I was searching for a receipt this morning (since the recent move things are not always where they should be or where they once were!) - and I came across a small wooden box full of pieces of paper, notes, lyrics and jottings and odd bits and pieces - and near the bottom was a page torn out of a diary on which I'd written down the set-lists of the first four Mermaid Kiss gigs  - thought I'd post it here (Never found the receipt though!) 

ROCK CAFE, STOURBRIDGE, 21st Demeber 2003
Mermaid Kiss
Take It All Away
Write My name In Stars
Soundchaser
La Belle Dame Sans Merci
Circles Of Fire

CON CLUB, GREAT MALVERN, 24th April 2004
Mermaid Kiss
Take It All Away
In My Dreams
La Belle Dame Sans Merci
Like Water 
Breathing Under Water
Circles Of Fire


BURTON HOTEL, KINGTON, 25th April 2004
Mermaid Kiss
Breathing Under Water
La Belle Dame Sans Merci
Take It All away
Like Water 
Circles Of Fire

THE LIMELIGHT, CREWE, 9th May 2004
Breathing Under Water
Mermaid Kiss
Take It All Away
Soundchaser
La Belle Dame Sans Merci
Like Water 
Circles Of Fire
Write My Name In Stars

Jamie

Among the photos, poems, lyrics, recollections and literally hundreds of photographs we were sent for the American Images project was this  piece of prose by Cathy Falk, describing a road trip across America.

I can't sit still.

I never can. I love to move. If you follow that train of thought, you can see that that truth leads directly to another: I hate to stay in one place. Which leads directly to: I love to travel.

God, do i love to travel.

I inherited my wanderlust from my dad, who roamed, I firmly believe, the entire earth before his death. Nothing pumps me like exploring heretofore unknown territory, whether it be in Guatamala or Southern Virginia. Soaking in the local culture, the food, the drink, the ambiance. Meeting characters. And oh, does travel introduce you to characters. And i've learned, through my years of traveling, that quite often, a lot depends on where you stay.

Now, when I travel, i love to stay in hotels with character. You know, the old cabins at the beach with stone fireplaces, and old board games kept in a window seat drawer. Leaky faucets. One-channel televisions. Shiloh? Holiday Inn? Ramada? Huh? That's a foreign language to me. I don't speak tiny soaps and hermetically sealed windows.

Give me the mutts. The mom & pop operations. The ones that can be charming...or slightly scary...or sometimes both at the same time. I stayed at a place called Alexander's Drive-Thru Liquor and Motel in Wyoming. 19 bucks a night, the ability to buy a six pack without leaving your car, AND you got shag carpeting!! Score! Passing through Idaho, I desperately wanted to stay at a real, honest-to-God Bates Motel. I was praying they had stationary to steal. But the presence of a hugely attended Gun and Knife show in town left my dreams of filching notepads unfulfilled. I've stayed at a beach cabin that i know--not think--KNOW--was haunted. I've stayed in a teeny B & B in Scotland owned by an 80-year-old Scotsman in a kilt with a border collie named Fleeerrrrrrrrrrrrrgh (at least that's how it was pronounced). He looked 50, drank like he was 30, and swore with the gusto of an unleashed 10-year-old. This man, for the equivalent of about 25 bucks, got us buzzed on single malt, told us stories of the Glencoe Massacre, fed us homemade shortbread, and told us ghost stories of the area that blew my single-malt-buzzed mind. As curator of the tiny village museum, he took us there after hours, let us try on chain mail, and play with swords from the 1600s. The next morning, he sent us on our way, full of homemade muesli and lemon curd, tea, and with a tic next to our name in his guest book, which meant we were welcome to grace his home again. He informed us gravely that "not all me guests receive a tic. Th' bloody dull ones don't. I'm always right full up when those bastards call."

So, let me see if you follow: I could have all of the above, or "Boat Trip" on Spectravision. Uh...I'm sorry...I don't understand the question? But that doesn't mean that all my experiences have been hotelrific. The grandaddy of all hotels that I have ever crossed paths with has got to be The Hideaway Hotel (and Marina) in Charles City, Virginia.

About eight years ago, I was on a Thelma and Louise type road trip with my old college roommate, Laurie. Despite the fact that we were great friends and laughed like hell whenever we were together, she was rapidly getting on my nerves. She refused to do her share of driving the rental car, insisting that it wouldn't like her, and, Christine-like, would cause her to drive us directly to a burning, crashing death on Route 5. Because of this, she was enjoying the cold beer in the cooler and I wasn't. Which didn't help the situation at all. It was a scorching, Southern summer day. I was tired of driving, we were nearing our destination of Williamsburg, and dammit, i wanted a cold beer NOW.

"Okay, " I said, interrupting Laurie's story of her grandmother who never wore underwear, "Here's the deal. We stop at the next hotel we see. I don't care what the fuck it is." Eager to resume her narrative, she agreed with the plan. One mile. Five miles. Ten miles, already....when finally, thank you God, a weatherbeaten old sign by the side of the road ceased the tale of Granny Nopanties forever. "HIDEAWAY HOTEL (and Marina)" it blared. "SIX MILES". A crooked arrow pointed down a side road. We cheered and high-fived. I swung the wheel without a second thought off Route 5 onto the side road.

Now here's where I'd like you to become involved. Audience participation! At any time during the telling of this tale of terror, should you realize a point where I should've plugged my goddamn brain in and used it, say to yourself, "Red flag!" The first moment just happened. Did you catch it? Think about it: the idea of a MO-tel is to MO-tor right up to it and pull in. They do not want you to have to search for their place. It should be out in plain sight, screaming to the passing motorist to stop and pony up.

Six miles down a two-lane dirt road should've been my first clue. But I was so irritated at my friend and so, so thirsty...

As I pulled onto the road, we passed a small house. Two guys were kickin' it on the porch, drinking beer. Ohhhh, beer.. When they saw our car, they both leaped to their feet and threw their beers down.(Did you say "Red flag"? You should've. No one throws a beer down in a Virginia summer.) They raced after us, waving their arms and shouting. I looked at Laurie, a little disturbed. Almost without realizing it, I started slowing down. "Should I stop the car?" I asked her. She stared at me. "Two huge guys in wifebeaters...two women in a place they know NO one...they've been drinking..." Ohhh, beer... " ...hell NO, don't stop the car!!"

She was right. I knew that, deep down. I had no desire to reenact "Last House on the Left." So on I drove, toward the elusive Hideaway Hotel (and Marina). The road went from gravel...to dirt...and then the telephone poles disappeared. ("Red flag!"--no explanation necessary for people with working brains.) Laurie became quiet...and looked at me, her eyes widening in alarm. "Uh...Cath..." she said slowly, "Maybe this isn't such a good idea. I'm gettin' bad vibes." I scoffed at her, more than a little pissed still that i'd done all the driving. "It's a FINE idea," I sneered. "And it'll be on the James River. That's gorgeous. So just deal." And as those words left my mouth, almost with the force of a pie in the face to my foolish beliefs, we arrived at the place. A blinking neon sign--but one of those that wasn't SUPPOSED to be blinking--pointed us toward the small parking lot.

The Hideaway Hotel (and Marina) was a tiny, two-story brick motel, with maybe 10 rooms. There wasn't a car in the lot. ("Red flag!") I saw what looked like a bait and snack shop down the small hill right on the river's edge, so I drove down to it and parked in front of it. I turned to Laurie. "Maybe someone's in here, " I said. "I'll go in and see. Wanna come?" She just shook her head. "I'll just stay in the car, thank you."

I crossed the tiny wooden porch and opened the screen door. Nobody inside. But ever the Pollyanna, even when I'm hot, tired, and parched, I came back out on the porch and said loudly to Laurie, "No one's here, but there's soda and chips and stuff inside, so at least we can have some munchies in the room..." I trailed off, finally noticing her face through the windshield. And that face was one shocked fucking face. I looked down. And surrounding me on the porch were five or six kids--all fair-skinned and-white haired. Oddly, they all looked about seven. They all were the same height. I hadn't seen them come up. Hadn't heard a sound. Was it a gang? A roving gang of albinos? If they were all about the same age, they couldn't be siblings, could they? Yet they all looked alike. I made eye contact with the gang leader. "Uh...hi. Is your mom or dad home?" No words, but a nod. "Uh...can you tell me where they are?" Again, no words. But this time, a fingerpoint away from the bait shack. I followed his finger up the hill. There sat a house Norman Bates would've been proud to call home.

I swam my way through the gang that couldn't speak straight and got back behind the wheel, purposely avoiding Laurie's eyes. Somewhere, some tiny cells in my brain had started clicking. Okay, yes, I could admit it to myself, but not yet to Laurie: the place was creepy. Something was wrong here. "The office is up in the house," was all I said. "Oh?" said Laurie. "Did the children of the corn tell you that?" I ignored her and drove up the hill. My lonely working brain cell made me park my car right in front of the front door, so that Laurie, whom I simply knew at this point would not be getting out of the car, could always see me.

The raspy doorbell was answered by someone I can only refer to as Bubba. I hate stereotyping. I rip my students a new one if I ever catch them doing it. But I simply have to here. I was greeted by a man who couldn't have been an inch shorter than 6"8", wearing bib overalls, one suspender up, one down, with no shirt underneath. Four teeth in his head, perhaps? You get the picture. His name just had to be Bubba. I asked politely if they had any vacancies. "I'm not sure," he replied. "You'll have to talk to Maw." ("Red flag!") And he opened the door to usher me in to the house. I hesitated, but went inside...and that glorious Little-Brain-Cell-that-Could forced my body to remain in front of the screen door so that Laurie could see me.

Bubba returned, with not only Maw, but Anotha Bubba. His twin? God only knew. But the Bubbas were no longer my concern. Because I was about to meet Maw. Maw was Little Miss Five by Five...a portly, flaccid woman who shuffled out between her two boys...or uncles...or lovers... and looked me directly in the eye. With her eye.

Yes, that was singular. She had one eye. The woman had one eye. And it didn't even look she'd had an accident and lost that other eye. There was no indentation on her face where there was Once an Eye. That side of her face was smooth as a baby's butt. There had obviously never been an eye there to begin with. And the C student finally put it all together. Men screaming at us to stop. No cars. Little albino children who don't speak. Bubba. Bubba. And a Cyclops for a matriarch. Laurie and I had stumbled into Deliverance.

My parents instilled manners in me like the nuns never could, so I tried with every fiber of my being not to gape in horror at the sight before me. "Hi!" I squeaked. "I was wondering if you had any vacancies." Her eyes lit up. "Are you alone??" she asked me eagerly. ("RED FLAG!!!") Ladies and gentlemen, when you go into a motel, you aren't asked, "Are you alone?" by the proprietor while she wipes eager drool away. They ask you dully, "How many in your party?" and throw you the key before they go back to their porn magazine. "Uh...noooooo," I said nervously. "My friend's in the car." "Oh," she sniffed, her attitude changing so fast that the Bubbas would've gotten whiplash had they had necks. "Well, it's 40 dollars a night." "Oh! Well!" I laughed. "See, we were trying to save money by not staying right IN Williamsburg, but...you know...we could get a room for that there... so that's probably what we'll do...I mean...I'm sorry to bother you but..." Somewhere during my ramblings, I had started inching toward the screen door, and now I bolted.

Laurie's immortal words upon witnessing my exodus: "Your little ashen face ran out of there like your ass was on fire." I threw myself in the car and slammed it into gear. "What?" Laurie asked. "WHAT?!" I didn't say a word for at least two miles. And my first word to her then was, "Beer!" Laurie's always been impressed that I'm awfully good about drinking and driving. And she knows I'm serious about it. But this was different. She silently handed me a beer and watched me down the whole thing in less than a mile. "Another!" I whimpered. She acquiesced. After that one went down, my heartbeat returning to normal with the beautiful knowledge that I was not going to end up under the gravel in the parking lot of the Hideaway Hotel (and Marina) for all eternity, I could finally talk about it. But all I could say was, "She had one eye! She had one eye!"

When we finally made it to Williamsburg, I made Laurie get out at the first SANE motel we found. She dealt with the manager. She opened the door. She looked under the beds. And, at my insistence, in the drawers, in the bathtub, in the closet... She heard the whole story. God love her, she never said, "I told you so."

And Maw notwithstanding, Shiloh still sucks.

Cathy Falk

Just in case you landed on this page, he's a quick guide to what you can find here on The Mermaid Kiss Website, and where to find it...

• On the Albums pages you'll find details of all our recordings, together with reviews, full lyrics and the stories behind the songs.

• The Audio page contains clips of a number of our songs, together with some video. We'll be adding some full tracks and more videos over the coming months. The Archive and Demos page is where we'll be adding a number of covers, unreleased songs and demos.

• We'll also be regularly adding more galleries to the Photographs pages which already contain many never-before-seen pictures.

• The Blog will harbour various thoughts, reflections, stories, poems and lyrics, both music and non-music related. 

• Check the Updates page regularly for news regarding the band and details of the progress of various related projects.
• If you have any thoughts or questions about Mermaid Kiss or our music, then please get in touch via the Contact page or click on the envelope icon - there's one at the top of each page. Also, if you come across any broken links or glitches then we'd be grateful if you'd let us know.
• In the Shop you can purchase CD's and downloads of our available recordings, together with the Etarlis T-shirt.