As long-time readers may know, one of my favorite hobbies in the Quad Cities is getting in the car and leaving them. While I'm certainly a fan of our river communities, I'm also a fan of long, epic aimless drives with no plans, no maps, and no particular destination. As long as there's an open road, a full tank of gas, and a well-crafted music playlist, I can waste entire weekends pointlessly driving around the midwest.
I love the Quad Cities, but the music snob in me lives by a few simple sagely credos, such as: "Always try to be wherever Limp Bizkit isn't." Saturday was a fantastic day to flee the scene of a pending musical crime, so I called my best friend and thankfully he was equally bored. We've been getting lost in the country for over 30 years now, and Saturday would be no exception. The only downside? We've both lived here so long that in order for the both of us to get good and properly lost, we need to drive a considerable distance away from the Quad Cities.
On Saturday, we pointed the car north and headed towards the Driftless Area of southern Wisconsin. If you're going to drive about aimlessly, you might as well do it somewhere with steep hills, forested ridges, deep river valleys, and roads so twisty-turny you might need a compass to keep yourself sorted. Southern Wisconsin backroads are not for amateurs.
As soon as we cleared Dubuque, we turned down the first gravel road we could find. Just where this magical road might take us was anyone's guess. Perhaps a land of wonder, of excitement, of newfound adventure where I could...
Nope. It took us to Dickeyville. I'm pretty sure 80% of the Wisconsin roadtrips I've ever been on have somehow wound up in Dickeyville. I know this because it's home to the Dickeyville Grotto, a Catholic shrine built one pebble at a time by one Father Matthias Wernerus between 1924 and 1930. As far as weird roadside attractions go, the Grotto is pretty great. But I've seen it a kajillion times and wanted something new, fresh, and exciting. Then I saw the sign.
I've certainly spent quality time at the grotto before, but never while a rummage sale was happening on site. And much to my delight, they had a massive selection of utterly terrible second-hand CDs. I'm a music junkie and I didn't even recognize half these artists. That's when I hatched my own dare: I would spend four hard-earned dollars on the weirdest, most random CDs in this collection -- and no matter where the day took us or where we ended up, we had to listen to these four discs in their entirety. It would be a beautiful relaxing country drive -- all while playing a dangerous game of music roulette.
Up first was the gem "Rugolovations" by Pete Rugolo. I'd never heard of my man Pete before, but anyone with the guts to name his album "Rugolovations" is aces in my book. Also, based on the cover art, Pete also wears the highest waisted pants in recorded human history. I'm pretty sure his belt is at nipple height. It's a brave look. If only it were as brave a sound. Instead, Pete comes off more like a second-rate Henry Mancini and the whole record is like the soundtrack to a bad 60s spy movie, which doesn't exactly scream "Wisconsin." One song yelled, "everybody mambo!" For the record, we did not.
The second album was "Phantasys" by one Danny Wright. Nothing against Danny. He looks wholesome and earnest in the inner sleeve. But this was pretty much an hour of a random guy tinkling light jazz noodling on a piano. Remember the piano players they used to have at Younkers back in the day? Imagine that, but for, like, an hour. Sorry, Danny. Hard pass.
Third was Woody Herman and the Thundering Herds, "1945-1947." Now, Herman was a respected bandleader of some reknown, and I bet ol' Woody lit up some pretty good shindigs back in the 1940s, especially if you wanted some solid big band clarinet in your life. I can, however, safely attest this is NOT the music you want blaring while you drive past an attractive bachelorette party in downtown Galena, unless your goal is to have them all stare at you like you're a complete lunatic. 6 out of 10 only because there's a song called "Your Father's Moustache."
And the final selection we saved for dark, because it was "The Parting Tide" by the new age band ominously named Nightnoise. I was hoping it would be moody, vaguely creepy background music for late night ambience. Instead, it was basically Discount-Mart Enya. There were pan flutes aplenty (or at least one Casio keyboard set to "pan flute" mode.) There was Gaelic singing that I can only presume was about hobbits, because this was definitely music for midday at the Shire and decidedly NOT the kind of thing designed to soundtrack Cordova, IL at 11 p.m.
Having survived music roulette, it was back to my usual Spotify playlist ("Songs That Do Not Suck") for the final push home. Some of you might prefer Pete, Danny, Woody, and Nightnoise to my bizarre playlist that can jump from Debbie Gibson to Einsturdenze Neubaten at the drop of a hat. All in all, though, music roulette added a new and exciting dimension to the aimless driving experience, and I can't recommend it enough next time you pass a rummage sale with an "eclectic" selection. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go listen to ANYTHING so I can get "Your Father's Moustache" out of my head.
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