Originally posted January 28, 2010
((This is a stream of consciousness thing I tapped out on my iPhone when I performed at a couple of open mics. I used to perform quite a bit. This night marked a return to the stage for me after a five year break.))
I walked up the stairs singing, "A lady that I know just came from Majorca Spain. She smiled because I did not understand. Then she held out a 10 pound bag of cocaine. She said it was the best in all the land."
"Dude," brother J called out behind me. " I played that for those girls. They had no idea what I was playing." The girls he's referring to are a pair of 25 year old bartenders he just kicked out of the house. One of them stole a bunch of cologne from his bathroom. She tells him she'll return it.
The smell of pot followed him up the stairs. "No, no, no, no. I don't smoke it no more." Asthma. Really. It's 7:00 pm. We've had a chance to grab some burritos, for me to listen to him bitch about the ex, and run through 5 songs before we're throwing guitar in the car and heading out. I stopped bitching about my ex years ago. A good second marriage will do that to a man.
We don't fight over the iPod. We settle on a play list of Fuel, Blind Melon, and of course, Ringo star. He tells me about his kids. I tell him about Trin buying a lamb costume for her penguin. My little girl and her lambies.
We skip over 311 for some Cake.
I'm not too worried about tonight. We've being doing this together for almost 25 years. We’re going to play that same fucking song we played at my dad's 50th. And I will fuck up in the same spot. The other 4 will pass. Little bro, who is 50 pounds larger than me, remarked. "This is a fuck of a lot easier now than five years ago."
I slip in my iPod. He laughs at the Pamplamoose cover of "All the Single Ladies." As he lights up his one hitter, I realize my victory over the radio. He turns up the Swell Season and confesses to never having seen Once. "Wow. That chord was nice."
We switch pods so he can play me some music he produced for a local musician "The drummer we're auditioning he describes every thing as 'in the pocket.' Fuck your pocket dude."
The Pyramid Club stands next to a thrift store. It's big, 16 pool tables and indoor baggoes. The bro introduces me to the new kids, youn’uns anxious to play in front of a crowd. I know the old guys. We get a bit of shit about our gig shirts. Not everyone looks good in red with black dragons . They've been out to see us at one point or another. One kid says he knows me and can't waits to hear me sing.
It's a small crowd. 20~30 people that make the open mic circuit around town. It's been snowing. The first guy is painful. We all clap anyway.
There's a sign up around here somewhere. But... Suddenly we're second. I've played with the MC. He wants to see if he can get us up a few more times.
We don't suck. I fuck up in that same spot in that same fucking song. Again the music takes me and the words just fall into place. I can't hear myself through the monitors and it's ok. I know where I am. I'm in the flailing place where my arms take on their own life and my head rolls. A red dragon Joe Cocker.
Bro gets everyone out in the crowd to drink with us. He's much more practiced at this. I'm more used to the stage of the conference room.
I look out. See them dancing too, some on their feet, some in chairs. Bro, the crowd, and I rock in rhythm. Somewhere out there I hear a voice in harmony to mine.
They clap after each song. Someone yells out asking when Origami Zoo will launch our reunion tour. They clap after we leave the stage and walk across the floor. I blush. I had forgotten. I had forgotten how many people can't do this.
I sneak to the bathroom while the third act comes on. He plays originals and a bit of Tenacious D. It's a bit different.
The MC calls down the first band "You are the next contestant on the tune is right!". Cutthroat Split Tail had mic issues but they play the Ramones and the bassist is kind of cute. Hard to fuck up with that combination. Sadly, they follow up with an original that is just too long for punk and a blues rif that's too much Animals for my tastes.
Someone comes up to me by the forth act, a jam band wandering aimlessly along a musical landscape. He wants bro and I to play with him later. J is set to leave. He has another open mic on his list.
"Two years" the host tells me. "You haven't lost a thing." I remind him it's been five years. He laughs
We pack up. Time to hit the next mic. I have control of the tunes. My iPhone need recharging. It's the workout mix. We sing together in the car, even when he makes me skip over Wings. And Lady Gaga. But I get him to chair dance to Republica.
We talk about women, what we like. and don't. After he bit he's gone on about pop music, I make him listen to "Bad Romance" in it's entire.
I didn't realize just how bad Pokerface could sound until we enter Maggie’s. We left the guitar I'm the car I'm case the mic was over. Little brother runs out to get it. The bar is in need of good music.
It's a different crowd. I don't know anyone Here. Between conversations about evil women we discuss the merits of a ukulele cover of The Band; Lack of merits, rather.
And we watch the musician without any instrument rock the house. A laptop at a jam night. Who would have thought? The next act is keyboard only. We are fucking dinosaurs. One guitar. One voice. How will we survive? We are the closing act.
We plan to do the same songs. We decide in the midst of the keyboard player. Non-freestyle. Just us. And we do not suck.
And I do not fuck up at that song. I forget the lyrics somewhere else, but we do not suck.
|