Drums - Percussion
Dave has a photography show coming to the Perfect Exposure Gallery in Los Angeles this month. It runs from October 9th until November 5th, and features The Mobile Street Photography of David Ingraham and Roger Clay. The opening reception is Thursday, October 9th from 6:00-9:00pm. For the website with all of the details:
Dave was interviewed about his iPhone photography this month in Juxt online! Find it on http://www.wearejuxt.com/. Or, follow the link to Dave's story here:
Check out an interview with Dave Ingraham in the latest Drum! Magazine online:
While on our way to a gig in Kansas, the band decided to stop in Limon, CO. for dinner.
After sitting down with the guys and ordering my food, I decided to get up and make an attempt at walking off the garbage-compacter-like effect that sitting in a van all day has on my middle-aged body. I ended up wandering into a liquor store next door to see if I could find a decent-priced bottle of wine for later. After a few minutes I realized I wasn't going to have any luck, so I was heading toward the door when I received a text from my girlfriend. I read the text, then put my phone back in my pocket as I walked out the door. A few seconds later I hear a woman yell "hey you!" I turn around and the owner says in an accusatory tone "what's in your pocket?!" I gave her what I'm sure was a you-gotta-be-kidding-me look and showed her my cell phone, while asking if she was going to be frisking me. She says "it's rare that anyone comes into the store and doesn't buy anything". I tell her I'm eating next door and was bored, trying to kill some time. She says, in a tone expressing a combination of embarrassment and lingering anger over catching me not stealing "just checking... fine, JUST CHECKING!"
It was a simple mistake on her part--a mistake any one of us could make or maybe even have made. Nonetheless, her Guilty-until-proven-innocent attitude rubbed me the wrong way.
Moral of the story?...
Next time you're shoplifting, I mean shopping in Limon, CO., be sure to keep both hands in plain view, and make sure to have quick access to a good lawyer. You just never know when you might be accused of a crime you never committed.
After a recent dubs show in Billings Montana, a friend asked me why it had been so long since I'd updated my dubs "Road Stories" section, to which I replied with something along the lines of "oh, I didn't think anyone even read those things." Well, within a few moments of saying that, someone else approached me, telling me how they'd just recently read my road story. Hmmm... okay... well, I guess it's time to write a new road story. And what better place to write about than one of this country's greatest, yet most overlooked treasures: good ol' Butte Montana!
Only in Butte can you (or in this case,me) be walking down the street at 9:30a.m., in search of a warm, caffeinated beverage, and turn just in time to see a rather...portly young woman come tumbling (literally) from the passenger side of a pick-up truck,vomiting profusely* all over herself and the street (I'm assuming she was aiming for the street) ,directly in front of the Irish Times--the club we'd just played the night before.
(*It was obvious that this girl had been drinking all night, because the amount of chunk-free liquid that she spewed forth created the visual equivalent of someone throwing an entire bucket of water on the pavement.)
Out of what I believe was, in retrospect, a desire to not embarass the poor girl (no one wants to be stared at while hurling), I immediately looked away.
In other words, the whole experience, from my perspective that is, couldn't have lasted for more than a couple of seconds. Now, between that fact and the residual sleeping-pill-induced fog that was still hovering over the dew-covered field of my brain (remember,I hadn't had my morning-coffee yet), I was left wondering whether I'd actually witnessed this event at all, or if I'd just imagined it. I guess I'll never know for certain.
Which leads me to another Butte-related story!...
While leaving Butte after what I believe was my first visit (not the dubs first visit, but mine -- I'd been in the band for only a short while), our bus was
heading West on the I-90, full speed ahead, when our driver Kevin and I saw
a motorcyclist, leather jacket and all, stopped up ahead at the side of the road, standing with his back facing us. (he was securing something on the back of his bike.) Just as we were about to pass him, he spun around and, with an infuriated look of utter hatred, proceeded to flip us off. Yes, that's right, he gave us the finger. (Was it something we said?) Kevin and I looked at each other in utter disbelief and then, of course, started laughing histerically.
Once again, this whole event happened so quickly that, had Kevin not been there to be my witness, I would have been left wondering if I had really actually seen this aberration of reality, or if it was just another Butte-induced hallucination.
Of course, considering that, in the six-and-a-half years that I've been in this band, we've probably played Butte at least a dozen times, this barely scratches the story-telling surface. However, isn't there an old expression:
"some stories are better left untold?" Well, if there isn't, there should be.
------------ Ode to Butte -------------
O great and wonderous city of Butte, glorious and... disturbingly unique,I bid thee farewell. And though thine once-mighty walls now crumble, and though thine once-bustling streets now echo with the ghostly laughter of more prosperous times now forever past, I exalt thee!... and embrace thee; drawing thee nigh unto my bossom, like a loving mother embracing her retarded child. Yes, until we meet again, I say...
LONG LIVE BUTTE!