My band played a pretty damn good sweaty show at the Terminal Bar last night (Dec 4) with Fussy, John Wills, and Best Fight Story. Our time slot we played is commonly referred to as "headlining". "Headlining" is a fancy word which means "the last band to play". If you headline and you don't have a huge following, you are, as many would say, fucked. The freezing weather and new 2AM bar closing time here in Minneapolis doesn't help matters much for struggling bands, either. Regardless, we're always happy to play as long as someone's listening.
There was an above average amount of the usual patrons who actually stick around to watch us.. Iced Ink music isn't the most accessible material and has a tendency to clear out a room like a stinky egg salad fart.
And as usual, the enormous, scary, disgruntled bearded man that cleans tables and threatens to kill people all the time was there. It doesn't matter who you are - even if you just walk past him, he wants to pound your head in with his mighty fists and kill you. Dead. For example: he wanted to kill Joe the soundman last night because he didn't like the CD he was playing. As I walked past him sweeping the floor at the end of the night, he looked up and said "Fuckin' [mumble mumble mumble]..." Ha ha! I love you too, thanks for the support. He's been limping severely the past few times we've played there, and I was told it's because he was stabbed in the leg. But wait - it gets better: it happened where he lives, and the stabbing was done by his roommate. This did not really take me by surprise. Gee, sounds like someone must have kept using the wrong toothbrush...
Enough about scary bearded man, though - back to the people that were there. The above average turnout was a very pleasant surprise for me, because a lot of them were people I used to hang out with in high school that I haven't seen in 10 years. My high school girlfriend's brother Peter found me on the internet via my band's website, contacted me last week, and next thing you know, there I was with him chatting it up before our set at the Terminal last night about his desire to start painting again, all the old drawings of mine he still has, the caca both of us have gotten ourselves involved in with female companions, cars, parents, old times, and playing the "whatever happened to [insert friend's name here]" game. He invited a bunch of other old friends along, and it was a blast to see them.
It is so bizarre seeing people that you last saw roaming the high school halls (that would be 1990-91 for us), or at a party a year or two out of high school. Especially when language such as "my house", "my wife", "my fiancee", or "he had kids with two different girls" are being spewed. It used to be all about which teacher we hated most or whose house we were going to go drink beer at, but I guess 10 years will cause such conversation topics to dissipate into more grown-up subject matter. Darn!
One thing that hasn't changed or probably never will: these are the same personalities and attitudes I knew back then, just a little older and wiser. After all this time, I can make some sort of absurd, dry comment to Sebastian about humping his leg, which I immediately did, and he knows I'm joking... or at least he thinks I'm joking... hehehe. I can still talk with Matt about music for hours on end, which we did. All that was missing when I was talking to Peter was his skateboard. Billy still looks just like Billy. It was great to see them all again... I hope we can all hook up again real soon.
Peter, if you're reading this, I demand that you pick up a paint brush again and get crackin' on some ass-kicking abstract paintings ASAFP. Time's a wastin!
And Sebastian, my darling: I don't care if you're married... May I hump your leg?
