March 9, 2002
Today, I observed my dad’s band play its brand of southern grotesquerie at Campbell’s in Chester, South Carolina. Find this place, if you ever find yourself in the area. Most of the locals know where it is, if you refer to it as “the old Campbell’s truck stop.” Now it’s a grill and upstart music venue. With an incredibly warm sound system. The banjo tickles your ear canals, I tell ya. There’s a boar’s head mounted at stage rear. Gas pump handles hang from the ceiling. There’s a Hidden Valley sort of atmosphere. Glowing fires burn in trash cans outside.