I got there at 7:30, an hour before the doors opened, just in case. I made my way through the postindustrial wilderness along the eastern edge of the city from where the bus let me off to the base of Potrero Hill, home of the Anchor Brewery. The Bottom of the Hill holds about 200 people, I'd guess. It's been getting some pretty good bills lately, including Robyn Hitchcock for three nights last year. There was no line, so I went inside and had some beer.

The club has a kitchen, and several people were sitting around eating burgers and fries, including the band (minus Pollard, plus Pete Jamison, "Manager for Life" as it says on the back of _FJSC_). Now, I'm a shy person, but when Nate went up to the bar to take a call from someone named "Bob," I knew I had to seize the moment.

Impromptu Interview with Nate Farley.

Yes (as Mark leaked), he is the same "Nate" who has taken over lead guitar for the Breeders. It's only a temporary gig, though: for now just a tour of the major port cities of Europe, beginning in Amsterdam.

B: So what are you going to do if Tobin Sprout quits the band to be a father full time?

N: Oh, I'd disown my family to be in Guided by Voices.

Sweet, but Machiavellian. He said he's been having a blast since filling in for Sprout, and the crowds have been terrific. That night's show would be his last; Sprout was meeting them in LA. And even during his days of glory, he's still been the roadie, taping down the setlists. He didn't know why Josephine Wiggs left the Breeders.

He asked my name, shook my hand, and the interview was over. A very nice young man, and a fine guiter player.

They kicked us out at eight. I was second in line. The woman ahead of me wore a matching Buffalo Bills jacket and cap. The cover was $7, the handstamp was "BOTTOM." Once inside the Bills fan and I both ordered the "Cajun style" fries, which proved impossible for either of us to finish. While waiting for my mound of fries I noticed Marylou Lord squatting up on stage, chatting with some people, and I saw something I have never seen before: the crack of a woman's butt over the top of her pants.

Greer sat alone at the bar, drinking what looked like a Greyhound, the others having departed in the van. Deciding against initiating a conversation, I watched silent MTV instead. I almost never watch TV (and I don't have cable), and I am almost always mesermized by it, especially in bars. In this case it was a hyperstylish Madonna video, "Babes Awake" or "Beautiful Dream" or something like that, with computerprocessed whirling dervishes and an arresting sequence laden with biblical overtones in which a dove or a jellyfish or a kinish comes out of Madonna's breastbone. Then the bartender changed channels to some hospital drama starring that "Little House on the Prarie" woman that even I had to stop watching after a while.

I missed most of Lord's set again, other friends turning up this time, and then had to endure an entirely overlong set by the SF Seals. Now, in another context I'm sure I would have appreciated them more, but I was not there to listen to their sincere brand of folksy, sometimes punkish rock. And their lead guitarist had an alarming case of muttonchops. Worse, they were cutting into what I correctly foresaw as potential stagetime for GbV--Lord hadn't gone on till nearly ten, and the Seals played until quarter of twelve. But GbV were not long in taking the stage.

Pollard's first words were "Can somebody tell the guy back there that works the cash register that I'm in the band? He was wantin me to step outside. . . . He was gonna kick my ass." He introduced Farley. "This is his last show," he said with a laugh. "Toby's gonna meet us in LA and he's gonna go back to bein a roadie. $300 a week and all he can drink!" Then he announced "Salty Salute." "It's a drinking song," he said. A case of Bud Light (in contrast to the plastic cooler at the Great American) sat on the stage.

After "Salty Salute" they paused a few seconds and played "Postal Blowfish." Pollard apologized for the Bud Light by saying he was on a diet. He'd been to the So. Philly Cheese Steak shop in Berkeley (the best in the Bay Area) and had to watch the calories. A good thing, too: he chaindrinks at the same rate Mitchell chainsmokes. "Evil Speakers" was next, followed by "Watch Me Jumpstart," which featured some very solid playing from Farley. Pollard introduced "King and Caroline" by saying it was about his mom and dad. They segued directly into "Motor Away," not missing a beat. Pollard said it was their new single, the song getting all the airplay (I'll let you know what Matador says about this).

When somebody called out for "Tractor Rape Chain" Pollard was ready to go, but then noticed "It's not on the fuckin setlist!" They played it anyway. Nate stood out again on "Gold Heart Mountaintop," which went right into "Shocker in Gloomtown." The song that starts with the line "The light is too bright" followed (I don't think it's an old song; does anyone know its title?), and then "Pimple Zoo" and "Game of Pricks."

"You don't understand," Pollard said in between songs. "We're just a bunch of drunks, man. Now we get to play music for y'all." (Most of these quotes are not really verbatim, and in some cases I cannot decipher my own handwriting.)

"My Valuable Hunting Knife," "Smothered in Hugs." "Did y'all see us on the Jon Stewart Show?" Pollard asked the crowd. "We had fun. . . . They even let us drink on TV." My hunch was right. He introduced "Deaf Ears" by saying that the next album just might be called "Snowflakes Falling on the International Dateline." He announced "Blimps Go 90" but then stopped when someone called out for "Hank's Little Fingers." "Lemme tell'ya the story about that song. Hank was a guy with a deformed hand. He'd put a rubberband around his wrist and put a pick on the end, and we'd watch him play guitar."

"My Son Cool" followed "Blimps," and then "Gold Star for Robot Boy," which featured synchronized windmill powerchords from Mitchell and Farley. "Striped White Jets," "Quality of Armor" (a non-setlist number, I think), and "I Am a Scientist," again showing what a fine player Farley is. He played it for all it was worth, doing several Pete Townshend jumps, one backwards off a monitor.

When Pollard announced "Hot Freaks" I impulsively interrupted him to ask what it was about (having some ideas of my own). "You know what it's about," someone behind me said. "What's it about?" Pollard said. "It's about younger men with an affinity for older women" (an interpretation vauge enough to coexist comfortably with, even complement, mine). "Trap Soul Door" followed, then "Break Even." Cries for "Echos Myron" moved Pollard to say "Lemme tell you somethin. We *know* that one, but Toby knows it and Toby's in Dayton!" Nate, however, insisted he could play it, and he did, closely watching Greer's fingerings. I could hear some odd chords here, but nothing very obvious or unpleasant.

"Lethargy," "Exit Flagger," during which Mitchell sang the last chorus with cigarette in mouth, and "Big Boring Wedding." The encore began with a false start on "Hardcore UFOs," and then another on "A Big Fan of the Pigpen." "Deathtrot and Warlock," "Matter Eater Lad," "Marchers in Orange," "Weed King," and "Unleashed!" about which Pollard said "This is our theme song." The second encore (the previous night only had one) began around 1:35, with Pollard playing a lovely "Jar of Cardinals" on Mitchell's guitar. "Some Drilling Implied" featured the whole band, and then Pollard played solo again on "If We Wait," adding "or flying" to "If you ever see me crying," and forgetting most of the rest, creating a vacuum into which Greer invited a small fanatical cell of enthusiasts to step by holding his microphone up to capture their surprisingly weak rendition of the chorus. They kept bellowing while Pollard fumbled his way through. I even joined in until I heard just how horribly offkey I was. As the band discussed what to play next the house lights came up--it was 1:45--, prompting Pollard to flip off the sound man. The musical portion of the show was over.

So Pollard sat down crosslegged at the edge of the stage, Bud Light in hand, and chatted with us a while. He got going on the fomenting backlash. "These fuckin critics," he was saying. "They were all pissed off because we headlined [at South by Southwest] and all these hotshit bands like Railroad Jerk and Bettie Serveert had to open for us. The fuckin critics were sayin about us 'Well, they rocked . . . but I was disappointed.' They were disappointed cause they thought we were just a bunch of drunk old men. . . . Bettie Serveert wouldn't even talk to us because we headlined and they didn't. . . . Whatthefuck were they gonna do if they came on after us? They can't rock."

Pollard dismissed the fashionable new anti-GbV line of the cogniscenti. "We've been doin the same shit down in our basement for fifteen years, man." Someone asked him why _Propeller_ sounds so different from the earlier material. "I'd like to think all our albums sound different," he said. Several people had called for "Over the Neptune" throughout the show, and when asked about it he explained that the crowd noise had been done in the studio. "This song does not rock," he kept saying, laughing. "Then we played it in front of about 20 people. We made the mistake of giving a microphone to the drummer. We'd originally planned to make the entire first side of _Propeller_ one long song, but it was too hard." (Here he revealed that it was planned as a sort of answer to Genesis' "Supper's Ready," and he agreed that the next album might be seen as a cousin to _The Lamb Lies down on Broadway_.) "We were all set to play this slow, quiet song, and we make the mistake of giving the drummer a microphone. And he gets up there and says 'Are you ready to rock?' So I said 'This song does *not* rock.'" Before I could get him to explain how he managed to rock so flawlessly after all that, he moved on to another topic.

"What's with the Bud Light thing," I asked him. "I thought you guys drank Rolling Rock. Is this some kinda product placement deal?" "Yeah," he said. "We went to the Rolling Rock people and told them we'd really be interested in doing something with them. We never heard from them again. So we went with Bud Light." I imagine someone from the Rolling Rock marketing department saw them play and thought better of a promotion involving a lead singer who actually thanks his audience for allowing him to quit teaching and commit suicide by drinking.

The conversation meandered a little longer. We found out his old room number (309) had been retired at the school where he taught. Then someone called his name and he jumped up, court adjourned. I wandered back down to Third Street, whatever ride I might have gotten from my friends now long gone (they'd called my name a few times but between the ringing in my ears and my absorption in the conversation with Pollard I never head them), and by the grace of the gods of public transportation actually got a bus back to North Beach and was home by quarter of three.

Cheers,
Bruce