Andare, Partire, Tornare ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Rock on Then I learned to play some lead guitar I was underage in this funky bar And I stepped outside to smoke myself a jay And when I came back to the room Everybody just seemed to move And I turned my amp up loud and I began to play And it was late in the evening And I blew that room away -Paul Simon, "Late in the Evening" Last night I went to a little bar in Silver Spring, Maryland along with my sleep-deprived husband, a drummer, a guitarist, and without a lead singer who had at the last minute backed out of playing. It was a last-minute affair, filled with mishaps small and large, and was the first gig for a band still unsure of themselves and with a mere twenty or so minutes of music. They were going instrumental, due to the lack of the singer. Cables were missing. The stage was a small plywood riser. The audience was composed of disinterested Latino guys who were used to having live music on Saturdays and weren't sure if this motley group (consisting of one scrawny little white boy guitarist in a sharkskin shirt, one bouncy drummer - both with shaved heads and little goatees- and one older, heavier bass player with no interest in stage games or funky-kewl stage clothing) was going to provide any sort of a good show. The friends brought along by the drummer and the guitarist were strange looking - girls with long hair wound into knots on their head, baggy pants with zippers in strange places, mesh shirts, too much eyeliner. The boys with them wore black t-shirts that had strange logos. All very Hot Topic, and not exactly part of the usual crowd in this small bar. There was some nervous laughter between the band and their friends. Some posturing. Obligatory trashing of the lead singer for being a pussy. A final backstage conference, and they hopped up on stage. The drummer made an announcement (in fluent Spanish) that was laughed at. A good sign. The lead guitarist jumped around like an ADHD chimp (which is not far from his personality off-stage). The drummer took off his shirt. The bass player stood in the background, switching bass guitars at the last minute when he realized he wasn't holding the one tuned for their opening song. They played. And they fucking rocked the house. Six songs. Too little. The crowd wanted more. The bass player had to leave - he was due for an overnight shift at the radio station, so we hiked out the door and drove home, chattering excitedly about the night. Starting in a few months, they have a standing house band gig at this little bar. It's a small first step into the possibility of a real sideline playing music all over the East coast. Things could still fall apart, could still dampen down into nothing. But sitting in a bar last night, watching twenty guys headbanging with glee in a miniscule bar to the sounds of my husband and his friends, everybody was a rock 'n roll god. Here's to the small bands in the small bars. Here's to live music. Here's to friends who come out to support friends. Here's to skinny white boys who can play the fuck out of their instruments. Here's to silly-looking posturing. Here's to having a great time on a cold Saturday night with hot music and some beer. Bless 'em. 9:53 p.m. - 2003-01-05 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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