Fondly, Of Course

It seems my appetite for nostalgia is outpacing itself. I find myself sitting in back rooms, listening to shitty bands play, reminescing about sitting in other back rooms and listening to other shitty bands play. "Shitty" is not the word I'm looking for. I'm sorry. It's whatever that intangible element of novice is, when a kid steps up to the poorly amped mike and says..

"I made up this song yesterday. It doesn't really have any words yet. I thought I'd try and just try some sort of free association."

And then he takes a quick step back and checks the chord he's fingering, and then taps his toe one two three, one two three and begins. Or when the band has finished setting up and they all look at each other, holding a conversation we can all hear because, I mean, we're standing about three feet away, and they're arguing over keys but then it all gets resolved and one two three, one two three and they burst out with drums and anxious strumming. When they step up to the mike it's with their mouths wide open and eyes squeezed firmly shut, barking out each word until they forget a few and then get back on track.

The kids in this venue are almost all underage, and they almost all know the string of performers. In between sets they help wind up cords, they move around equipment, they congratulate. All hyped up on Red Bulls, they bounce around to the danceable songs and adjust their sweaters when the last beats die out.

I remember the old Meow Meow, the venue we loved to hate. Filing in behind kids younger than we were, scraping the insides of our wallets and behind the sofa cushions (no, really), to find the five bucks that was going to get us into the show. The girls were all wearing carefully tattered clothing, the boys were growing their first facial hair and all of them were clumping in carefully delineated groups around the room, sending emissaries back and forth when gossip required it. Low ceilings, concrete floor, a leopard print curtain I always hated. But the bands! Holey Moley! I saw Pedro the Lion, I saw the Gossip, the All Girl Summer Fun Band (who I tentatively approached afterwards), the Dismemberment Plan on their last tour, Alien Ant Farm (I was on the guest list, no paying money for that one), Mates Of State, Calvin Johnson (lots of K Records bands, if I remember right), Casket Lottery, Delorean ( I think. Either them or Crosstide), and then just an endless string of local and national small small bands that were opening for whomever I had heard of that headlined. I know this list is woefully short. I remember going once or twice a week, making the drive in from my apartment in the suburbs, waiting to turn twenty-one so I wouldn't have to hang out with fourteen year olds anymore.

And yet... I'm still sort of nostalgic. Everyone was young and fun. Not mid-twenties and drinking heavily, nodding at the saddest lyric they could hear. These kids were rabid and erratic, twitching and happy in the music, and I was still nervous and wierd leaning up against a wall. Now, I find myself lost in a crowd that's standing still, wanting to move and not understanding why everybody's feet are still sticking to the floor.