Clock-Out Lounge Presents: Bob Log III w/ Mister Ink

Clock-Out Lounge Presents: Bob Log III w/ Mister InkTues 3/11Doors 8pm21+$17adv/$20doshttps://boblogiii.bandcamp.com/track/consuela-did-itBob Log III is a one man band slide guitar party. A perverse product of theArizona desert, Bob Log III has been diligently travelling the globe since 1996,showcasing his incomparable talents and developing a devoted following along theway. A whirlwind of dexterous limbs and digits, this super star sonic showman hasto be seen to be believed.Clad in his cannonball man, extra tight jumpsuit and signature motorcycle helmetwith telephone/microphone attached, Bob Log III unfailingly sweats up a riverwhile kicking on a kick drum, stomping his homemade foot cymbal and playingslide on an old archtop guitar. His endless pursuit for musical mayhem and adownright party has seen his unique talents utilized for childrens birthday parties,obscure beer barns, mammoth music festivals and everything in between.Yet, beyond these mesmerizing visuals, lies the true reason for Bob Logsinternational cult status and superhero adoration. It is quite simply the guitarplaying – finger picked lightning, sliding up and down, stopping when it wants to,then starting again when it feels like it, all in a way that makes people moveuncontrollably, smile and reel.___Excerpts from an unpublished journal The Adventures of Bob Log III and HisFaithful Guitar, by The Guitarhttps://www.pretzelmen.com/singer songwriter from PECULIAR PRETZELMEN born and raised in Philadelphia, spent too much time in Los Angeles, a brief interlude in New Orleans a respectable detour in San Francisco and finally landed in Seattle. Whatever you think is about to happen when Mister Ink emerges holding some weird vaguely recognizable instrument you are probably right and wrong all the same. There will be stories. There will be howling and hollering. There will be oddly captivating rhythms seducing you into his world. A subterranean labyrinth of folk tales, dirty limericks, and salacious magic rooted in the ancient heartbeat of humanity. Somewhere in the mud where myth crashes into meat there is Mister Ink asking you for just a little more time.