[HOW ARE THERE NO PICTURES OF THIS?!?!?!?!? – rob 1/2/18]
Isabelle (hurricane) left us standing amidst chaos and broken limbs. Houses reduced to twisted lumber, and neighbourhoods left in the dark for days. Nothing new for this summer. I’m sure if you added it up, we’ve had our 40 days and 40 nights of rain and dark and winds and lightning. We’re close enough to bringing on Armageddon, I suppose. Bush is certainly doing his best to reawaken the 80s’esque fear of nuclear annihilation. Megadeth can have a new generation of fans.
I’m writing from the road. 67 miles per hour is set in the cruise control, and we are narrowly avoiding caffeine crazed truckers, verging on sleep, it seems, as they swerve between lanes, unconcerned about us lesser beings. “No trucks or buses in the right lane” on the New Jersey Turnpike. Seems a good reason to stay here, but of course 67 in a 65 is far too slow for the majority populace, and we’re constantly switching lanes to avoid the onslaught of midnight ratrace.
The CD release party was amazing. We weren’t sure what to expect. The Harbour was flooded, the roads were closed, even the basement of the Vault was closed. We still had 75 people there just to see us, and we made enough money to keep our exploits on the road for a little longer.
The intimacy of just Heather and rob ilyAIMY is definitely my preference, but the energy of the band? There’s nothing comparable…
Long nights. Halloween was spectacular. The show went way better than I expected, with really good turn-out and such incredible energy. There’s this feeling of pent up joy that I get – I want to cry because the moment is perfect – and I have my friends and creatures and girlfriend and bandmates all rolled into the same room. Only a few faces were missing.
The high tension of sexuality pulsing through the room, the music, the chaos and the last minute panic. So What went off pretty well, with few people knowing the song well enough to see where I’d forgotten the words. Always my panic – that I won’t remember the words. I often fear that I am the weak spot in my own band. Weird, hey?
Such highs and such lows. Every time we come back from our wanderings, I’m amazed by how tight the band remains. I’m almost angry about it. The more time Heather and I spend together, the more our cohesion falls to bits, the more my relationships turn to shit, but the band itself plays better and better.
Maybe that’s the pain speaking? How cliche. I know I’m sort of a failure as a rockstar. I don’t drink – where’s the heroin and whores? But the mood swings are fast and furious now. More black and white than they’d been since college, and the peaks are coming fewer and further between.\
I’m reminded of my high school math teacher, who “held out” against anti-depressants till his late twenties – I had confided in him some time in twelfth grade – but he gave in. I’ve been told it’s a losing battle, and that at some point your choices narrow down to A or B, with B being medication.
Well, if nothing else, my health insurance won’t cover B, and we force an option C – music and art… will it keep me even SEMI sane? Who knows, but whereas Prozac won’t get covered by health insurance, I CAN claim strings as a tax deduction…Where was I? Oh yeah – what I MEANT to say, was that Halloween rocked! So What was this grand transformation. I got to scream DIE at an audience and mean it.
I think, I think I think… that I shall set this down and continue typing once I’ve had some sleep. This is NOT the mood in which I should continue typing…. oooh my watch and whiskers, good NIGHT!
Yeah, see, everything – so much better after having slept. NOW I can type about how fantastic the world is…
Halloween is Heather’s birthday, and when the Vault first invited us to do their Halloween party, there were all sorts of crazy events planned – it was going to be one Hell of a birthday party. So, as events disappeared, one by one – I got really discouraged… but it made us stand out. Halloween spirit was carried by ilyAIMY and our fans. An amazing time had by all. Crisp autumn air blew around tight skirts, under strange flapping wings, and kept us from spontaneous full band combustion.
— distraction, Heather is teaching about corsets. Oh God. Yeah – on Halloween night, there was a questionable moment when Heather dragged me into the women’s bathroom, and in the midst of the dragging, my hormonal rush was checked by “Do you have your knife?” The Alice costume was too tight, and I spent the next ten minutes cutting seams so she could breathe… (that’s so EVERYONE KNOWS why we went into the bathroom together!!)
Gosh, I really have to find a better way to do this damned Journal… sigh. [haha]
The Vault truly is one of the best places we play. The sound may be shit half the time, but the people are friendly, the owner is upfront and does his math in FRONT of you and even the security guys got into the spirit of things, with masks and stuff and they help you carry drums.
I don’t know, Life doesn’t get much better than an honest owner. Thanks Jack.
A lot of musicians don’t like the Vault – and I think it’s because there’s too much math. Most musicians AREN’T mathematicians… which is WHY most of us are starving.
I’m sitting in the sunroom, watching Caramia explore the world. She’s a beautiful kitten, running rampant, Living up to the legends of curiousity befitting such an animal. Climbing on tables, chewing on plants, shedding… she needs constant supervision lest she eat dice. She’s Heather’s instant joy. If I could make Heather smile like that kitten does – well, there’d be rings.
Last night we went to see the University of Maryland’s production of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Heather, as a former member of the Satanic Mechanics, got us front row seats – and as usual, there was more eye candy than I could shake a… er… a stick at. Hrm.
Heathers are ALWAYS hot. (Caramia is nibbling my laptop).
Er, not being one to screw with the course that nature takes, I’ll leave the kitten’s additions to the journal. There, now she’s off to attack the floor or something, buying me some time to type sensibly again.
Anywho, part of my distress the other night, I think (God, I’d better reread whatever I wrote) – was over the fact that… somehow the RHPS people are real family. And I often don’t feel like I can compete somehow, simply because of lack of precedent – or the music isn’t as important because it has no lineage to it – it’s hard to explain, really. Just the feeling that when Heather looks back at her days as Frank in Rocky, she does so with a good deal of nostalgia – she misses being part of something greater than herself, and somehow the music, the Trip, the band and I – I feel like we don’t measure up. But I know that’s mostly my own insecurity talking…. Hell – THIS –>
Anywho, despite all the eyecandy, Heather was STILL the hottest creature in the room.
Everything can go so well, there can be a perfect show, beautiful people, incredible friends, gatherings of greatness… and then some assholes had to egg, mayonaise, AND molasses Mitzi’s car. And then sat on their porch and laughed at her as she called the police and they told her that they wouldn’t be able to prove anything.
That’s almost as bad as the ass-raping we had to go through to deal with our fucking car radio – except there are people here…. people who you wish you could hurt.
Our society is in this stupid phase right now, where the law can’t cover everything, and common courtesy can’t be counted on. I wish vigilantism was part of my make-up… I get so angry, wishing we could go back and do damage. $150+ damage to her car and we have faces and addresses and … we should be able to do something about that.
Of course, having it up on my website ASSURES we can’t, now doesn’t it.
Just wishes, my friends, just wishes. Wishes for molotov cocktails and pain. It’s not the damage so much as the laughter. I hate being laughed at, and it’s been a huge part of my whole Life. Sticks and stones- but eggs deserve response ten fold.
Got to go out and see a show tonight. Finally. For the first time in forever, I got to go see music and not play myself.
Did that sentence make sense? I assure you it did.
Anywho, tonight Heather picked me up from Amy’s new house and took me out to the Vault to see the Dreamscapes Project. Now, of course, there was the business side – we’re playing there next week, and we passed out flyers and put up posters and whatnot – but it was awesome to go some place and … well, I’d never say that I don’t like being the centre of attention – but I didn’t have to be “on”, which was really pleasant.
The Dreamscapes Project was incredible, as usual. Again, the band is just carried by Keith’s stage presence… well, floor presence tonight. Keith has the energy, and the sheer charisma, as well as the business acumen to REALLY be a rockstar. I was watching him tonight – and there’s part of me that feels very aware of watching him pull strings. There are these visible actions, almost scripted for the sake of the audience – but then tonight especially – I was thinking how I wish I could think things through like he does. He knows what he wants, and methodically he figures out how to make that thing happen. I Love chatting with Keith online, and just imagining the wheels turning in his head.
We also met another act, Infuseon, who met my heavy metal needs. They did a spectacular cover of Tool’s “Sober” and Jimmie’s Chicken Shack’s “Dropping Anchor”. I wish I could’ve opened up and really thrashed aboot in a pleasantly active fashion, but … alas, I am just too reserved.
We played the Royal tonight. Such a varied reaction to this venue. It reminded me of our initial days at Palomas. Nice sound system, some friendly people… A different sort of creature as owner. Australian? English? I wasn’t sure of the accent, but – I guess I’m getting used to playing and then getting a pretty enthusiastic response from the owner. The owner of the Royal was uninterested. It soured the evening, somehow. Ray came out, Brennan came out and brought Tori. The people were nice, the sound guy, Josh, was great – but somehow the evening left me tired and ready to go home.
The bartender was interesting. She was a true Baltimore woman. Tall and lithe and blonde and tattooed, and older the closer you looked. I caught her hand for a moment and she was calloused and strong.
The drive home led us afoul of many back streets. A little bit of alley hopping. The roads have changed since I worked at the Science Centre. You can never be LOST in Baltimore, but it took us a few miles to find 95. We bypassed crowd-filled streets and kittens, and have returned to the Lloydholme for movies and soup.
Ray Roberts at Mick O’Shea’s with his metal bodied guitar.
back in time a bit – back at the Vault in Baltimore. The Power Movement Project was fantastic – a high energy, ferocious reggae-esque… project.
with the pot” – I returned to the Lloydholme exhausted, elated, and relieved. It doesn’t FEEL like July. It’s grey and the air conditioning lets us forget what kind of temperature might be lurking outdoors. Chelsea’s dad doesn’t sleep. I’m seeing morning for what feels like the first time in weeks. Months. And the grey weather is keeping my eyes from glistening with consciousness.
9.30am and Chuck and David are up and frolicking in their morningness – David’s making bacon, and Chuck is talking about amplifiers and guitars and African rhythms. I’m just not ready for it yet.
My thoughts are still whirling from that kiss. Damn you Jason. Damn you Slanga.
Says it all really. I don’t even remember why it happened. But Jason kissed me. He needs to quit smoking before he gets any more sugar from me.
Yesterday was a long day. The yardsale, making food, preparing for the night. I had my first art opening in four years. It was an incredible night.
The opening itself, at the 1448 Gallery, was a great success. Michael Vain and Kali were just – immensely wonderful to invite me to show with them, and then to have the opportunity to play as well… Audrey and I once had a show like that, at a Borders Books. Her watercolours covered half the space, and my scary scritch art covered the other half, and then we played a show at the end of the month, with her in front of her work, and me in front of mine. I remember it being a Lovely night. I did something similar in a gatehouse show back in the Commons at MICA, and then again at the Moon Cafe in Annapolis, but eventually the shows petered out because I was having too much work stolen.
So now I’m reinvigourated. The show went so well – not many familiar faces, but a decently filled room – and the faces that WERE familiar were old favourites. It was strange to think that Kali and Terri and Michael have known me from the Beginning. Back when I ONLY played shows at the Rabbit and the New Deal Cafe, they came to each of those shows, and encouraged me with accolades and cake. It’s strange to think that it’s been so long, back from the Audrey era.
It was good to see Michael, usually so serious and unapproachable, really getting into Will – rocking out in the back of the room. It’s one thing when one can move the audience, but when one can move the artists around you – and KEEP moving them years after their first exposure – that made me feel really powerful. Like I was accomplishing something GREAT.
Terri watched from the back, like she always does. She’s an unobtrusive willowy creature of eye-contact and hair. My parents are the opposite – smack-dab in the middle of the room, my mother mouthing the words. Yeah, a room full of People from the Beginning. It felt like some sort of anniversary, or a birthday, or … I don’t know. Very much a celebration of accomplishment.
It was almost like a big thank you show to the people who’d REALLY supported me over the years. Longer than almost anyone else, with the exception of Amy. The room felt incomplete until I noticed that my portrait of Amy had been set unobtrusively against the wall, facing the stage. The beautiful Raven Jen even appeared from my past and wandered in near the end of the night.
A very good night.
And then we had to race to PLOJ.
I don’t think I’ve ever been very late to PLOJ before. I usually aim to get there by 4, and I’ve frequently been later than THAT – but I don’t think I’ve ever arrived AFTER things had gotten started. Until last night.
It was bizarre walking into things Already In Progress. It was hard having to greet everyone all at the same time, rather than getting my greet on one by one as people straggle in. All in all, I’d say it was probably (as much as I hate to say it) my least favourite PLOJ. Very formless, meandering, drum heavy… and a pathetic spread. Almost no food at ALL! Thank God my tabouli rocked as hard as it always does. Thank God Dan’s chili was as scrumptious as it was… thank Richard and Kelly for THEIR chili. And of course, Mara’s chocolate chip cake. I guess, really when it comes down to it… that made everything okay.
With PLOJ XXIX ending at 2.30am or so, returning to the Lloydholme with the Kerwaths in tow (Chelsea and Beau and Chelsea’s WHOLE family!!) and being awakened by David making breakfast at 9am (no complaints mind you, some of the finest bacon I’ve ever had… but 9.30 am isn’t REALLY a time to me anymore) – today’s band practice was a threat on my personal horizon. I was eager for it, but going INTO practice exhausted isn’t a good start.
Because of random circumstances, Heather and I actually end up arriving at Sharif’s house for practice separately. I navigate my car into his little Bowie neighbourhood, pick my parking space with care, and avoid a tiny obstacle.
A tiny, grey, furry obstacle. Rumpled fur and a trail of viscera that stretches almost to the curb – there’s very little in the world that’s as sad as a roadkill kitten, and I was thankful that I’d gotten there ahead of Heather. I knew it would break her heart to see the tiny body, and I didn’t know WHAT to do. It was right in front of the house, and there was no way she was going to miss it when she arrived – Sharif didn’t have a shovel or anything, and I’m not of SUCH a strong constitution that I’m able to pick up a dead kitten and throw it in the trash, or even a bush.
I’m not sure if I did the right thing. When the neighbours weren’t looking I stole a big empty pot from the yard and overturned it over the kitten in the middle of the street. It’s not the right thing, really – but it meant that Heather wouldn’t see it, and no-one else was going to smear it further along the street.
The pot wasn’t QUITE large enough, and the emotions that roiled through me when I felt the giving squish as I set it down on the kitten’s tail are indescribable and unpleasant.
Band practice itself was fantastic. A great day spent with friends, jamming on music that you Love. That’s the way band practice is SUPPOSED to be, and I don’t think it’s BEEN that way for a long time. It’s made me all the more eager for Tuesday’s Funk Box show. I was fearful everytime that Heather stepped outside – I was afraid she’d move the pot, but I didn’t want to tell her, and I couldn’t just say “don’t mess with the pot” – I returned to the Lloydholme exhausted, elated, and relieved.
And so I return home fighting back the urge to cry. It was our last show at the Vault, but that’s perhaps not why I was depressed. The sound was just… horrific. I don’t want to go into specifics simply because I Love Jack and Scott so much. The people there are soooo nice, but we just can’t afford to go somewhere and have the sound system make us sound like a wall of distorted cat flatulence. Really.
The good thing of the night was that Jack let us into the basement, and Justin did band photos. Gorgeous band photos. Expect to see them in our next runs of posters and postcards. They’re going to be awwwesome.
Sigh. But in the meantime. Television and sleep. Tomorrow Lord of the Rings. I just don’t want to think about the show.
Tired, unable to sleep. Uninterested in sleep. Heather and I have been on this stupid schedule for so long – 5am is when I get interested in bed – that it’s just hard to contemplate heading up earlier. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to go to sleep.
We had a bunch of people over tonight – just to hang out and watch the Lord of the Rings. We “only” got through the first two movies, but had an awesome time. I miss Living at the Mirkwood House in Kensington and having big movie parties. Not really as much of an option when you don’t have your own place – but I crave it. I Loved the fact that we just hung out for a couple of hours. The “party” started at noon and we didn’t watch a thing till about 3. Just a really good feeling – and a chance to bond with a couple of people that I haven’t had much of a chance to bond with.
Chris and Joylene (of the Chris and Joylene Show) and Jeff and his wife (of Symbiont – “his wife” simply because she’s not in the band and therefore not quite in the public eye and I KNOW I put plenty of names in here that aren’t but they’re closer into the ilyAIMY circle and… whatever…) showed, and I was slightly weirded out by the fact that the majority of the night was spent with a majority of married people.
Later that same day…
Ok, Heather and I have GOT to get back on a human sleep schedule. Went to bed at 7am and got up at 2pm. I guess we’re both just a bit panicky about money at the moment. There’s some cool things on the horizon, but there are bills much closer. Wondering if this summer will be the summer of hedonistic festival going, and then this Fall we’ll both go get day jobs for a couple of months. I don’t really want to do that.
Last night I read a movie review for something called “Sideways”. Something about wine-tasting that looked very much NOT to be my taste. There is a point to this despite that – the leading character is called a “failed writer”. I started thinking about that term – wondering when you go from calling yourself a “writer”, waiting for your break, waiting for that letter that says your work will be printed to accepting the title “failed writer”. If Heather or I ever quit for a moment, does that make us “failed musicians”? Or for that matter, does that make me a “failed artist” or Heather a “failed journalist”?
I’ve heard the term “failed writer” before, and I don’t think I’d ever given it too much thought – and for good reason – it seems to be a term that doesn’t really mean anything. If the person still writes, than they’re still a writer… and if they’ve gone on to soemthing else, they’ve gone on to something else.
So odd…. so tired. Where’s our management? I just want someone else to take over somedays. Most days.
Heather and I have an interesting work rhythm. Sometimes I’m the really productive one, never setting things down, constantly thinking, constantly doing this, that or the other – and sometimes it’s Heather. At the moment it’s Heather. It seems rare that we’re both in that zone at the same time. Things have just sort of settled that way.