Okay, so, here’s the really hard question: who’s the cutest?
by krisis
Wow, where to start… Elise and I are leaving now to go sit in front of the Electric Factory for about eight hours, hopefully meeting Garbage somewhere in between sitting for hours and then standing for hours once i get inside the show. And, as if that’s not exciting enough, we’re then headed back to Drexel to pick up Kat & Rabi and then hit the road to head up towards Boston, where we’ll be seeing Garbage (again) and Lisa Loeb tomorrow. And, then, we’re driving back.
I’ll be paper -logging the entire time, and i might squeeze in a few entries (although i don’t suppose that’s the sort of thing you can do from rest stops). But, if i’m silent, just know that i’m with three of my favourite people seeing my favourite band in my other favourite city. Have a great weekend.
Hi; i rock. Not as much as Jason rocks, but i definitely got some rock on.
Nobody wanted to step up to the microphone first so i bit the bullet and took the stage only to be informed that, no, the tech crew didn’t have any way to plug my guitar into anything electrical. They had lots of microphones though; would i like some microphones?
The whole think stank of their horrible tech set-up from last year, which nearly turned me off to performing in front of people altogether. But, i persevered – twisting my body halfway around so that i could aim my guitar into one microphone and sing into another. It was hellish, i was uncomfortable, and i was too distracted to hit the high notes. I was not the happiest camper in the room.
After slinking off the stage i slipped the tech guys the following note: “PLEASE can i have a 1/4 inch connection for my set. Please? :( ”
It’s amazing what little sad-faces drawn in blue pen can get you when asking nicely and smiling has already failed.
After a few other performers Jason and I were up, and i’m sure our odd parade of a small jittery songwriter and a quietly charming cello player was met with some puzzled glances. I was personally too busy fawning over the quarter inch adapter that had been scared up for me and Jason’s attempts to make a coffee shop chair compatible with his special brand of cello-rock.
Up first was “Lost,” which we held down nicely despite a few guitar flubs on my part. Jason’s cello on “Lost” is awesome because it’s a riff totally separate from the song, and it’s always very surprising to me to hear how it blends. Our second song was prefaced with something near “Maybe i should tune and then play. Do you think? I thought it might be endearing of me to play a cover song, and so i chose something i’m sure you all really like and now i’m going to destroy it. It will involve screaming. Jason will continue to be lovely.”
And, thus, we launched into a nearly flawless version of “Say It Ain’t So” that involved very little screaming and much head-bobbing in the audience. Let me take this opportunity to remark – once again – that Jason is amazing and that i sortof just stared at him while he played the entire guitar solo over on the part of the stage that totally lacked a guitar.
Sensing an opening, i did a brief strip-tease and then dove into “Under My Skin,” which was met with happy faces by all sorts of crowd-members who very generously made sure that i didn’t sing the same verse more than once. Afterwards we took a very competent stab at Ani’s “Gravel” until i decided to lyrically revise the second verse approximately two chords before the start of said verse. But, we definitely rocked the house down (and Jason mocked me a ton behind my back while i was being silly towards the audience, including a comment regarding angry lesbians just previous to Gravel).
But, anyway, i was a little mini-rock-star for a quarter of an hour and even though i flubbed a bunch i was actually good on the whole – which is a new feeling for me and my guitar. Maybe i need to bring more people up on stage with me next time…
No time to talk; i have to go rehearse for tonight’s Open Mic. Quick question for you: Tomorrow i’ll probably be seeing Garbage for the first time in almost four years. Since i’m going extra-early, i might get a chance to meet and chat with the band like i did last time. If i meet the band, should i give them a three-track sampling from my demo cd? Is this too presumptuous? I only want them to hear my music, not make me famous – however, they aren’t at all a big influence on my writing even though they are my favourite band. Please register a yes or no.
The El slipped out of its tunnel into the plainest sort of gray, getting inevitably closer to my stop. Spring Garden. The gentle rocking of the car on the tracks tends to lull me. That, and i was staring at the people. A woman in a flower print brown skirt reading a trashy looking novel (in which i could definitely make out highlighted passages); a man who looked halfway made of bronze with shiny low-gauge piercings and a cycling backpack (i felt like the reflection from his newly shaved head was staring at me); a massive wall of hairspray and blue eyeshadow crammed into shoes that were obviously not quite large enough (pinky toe was trying its best to convince the rest of the foot to let it come back to hang out for a while); a little girl with a broken foot secured within men’s extra-large gym socks and ace bandages (sitting across from her mother, holding a large manila envelope marked Extremities, and it took me a minute to figure out that it was an x-ray of a foot rather than a script of the play).
Stepping out of the train felt like stepping into the color gray: it was as though someone had taken a crayon of that color and plunged it directly into the sun. Dripping over my shoulders, working at the edges of my eyes. I stood for a moment half-in the door of the train as a man took the stairs up to the platform two at a time and wrestled his pockets for a token.
At 8:25 in the supermarket this morning a woman with a full cart of groceries let me cut in front of her in line with my Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Kix, & Orange Juice. The cashier gave my pajama bottoms and inside out t-shirt a cursory examination before i commented “all we had was milk” and she cracked a grin. The receipt paper made an odd sort of crinkle against my $1.75 in change and the flannel of my pocket as my flip-flops thwopped one-two-one-two down 44th street to my house.
The gray somehow got into my head, and my mouth and ears are just that lazy crayon mess. How, oh how, am i supposed to sing tonight?