My Saturday Night Alone

Saturday night, the weather was shit, cold and misty. Damp and dank. Dark and ominous. You know...just like the crotch of la mere de Buttplug. I ran home from a crabby day at work, ripped off my Department Store black and laid around in my underwear until Badonks and I decided just to get Mexican at the authentic, hole in the wall up the street. I put jeans on and changed into my favorite faux Western blue shirt, faux peppermint earrings and bright orange traffic controller rain jacket. We stepped outside, linked arms underneath the purple duck umbrella and walked up Hispanic row. I got fajitas. She got enchiladas. And, for once, it wasn't me who almost shat my pants on the walk home.

I grabbed my camera and got back into my car. I was alone. Driving downtown, getting quasi lost downtown, calling Badonks to get unlost downtown and parking in the cheap lot next to my venue downtown.


I chatted with a few people that I recognized from the Hoot, my orange jacket draped over my camera bag against my side. I hung towards the back during Stook!'s set, separate, against a column and let the little fajita shrimpies swim in my intestines. I love these tunes and look forward to Stook! opening for JoAnna James on April 26th, when the little shrimpies will be nothing but porcelain memories.



I ran out of the Fine Line as soon as Stook! had finished so I could book it to The Varsity. It was still damp out but I was calm. At peace. Even after some jackoff started trying to talk to me about working in the Wells Fargo building and its breathtaking view. Don't talk to me, jackoff. I am alone by choice tonight. And I'm having a night of rare independent peace.



I walked into the lot and have a SWEETMOTHERFUCKER! moment after I realized my car is not in the lot. Then I had a DUMBMOTHERFUCKER! moment when I realized I was standing in the wrong lot. I found my Honda, in tact, and get the hell out of downtown, naturally getting lost on my way to The Varsity for the Eclectone Records Showcase.

I found it eventually, like I always do, and walked into the venue. It was a little more empty than I had thought it would be but there was this relaxed vibe permeating the air. Everyone was mingling, standing with their drinks or draped over one of the mattresses or comfy chairs. The Mad Ripple started as I entered the theater and I plopped into a black rotating chair on the floor, turning slightly back and forth throughout the entire set. They were Hoot songs he sang. They are familiar to me.

Before Martin Devaney, I wandered around a bit, walking upstairs to stare out the windows by the bathroom. The night sky was now clear as I looked over Dinkytown.

I walked back down the stairs and my twirly chair was still open. I sat.



Martin Devaney's folksy music was heartbreaking. My independent little heart broke, especially as he sang Flowers on the Doorstep. And still rocks out a bit. It's a strong little heart. A few times, Martin REALLY reminded me of Bruce during his acoustic tour. The shrimpies did a dance of joy. Jim sat down next to me, looked up, saw me and he sort of shouted my name. We talked for a bit. I asked him about Martin's age. He said "maybe 27 or 28. He's just a baby." I thought about how this 27 or 28 year old breaks 25 year old hearts and owns his own record label. Stellar resume.



Another break. I climbed back up to the bathroom, just to run around a bit, and looked at myself in the mirror for a second. I never get sick of checking out the piercing. I love my navy bandana and red striped earrings. This time I walked slowly down the stairs, checking the concert posters that line the wall, almost tripping because I was staring at Regina Spektor's picture. I nade it down okay and found chair closer to the stage. JoAnna James sings next.

Aching, yearning tunes. Another broken heart. This white girl nailed the blues. There is hope for all of us. ( Y'know...except me.)



I did't leave my seat this time. Steve walked up to me. I stood. We chatted about my new lens. I am thrilled that I can even contribute to this conversation. God bless this lens. God bless. We chatted about getting lost downtown. I mentally thanked the Hoot for introducing me to these people.

Mark Stockert stood on the smaller stage set up opposite of the main stage. He was trashed. I was nervous. Regardless, he was composed. And then one of those live music experiences happened that can never be replicated or even described adequately enough.

Mark set down his guitar against a speaker and stood on the edge of the stage.



He started half singing, half wailing this phrase: "light me up and knock me down."



Then, I heard a guitar from the opposite side of the Varsity. Then, a voice from another end. Then, another voice, another end.



I looked into the middle of the Varsity and Martin was there and started singing along, too. Someone joined him. It was dark and I couldn't really tell who it was. Someone else joined the duo. They were together in a small clump, arms raised. Mark & Martin, with their arms raised, were commanding the audience to sing along.



The sound of instruments and voices were everywhere, layered one then the other then the other then everyone. It surrounded us, a wall of sound building up all around. The Varsity seemed vast at that moment.



He started and ended his short set with this. I sat my camera against my leg and just shot it. Alone, but entirely happy, singing along to a song that I had no idea what the words were. It was my version. Everyone was singing their version. I realized later what Mark was chanting was actually from a sign that hung behind him against the wall of The Varsity Theater.



Jim came up to me afterwards, amazed at the song. He introduced me to Mark. Mark was even more wasted, but this time he had a huge grin across his face. As he sort of wobbled back and forth, he told me he couldn't believe that had happened. I asked him if it was planned. He said "Sort of. But not really." It didn't matter. At that moment, I didn't want to dig too deep into that experience, I just wanted to revel in it a moment longer. Mark told me he wanted another drink. I told him he deserved it.

It probably meant something different to each attendee of that show, everything from Jim's ecstasy to nothing but a poster sing-a-long. I, alone that Friday night, won't forget that sensation of turning around in my chair, preening my neck to see where all that sound was coming from, what all that sound was, how far it would keep going, would it wail on forever?

I needed to rock.

Chris Perricelli of Little Man walked by and I thought "Man, he's short" and then, months after seeing pictures and reading articles, I had an extraordinary epiphany: "Ohhhhh...that's why his band is called Little Man." Nice, Jonesie. Real nice.

Someone yelled out "You're not little. YOU'RE BIG!" and I couldn't decide if that was annoying or endearing.



Little Man ripped it apart.



Rocked and leapt and sang and shredded



It felt like Little Man was looking directly at me. He did.



I was so intrigued by this fierce rocker.



That annoying/endearing guy from beginning was right.



Little Man is very very big.



I saw Stook! from across the way, flashed the mofo sign and he came over, through the dancing audience.



Stook! and I watched Jim Walsh worship at Little Man's feet.



Stook! and I watched/laughed as two seiz-tastic, older women "dance."



I shook back and forth, barely moving my feet but having my own mini seiz-tastic dance.



I snapped picture...



...after picture...



...after picture...



Little Man ended his set. We cheered. The audience was sort of thin but we had just experienced a night of tight, polished, wonderful music. Everyone was beaming. I stood still for a moment and then hugged Jim and Stook! good-bye.

As I passed the merch table, I bought two albums (Martin Devaney & Little Man.) I walked out of The Varsity, past all those drunk douchebags against the walls of The Library, clutching my new music in my fist. As soon as I got into my car, I stared at the albums, deciding on Martin for the car ride home. I needed something chill to sing me to sleep at 2am.

I was never really alone to begin with.



Over and over and over again.