I’m walking on the intersection of St. John’s Place and Schenectady Avenue, heading towards Utica Avenue, where there is a 3 subway that eventually goes into Manhattan. I have two jackets on and a scarf, with my phone in the pocket of the outer jacket so that the wire of my friend’s headphones that I’m borrowing doesn’t become tangled and suddenly stop working. Entering my third supermarket in the last hour, I just want some tomatoes and salmon that look good. I’m feeling extra irritable tonight.
Everytime I listen to Codeine, I picture myself as the guitarist, singing slow, earnest, and cold lyrics over distorted, reverb-turned-all-the-way-up noise. How cool would that be, to be in a band that makes loud noises. I send out a PSA: “I’m in New York City right now, but when I get back, does anyone want to start a loud band?” I get a few replies from people that make interesting music themselves, but I hesitate to get back to them too quickly. Now, my worlds are colliding. What would a slowcore shoegaze guitar music NYC hipster concert look like in a supermarket?
Last night, I played tender music with my friend Angie in her ex-boyfriend’s apartment in Ridgewood, Queens. We practiced a few times and did a sound check when we arrived. Twelve circles of socializing, all with about 5 to 6 people in them, had me running around most of the night. Smiles and adrenaline. We sat down to play our nine songs to eighty people and everyone was sitting down with smiles on their faces. After the first song, the nerves started to wear off, and I decided to take my eyes off of the ground to meet the eyes of everyone else for a split second. Everyone looked at me with love and care, but for some reason, in the back of the room, there was a 6 foot tall lizard. He was staring right at me with a Modelo in his right hand, an Elliott Smith “I love metal” shirt on the upper half of his body, and nothing covering his legs and lower torso.
I turned to Angie before starting the second song. “What the fuck is that lizard doing here?” I whispered into her ear. She just chuckled and closed her eyes for a few seconds, and continued tuning her guitar to D. I looked up again and the lizard was clumsily stepping around the rest of the crowd. He was making his way towards the door to the apartment. I had to know who he was, and why he was at our show. I threw my guitar on the ground, and hopped after him. Now, everyone was watching.
“Hey! What are you doing here? Who are you?”
He didn’t hear me at all. He kept slowly moving towards the exit. I yelled again, this time trying to put my body in front of his in order to stop him from leaving. Before I jumped into his path, he looked me dead in my eyes. His gaze traveled all the way down to my toes, and made me take a step back, killing all of my desire to interrogate him. His heavy head turned back towards the door, he reached for the doorknob, slithered out on his back feet, and grudgingly walked down the stairs to the main floor of the apartment. We finished the rest of the show without any other interruptions.
That was a crazy night, I think to myself, having now returned from the supermarket. The rest of my friends are sitting on the couch watching television and drinking beer, and I’m cooking dinner for them as a thank you for letting me sleep over. None of them have brought up the lizard incident.
45 minutes later, dinner was ready, and we squeezed on the couch to enjoy a satisfying meal together. I’ll be leaving in two days, back to a quiet life.
