in the fact you used just three shells to bag two birds. 

Hell, sniff the orange rind and it makes the musky stank of King Edwards stogies seem like fresh-cut lavender.

Here’s hoping tomorrow’s hangover doesn’t hurt my shooting. Mama needs a freezer full of pheasants. Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!

Before you even have a chance to digest your holiday meal, Black Friday will be upon us. But don’t fret … it also means holiday concerts are nigh. Big Bad Voodoo Daddy brings its wild & swingin’ holiday party to the Community Concert Hall at 7 p.m. Sunday. Largely an excuse to promote their guiltily addictive Christmas record, “Everything You Want for Christmas,” BBVD’s tour focuses on holiday classics. Scotty Moore’s retro big band formed in the mid-‘90s during the “Swingers” craze that led to a major swing revival (think BBVD, Cherry Poppin’ Daddies, Squirrel Nut Zippers and the Brian Setzer Orchestra) and is a seven-piece combo featuring guitar, bass, drums, piano and a three-man horn section.

On Friday, the annual “Singing with Santa” caroling procession and lighting of the holiday tree in Buckley Park takes place. First National Bank serves as the staging area at 5:45 p.m., where the first 500 children to arrive will receive glow sticks. At 6, Santa and Mrs. Claus, in a horse-drawn wagon, will lead the foot parade down Main Avenue, north to Buckley Park, the site of Durango’s 100-foot holiday spruce tree. Free hot cocoa and cookies are part of the fun.

Also of note: Kirk James plays solo blues at 6 p.m. Saturday at the Seven Rivers Steakhouse at the Sky Ute Casino in Ignacio; and Black Velvet returns to the Derailed Pour House at 8 p.m. Saturday.

This week’s Top Shelf list is provided by my college roommate Bill Deter, who was supposed to accompany my old man, little brother, 7-year-old son and me to Kansas for pheasant hunting this past weekend. Unfortunately, Deter’s wife Annmarie nixed his hunting trip after he went redfishing in Louisiana and on trout treks to Grey Reef and the upper Colorado River on three successive weekends. He’s on such a short leash. Here are Deter’s 10 songs he’d like to hear if he knew his death was imminent.

It’s also legal and it gets you so high? Email me at chrisa@gobrainstorm.net.chrisa@gobrainstorm.net.