Anya Marina Gets Banged Up in Denver

Singer-songwriter Anya Marina is out on tour with the Virgins and Lissy Trullie and sending Spinner her dispatches from the road. In the second installment, Marina turns down some rims, heads to Denver and suffers a little blow to the face. Follow along on her excellent adventures.

Monday, May 11-- Travel/Show day
Desitnation: Denver, CO

I was up packing until 4 in the morning, which was the dumbest thing in the world to do before a show day. Nevertheless, at 6:30am, I somehow I manage to wake up, fueled only by the excitement of getting back out on the road with the gang.

After much agonizing, I've decided to pack only the electric guitar, my computer and a big suitcase full of gear, clothes and extraneous merch. Just as I'm worrying about the decision to leave the acoustic at home I get a text from my pal Britt (of Spoon) telling me I should indeed rock the electric on radio, so as not to do "another one of those boring acoustic sessions."


I feel relieved and vow to buy a little amp somewhere on the road.

The day is going smoothly, but then speed bumps arise. For one, the rental company gives me a Sedan rather than a mid-sized car, so I spend over an hour trying to get a car that will fit all my stuff. They attempt to send me off in a gargantuan luxury SUV fit for Diddy, but I refuse. They look at me like I'm insane.

"Look at those rims, girl. Come on!"

After settling on a modest ride, I arrive in Denver at the Bluebird Theatre. It's great to see everyone and we're all excited to get the kinks out at this first show. I snap a few pictures and have fun with my lates iPhone App., Camera Bag (thank you, fellow iPhone nerd & singer-songwriter Tristan Prettyman!)

During my soundcheck the soundman chastises me for not letting him know in advance about the instrument change. In spite of my apologies, he's peeved and pacing, trying to figure out my set-up and mumbling under his breath. Out of guilt, I lean over to try to help him. But just as I do, my guitar strap comes unfastened and the entire instrument whips around to knock me hard against my chin. I wince in pain and even the soundman hears the crack and asks if I'm OK.

I play it cool and say yes, but make a note to ice it the minute I get backstage. I wonder if this will bruise.

I play a decent -- albeit rusty -- show for a small but eagar and surprisingly vocal crowd. They cheer after every song and even whistle during 'Cut It Out.' I love Denver.

After the gig, I split to Cheyenne, Wyoming, to split up the long drive to Salt Lake City. When I check into the hotel the woman looks at me with pity. I figure it's because of my outfit (pink sequined dress and black bowler hat doesn't make much sense in a windstorm). Once I get to the room I realize my guitar-bruise has set in and I look like a domestic violence billboard.

Tomorrow: Salt Lake City!

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