That New Orleans Voodoo: Rolling an ankle

Friday at the Frat House in New Orleans we played a great show, with one exception. I rolled my ankle. Really hard.

Achachay and New Orleans have a rich and storied history. On our first tour, the Ho Bus’ transmission failed as we tried to cross the Slidell Bridge heading out of town (see this post, and this one). The second time through, we had to get towed 190 miles just to arrive (also see this post). Hell before the band was even formed Ryan rode out the devastating Hurricane Katrina in a nearby hotel where he was marooned for days. I suppose it wasn’t a surprise when that New Orleans voodoo funked up our performance yet again.

I was jumping like crazy when I landed on a large, black, and unfortunately positioned power supply square. I crumpled to the floor, barely managing to keep the song going. The pain throbbed with intensity. Thomas and the other owners were pretty liberal with their shots, so the combination of adrenaline and liquor kept me going through the next two sets.

By the time we finished, all I could feel was the pain of my ankle. Nothing else entered my consciousness as I squinted and tensed all my muscles in a feeble attempt to … i don’t know feel something else I guess. “Hey man you know that couch is pretty dirty? Vanilla Ice literally had sex on it a couple weeks ago” Randall let me know. “Sure man. I guess I’m already on it so …” I couldn’t muster up much more of a response.

Julie and her crew-cheif friends, who energized us by dancing at the stage during the entirety of our three hour set, stopped backstage to congratulate me on a good show and say their goodbyes. I wanted to thank them for coming, for enjoying it and getting into the show, thank Kenny for getting me ice earlier, to hang out a bit but mostly my ankle screamed that I shut the fuck up and pay attention to its demands. It was huge, swollen to what seemed the size of a baseball.

That first night was dark one, but in the past few days I’ve been recovering fairly well. I focus on RICE: Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation. The Ryans are really helpful, picking up the slack in loading up equipment and driving. I mostly hop because it’s a lot faster than hobbling, and for the first time ever sat on a stool on stage. Of course that didn’t last long because I couldn’t STAND it (hehe), so ended up imitating a flamingo-rocker. Only less pink.

After the show, which really went over quite well, we got to chill a bit and really enjoy the company of Frat House owners and staff. They’re good people. Good show, good fans, good venue – with or without the New Orleans voodoo interfering with our best laid plans, we’ll be back.