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The Little Fest That Could
A look back at Goble Warming 2006
By  Chuck Blueduck McDougle
Well, this year I had a decision to make when it came to my summer music experience!
After some deep thinking, and weighing the pros and cons, I decided to scratch the Portland Water Front Bluesfest, Blues and Brews, Rockfest, Steve Miller, Ted Nugent, Blues by the Sea, Vancouver Bluesfest, and a long list of others, and split my vacation to two different weekends in August.
 I chose the Vernonia "Alternative Stage" and "Goble Warming 2006" at the little Goble Tavern.  And believe me; I chose wisely.  We will talk about the three day "Altstage" another time. ... Right now let’s zero in on Goble Warming.
 FRIDAY NIGHT
All in all the Friday "pre-show” went great.
Thing really got lively when The Chancers showed up to teach us poor American cousins … how to drink. God Bless the Irish.
The Chancers are an Irish folk group. At last year’s Goble warming the headliner had just started on the outside big stage, so I ducked inside to get something and ... WELL ... forgive me, outside band…
Have you ever seen, at the circus, where the tiny car pulls into the center ring, the doors open, and a mob of clowns come pouring out….. That's what it was like when The Chancers showed up … But, these guys had instruments and knew how to use them. And use them they did.In no time at all fans started drifting in from the headliners to PARTY with the Irish.I am unsure how they got their name, but I have three theories:
#1. There is a good Chance the tavern won’t have enough beer to meet the demand.
#2. There is a good Chance your bartender will call in sick the following morning until she is promised a BIG raise.
#3.  There is a good Chance the bar will get a fine for not getting everyone out by 2:30 a.m. ...
Turn out the lights...won’t work they can play in the dark. ...
Turn off the main breaker. ... It won’t work; they are an acoustic band. …
Take away their instruments ... won’t work they will just keep singing a cappella.
Spray them with a water hose. ...
Won’t work.  They are Irish - most likely have been singing drinking songs in the rain for years.
As a last ditch chance ... have your bartender hide one 6-pack of Guinness.
After all the beer is gone, and The Chancers and the packed room of fans are sitting in the dark, (soaked from where you turned the hose on them) happily singing at the tops of their voices (Irish drinking songs about the world running out of Guinness and red headed wenches), shine a flashlight on the last can of Guinness, and yell at the top of your voice ... “Here is the last one, boys!”Throw it out the door, jump out of the way, and as everyone rushes the parking lot ... slam the door after the last one passes through, and bolt it shut.They will still be singing their hearts out ‘til dawn in your parking lot, but you will avoid the O.L.C.C. fine.  And don't bother calling the cops … these silver tongued Irishmen will just talk the coppers into buying the next round, and joining them in song. You’ll have a group of very happy wet folks singing drinking songs over the squad car PA system and playing with the lights and siren.  All in all it is impossible not to like The Chancers. This year Lenny was very Very VERY smart … gave them a very early set on Saturday, and had a lot of beer (Guinness) on hand.As I have learned, most of the time at these music events that include camping near the venue, at closing time the fun has just begun. Folks retire to their campgrounds, and improv circles of musicians start doing acoustic group jams.  These are very, very cool!  They will share songs that have not been ironed out enough for the stage.  Artists who didn't get together on stage will teach each other new stuff. You can see a lot of magic happen after hours, and this was no exception.I vaguely remember after hours trying to convince one of The Chancers  that “we Scots taught the Irish to make whiskey" which we all know was true, but an Irishman will never admit. Then, somehow they got me to admit … compared to the magical taste of Guinness, American beer is watered down piss.It was time to wander back and get some well earned sleep in the old truck. It would be a long day, and sunrise was just around the corner.
SATURDAY MORNING
I knew there was no drinking allowed in the tavern parking lot, but in the campground, it was a different set of rules.  The malt and hops were still flowing freely in those dark woods, and the Irish were still about. I thought six or seven Chancers had come to the show, but now fifteen or twenty people were talking with bad Irish accents. I would meet someone and ask, "Are you in one of the bands" they would say "No" and I would say “Oh, I thought you were one of The Chancers."  They would stick a beer in my hand and say, "I am now my boy."  This happened over and over…every one of them with a big smile, and glad to see you, and offering you a dark malt breakfast beverage. After a couple of hours and a half case of breakfast, I stumbled back out of those dark woods with the same silly grin on my face. Now, for some reason, I have a hard time trusting the English and I think football is played with a round ball and you can’t use your hands.  It’s all quite confusing.   I then heard the call to mass. It may have been God … or the sound of man, it’s still a bit fuzzy, but booming from across the parking lot were the blessed words …TEST TEST TESTING ONE TWO THREE TESTING. What we had all come here for was about to begin!!
Then next up, as Lenny planned, it was an early performance by our Irish cousins … guys you could not dislike if you had instructions: The Chancers.   What can I say, if you haven't figured out already: the dudes have a infectious charm to them that spreads to everyone in earshot.  After drinking huge amounts of Guinness and pissing out Budweiser all night, they hopped to the stage and ripped out the first tune. Tons of energy and charisma. They were flawless.If you ever get a chance to see The Chancers ... and don't have to work the next day … jump on it.

SUNDAY MORNING
After sitting on that tail gate pouting for an hour and saying “goodbye” to folks, I heard a mandolin, guitar, pennywhistle, and hand drum coming from the camping area in those dark woods.  I was in no way going visiting down there ... the music was most likely IRISH.   I had visions of two hundred grinning faces setting on top a pile of empty Guinness beer cans, shouting, “We are The Chancers and we are here to play”! So I loaded up my gear and started the truck. I stopped before getting on the highway and daydreamed for a bit, looking up to that empty hole in the sky where Trojan’s cooling tower use to be.  Strange, how I came to miss it.  The magnificent sound of a pair of Harleys flashed by in a blur of black leather and chrome.  That sound just says FREEDOM … what a weekend.
 I looked back to the west…..lets take inventory…a crumpled pack of “Old Golds” with two smokes left ... an eighth of a tank of gas…twelve bucks in the wallet…pennies on the floor, and an orange pop that has set on the dash in the sun for two days. I hung my head ... 364 days.I reached for the radio dial and halted my hand.  The echoes of the weekend will do just as nicely. Maybe I just didn't want to hear the news reports. I put the old truck in gear, and turned right ... to the east.   As the crunch of gravel turned to the hum of black top, I heard someone yelling to someone else in the parking lot. I glanced over ... It was one of The Chancers. He was yelling: "HEY man, where is the closest whiskey bar?"