Upon hearing a band from my neck of the woods would be playing there called The Dirty Dozen Brass Band, I immediately made plans for a trip to The Pour House. I called up a friend and we made our way down Maybank HWY, parked and made our way to the front door. The guy who was apparently working there let me give the door a solid two tries before he informed us the doors would be open in around 5 minutes and that there was music on the back deck playing until then.
Half a PBR tallboy in, my friend looked around and proclaimed, "I feel like I'm a MLB scout at a Wando JV game." I surveyed the scene. The ratio was about 1 girl to 7 bearded guys. Normally, big guys with full sleeve tattoos and solid 6 month beards would make me nervous but with hipsters being as popular are they are here in Charleston, they usually just make me Chai Tea Lattes. If anything did go down, I'm pretty sure jeans that tight aren't easy to run in. I felt pretty safe but I wasn't there to start any trouble, I'm sure they were all fans of The Pour House WAY before it was cool and just wanted some good tunes like I did.
The band playing finished up and the crowd started building up on the outside deck. My friend and I got another round and met a middle aged woman and her husband playing that ring on a string game thats to the right of the bar. We tried to explain the point of the game was to try and swing the ring and hook it on the opposing post, for whatever point system or drinking game your incorporate it with but she wasn't having it.
"It's not possible to hook it, the ring is rotating. It's physics."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I've been trying for like..fifth...five minutes!"
As she was explaining how she read "in a book" that the physics pertaining to this game made it impossible, my friend had taken the ring and was on his 3rd try when we both heard the clang of the ring successfully hooking onto the post.
I tapped her beer bottle with my PBR can and whispered "physics."
There was a chocolate lab named Charlie we had become friends with during our tenure out on the deck and he was making his way around our little area getting pats on the head from whoever would oblige. He was there with two girls in their mid 20's and would occasionally circle back to check in or take a little rest at their feet. If they had brought Charlie with them to be their wingman, it quickly backfired as a man well into his late 50's approached them with tight high wadder jeans, a tucked-in yet unbuttoned hawaiian shirt and no shoes or socks on. As he leaned on the African Safari arcade game to get about 4 inches from the now very worried girl's face for a little chat, he started to stroke Charlie's back with his foot. His bare foot.
"Hey there darlin, is this pup here yours?"
"Uh, er, yes sir, I mean yea."
I turned to my friend and made a face as he sighed and shook his head.
"Let's go inside."
"Damn Wando JV game."
Inside the main floor was starting to fill up as the opening band was setting up. They were pretty solid bluesy rock and a few of their songs had their moments but I was ready for The Dirty Dozen Brass Band to go on. This band is originally from New Orleans, one of my favorite cities, and they play a mixture of zydeco, cajun marching music and funk covers. I've seen them play multiple times and wasn't going to miss a chance to hear some music from home.
As the main show began to start, my friend, and another that had joined us, moved down from that upper bar area to the main floor to get a better view of the stage. The band was amazing. The main guy could play two trumpets and the same time. It's ridiculous. It's also great music for semi-dancing without spilling your drink or moving your feet from where they are, or as I like to call it, "white people dancing." Consistent beat. Not too fast. Very easy to follow.
Some people like to take things up a notch from the safe haven of "white people dancing," especially when the band really gets things going. In comes Encino Man from the outside deck completely hammered, cargo shorts, no shoes, a ripped up Quicksilver sleeveless shirt and a bandana tied to cover up his mid back long blonde hair. And not a bandana tied Rambo style, but Cinderella scrubbing the floors while little mice sing to her style. Also, I say Encino man, the caveman unearthed in Samwise Gamgee's backyard in one of my favorite early 90's movies, because he was dancing like Brendan Fraser, or, Encino Man, did in one of the last scenes of the movie where an entire high school not only had no idea he spoke no english throughout the entire movie but elected him prom king after he led a school wide dance.
I use this comparison only partly in jest, because my comrade at The Pour House used the little kick to the side move at least 2 dozen times. He even did a spinny twirl move that knocked two drinks and a purse to the ground and although the mixed drink was KIA the PBR can he saved from completely emptying out had at least a sip or two left in it. He was a little shocked but too drunk to be embarrassed and as he looked up at my now empty hand I just smiled and said:
"You earned that."
I'd like to say Encino Man had as much fun at the show as I did but after closing out and heading to the parking lot, we heard the distinctive sound of someone's stomach refusing to "party on." I went over to see if he needed any help but he was already snuggled up in the bed of a pickup and ready for the ride home.
If there's any lesson here, it would be support local live music venues, don't be afraid to dance to what you think is your full potential, and don't ever, under any circumstance, pet a dog with your bare feet, in a bar.
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