Thursday night and the Sandman was snubbing me again.
Sleep was necessary because I was slated for an installation at the sherriffs office early and I would run hard and run late, ending the night at Twiropa, working a merch table for the local college radio station. Total time spent awake would equal 22 hours. Add in nine hours of work and my standard cardio workout and it equals sagging eyelids all the way through. Sleep was necessary.
Of course, I couldnt sleep.
I resolved to dress, head out to the coffeeshop, and read for a bit. Read something deadening. Discrete mathematics or Faulkner or something. While I will normally indulge in more effective, chemically-based sleep aids, Thursday night did not feel like a NyQuil night. So I did dress, and I was walking out the door, when the phone rang.
The phone said, hey, come out, theres a good band playing, come out and have a beer, shake your ass and make the scene, come out, come out, wherever you are. Trust me you want to be here for reasons I cannot elaborate over the phone you see people are listening and I can't say but come on out. Trust me you want to be here so be here already.
It was a hell of a sales pitch and fifteen minutes later I was at the El Matador.
The first band had already begun. I do not recall the bands name except that it had the word Mountain in it and this band, they loved the thud. Two bassists, one drummer, shaping only the low end of the noise spectrum for your pleasure. Said drummer was an aging heavyset man, thinning, squinting, Ive seen him working at More Fun Comics, he was styling a Gigantor t-shirt and slamming simplistic but precise rhythms. He wore a handsfree headset and sang, usually the kiss of death for a rock band, to have a singing drummer, but this man, he was the anti-Phil Collins. He is your crazy uncle Louie, the one locked in the basement that the Dept. of Human Services dont know about. I love uncle Louie. The lead bassist was otherwise unassuming except for the Metal Health wail and the other bassist (rhythm bassist? I dont know) was there for theatrics and tap-dancing.
You may think that I am kidding about this tap-dancing thing but no, I am not kidding he had a platform and shoes and the whole kit. He was actually quite skilled at the whole endeavor and he had some moves that were slick like Rick and at one point he tap-danced his way around the entire bar, causing startled hipsters to spill their beer. If after tap-dancing it was not his time to play bass again he would headbang and this too was pure entertainment.
This is a great band. But I still did not understand why I wanted to be here, at the Matador, half-drunk at midnight.
After the show they broke down and I noticed that workers at the coffeeshop were starting to cart equipment on stage. A quick scan of the crowd confirmed that it was solid with joe jockeys and they were here to support their coworkers and compatriots as they played music on stage. If everyone else was here then it was likely that Current Crush would be present and everything made sense. Come out, they said, come out, dreamgirl will be coming and it's a big surprise. I asked Sarah about this and she grinned and squeezed my thigh. The bands name was the Original Three.
It wasnt so good but Ian on guitar admitted they hadnt practiced in a month and a half. Goofy Robin worked the drum kit over like she was tenderizing it for grilling and the other tie-wearing guitarist blew out my eardrums. They were heckled (Hey! Your tie isnt skinny enough!) and someone had brought class-C fireworks and were lighting them at the foot of the stage and the music veered close to falling apart but it never did.
I was drunk and so was Sarah, she came with our neighbor Christian, who supplied her with a steady dose of alcohol and got nothing for the trouble, and the three of us had good fun. Current Crush never showed up but that is fine. I will find her some other time.
Sleep was necessary because I was slated for an installation at the sherriffs office early and I would run hard and run late, ending the night at Twiropa, working a merch table for the local college radio station. Total time spent awake would equal 22 hours. Add in nine hours of work and my standard cardio workout and it equals sagging eyelids all the way through. Sleep was necessary.
Of course, I couldnt sleep.
I resolved to dress, head out to the coffeeshop, and read for a bit. Read something deadening. Discrete mathematics or Faulkner or something. While I will normally indulge in more effective, chemically-based sleep aids, Thursday night did not feel like a NyQuil night. So I did dress, and I was walking out the door, when the phone rang.
The phone said, hey, come out, theres a good band playing, come out and have a beer, shake your ass and make the scene, come out, come out, wherever you are. Trust me you want to be here for reasons I cannot elaborate over the phone you see people are listening and I can't say but come on out. Trust me you want to be here so be here already.
It was a hell of a sales pitch and fifteen minutes later I was at the El Matador.
The first band had already begun. I do not recall the bands name except that it had the word Mountain in it and this band, they loved the thud. Two bassists, one drummer, shaping only the low end of the noise spectrum for your pleasure. Said drummer was an aging heavyset man, thinning, squinting, Ive seen him working at More Fun Comics, he was styling a Gigantor t-shirt and slamming simplistic but precise rhythms. He wore a handsfree headset and sang, usually the kiss of death for a rock band, to have a singing drummer, but this man, he was the anti-Phil Collins. He is your crazy uncle Louie, the one locked in the basement that the Dept. of Human Services dont know about. I love uncle Louie. The lead bassist was otherwise unassuming except for the Metal Health wail and the other bassist (rhythm bassist? I dont know) was there for theatrics and tap-dancing.
You may think that I am kidding about this tap-dancing thing but no, I am not kidding he had a platform and shoes and the whole kit. He was actually quite skilled at the whole endeavor and he had some moves that were slick like Rick and at one point he tap-danced his way around the entire bar, causing startled hipsters to spill their beer. If after tap-dancing it was not his time to play bass again he would headbang and this too was pure entertainment.
This is a great band. But I still did not understand why I wanted to be here, at the Matador, half-drunk at midnight.
After the show they broke down and I noticed that workers at the coffeeshop were starting to cart equipment on stage. A quick scan of the crowd confirmed that it was solid with joe jockeys and they were here to support their coworkers and compatriots as they played music on stage. If everyone else was here then it was likely that Current Crush would be present and everything made sense. Come out, they said, come out, dreamgirl will be coming and it's a big surprise. I asked Sarah about this and she grinned and squeezed my thigh. The bands name was the Original Three.
It wasnt so good but Ian on guitar admitted they hadnt practiced in a month and a half. Goofy Robin worked the drum kit over like she was tenderizing it for grilling and the other tie-wearing guitarist blew out my eardrums. They were heckled (Hey! Your tie isnt skinny enough!) and someone had brought class-C fireworks and were lighting them at the foot of the stage and the music veered close to falling apart but it never did.
I was drunk and so was Sarah, she came with our neighbor Christian, who supplied her with a steady dose of alcohol and got nothing for the trouble, and the three of us had good fun. Current Crush never showed up but that is fine. I will find her some other time.