Somehow, no matter how many times I\u2019ve been here or how many advertures and surprises those trips have held, there always seems to be some shock, some moment of divine cognitive dissonance on my arrival to Pendleton, Oregon. Perhaps the nearby Blue Mountains cast some benign field of energy, perhaps the town sits in the center of a sort of Bermuda Triangle here in the wilds of Eastern Oregon, and maybe it is simply that I always get here exhausted\u2026.<\/p>\n
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Pendleton\u2019s \u00a0Rainbow Caf\u00e9 is not, as its name would suggest, a trendy gay bar, but is, according to legend, the world\u2019s most celebrated and notorious cowboy bar. It is also the watering hole of choice of the best goddamn redneck orchestra in the world. On my first visit there many years ago, I walked\u00a0in after rehearsal to meet\u00a0our four soloists who were singing Haydn\u2019s Mass in Time of War\u00a0and found\u00a0them sitting bemused and a bit\u00a0nervous\u00a0on bar stools while two cowboys (you know, the guys in the belt buckles, skin-tight lacquered-on jeans and ten-gallon hats- real cowboys) had an actual bar fight at their feet on the floor. The fight was finally broken up by an Indian guy from “the Res” who\u00a0stood about 6\u20195\u201d and weighed at least\u00a0350 pounds- he picked up the two cowpokes like a couple of rowdy spaniels by their collars and carried them out the door. It was a breathtakingly funny inversion of any number of Western stereotypes.<\/p>\n
Over the years, I\u2019ve seen many more fights, watched a bartender (male, but it’s still a cowboy bar, not a gay bar, \u00a0they keep reminding me) do a strip tease on the bar,\u00a0but also eaten and drank with orchestral players, conductors, composers and soloists from all over the world. Most newcomers get it (although nobody likes the smoke- why progressive Oregon still allows smoking in bars is beyond me), but it can be a revealing indicator of one\u2019s latent pain-in-the-ass potential if they\u2019re unable to enjoy the Rodeo Champions Wall or appreciate the giant buffalo head (exceptions allowed for my friends with asthma, who really can\u2019t take it).<\/p>\n
The beer is only tolerable- the Fat Tire on tap tends to be stale- but the food, when you can get it, is surprisingly good, including the best breakfasts in town if you like good, rustic classics. Like all good greasy spoons, the cooks tend to be a tough looking bunch, some pricklier than others, and every once in a while I find myself asking \u201cis that a prison tattoo?\u201d However, since rehearsal ends at about the time the kitchen closes, it pays to have a friendly rapport with all of them, and to tip generously. To their credit, even sending in some of the cuter female members of the orchestra to try to flirt their way to dinner doesn\u2019t seem to move them as much as a humble plea and a track record for tipping.<\/p>\n
We finished our first rehearsal for this fiercely difficult program on good time last night at 9:30 (we\u2019re doing the 1919 Firebird Suite and the Elgar Violin Concerto). Dinner looked to be a good possibility because they don\u2019t close the kitchen until 9:45. However, first rehearsals bring with them all manner of social faffs. Finally, we climbed into the giant pickup truck (on loan)I\u2019m driving (yes, conductor drives monster truck while rehearsing Elgar- film at 11. Does Leonard Slatkin have this much fun?). We were chatting away about just how fantastically difficult the Elgar Violin Concerto is- all of the instrumental parts are by themselves hard to play, but the whole thing is also\u00a0so flexible and vast- nearly as long as a Mahler symphony. We had a bit more time than usual to chat. I\u2019m a pretty confident driver, but handling this behemoth on ice with frosted windows slowed us down to a crawl, so when we pulled up to the Rainbow, it was already 9:50 and I hadn\u2019t eaten in nearly 10 hours\u2026.<\/p>\n
On weekends, the Rainbow is usually packed ass-to-elbow with cowboys, college students, truckers and trumpet players, but on this frosty weeknight, it was like the set of Bergman dream sequence- deserted and eerily quiet\u2026. Cheryl was already ordering drinks so Michelle (who also missed dinner) and I raced to the kitchen and began groveling. \u201cAny chance of any sort of food tonight?\u201d I enquired in my most supplicating tone.<\/p>\n
\u201cHey, you\u2019re back,\u201d said the cook. \u201cDoes this mean you\u2019re in session again?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah\u2026 Yes, we\u2019ve got a concert next week.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI see,\u201d He continued. \u201cYou\u2019re doing Edward Elgar\u2019s Violin Concerto, aren\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, it\u2019s fantastic,\u201d I answered.<\/p>\n
\u201cIsn\u2019t that one, the Edward Elgar,\u00a0really, really difficult to play?\u201d<\/p>\n
I guess I wasn\u2019t expecting the fry cook at the world’s roughest, toughest, shit-kickin-est cowboy bar to be that acquainted with the performance issues of Elgar\u2019s rarely performed fiddle concerto.<\/p>\n
The usual roar of the jukebox had been replaced by an eerie stillness that clung to the walls of the old bar like a malevolent\u00a0fog. I answered slowly, carefully….<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah\u2026. It\u2019s pretty damn difficult.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201dThat\u2019s what I thought. We can do any kind of cold sandwiches.\u201d<\/p>\n
c. 2008 Kenneth Woods<\/p>\n
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