Courtesy of the Steamboat Grand Hotel The unlikely birthplace of many-a Texas music collaboration.
By the O's
Day Three: Floor Seven Exposed!
The mysterious seventh floor has opened it's righteous arms for The O's, and we've learned the true essence of Steamboat.
In our ongoing effort to fully immerse ourselves into Music Fest 2015, we've been fighting with our internal clocks incessantly, which are requesting sleep. The only issue with sleep is that the all night jams on the seventh floor of the Steamboat Grand Hotel are kinda THE thing for this "thang."
Fellow musician Jason Eady let us in on the secret to survival: napping. Like fart jokes, we learned the art of napping in elementary school, and neither one ever gets old. And that little snag of snooze is the fuel on which we will rely this evening so we can be ready. There may also be some Deep Eddy/Shiner Bock/Rebecca Creek Whiskey involved. We won't lose our footing this time around. The seventh floor has been beckoning us since our afternoon show.
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Hijinks at the Steamboat Grand during a previous MusicFest.
After finishing up our scheduled gig, we sauntered over to the Steamboat Grand and were swept to the coveted seventh floor for some radio interviews. This was our first dabble into Music Fest nobility. We got to a round table with legends Michael Martin Murphy, Roger Creager and a couple of other up-and-comers, Charlie Worsham and Zach Nytomt. Just great songs and a damn good time. It's seriously humbling to be surrounded by a group of greats. And no, we're not just being cordial.
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Then it was onto festivaling. We checked out Jack Ingram, Charlie Robison, Bruce Robison, Paul Thorn, Jason Eady, Evan Felker from Turnpike Troubadours and a slew of others. But it was Max Stalling and his bona fide charm that helped us return to seventh floor wonder. It turns out that this is in fact the heart and soul of the event. Getting to attend one of the upper-echelon rooms is momentous. It's where the connection from the artist to the festival goes beyond that of any other jamboree where'd you just play and roll out to the next town.
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It was during this epiphany that someone handed us a guitar and our motor skills (not to mention flappy traps) were severely impaired. So we thankfully handed the guitar back, shut up, and thought to ourselves, "Man, this is the perfect place to sit back and listen to genuine badasses play their songs." And we did.
More seventh floor hijinks coming soon!
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