“I always feel mischievous on acid.” Cam the psychedelic cowboy taps their fingertips together as we leave my place for the second time. Forgot my ticket. I’m a sucker for a physical ticket. The Honda hangs a right. Sandy Bull noodles over a rollin’ tape. When I picked up my ticket from Old Soul, Mary told me Jerry dosed the coffee at the Playboy Club when the Dead played there. Mis-chie-vious. Like a fuckin’ merry prankster. Not up to no good. Just on some character type shit.
The line outside Northern Lights cheers as roadside assistance picks the lock for some guy locked outta his car. Pass through the door and immediately lose Cam. Immediately lose my bearings. “My first thought when I got here was I’d hate to be trippin’ right now…” Sloppy Joel murmurs as I make eye contact with Hugh Hefner at the next table. Is the old timer somebody’s pops? Did he see this on the cover of MetroTimes? Sold out lounge. And Brooklyn’s sayin’ the drinks are bein’ overpoured. It’s gonna get rowdy.
“Yeah motherfucker come on!” Antonio wails. Some body hits my shoulder. Knockin’ me forward into the mess of body parts flailin’ around. This would be an amazin’ bar to do blow in. But we’re off that stuff. Attemptin’ to be better. People shove and groove around the floor. Neck swingin’ back and forth with the Tone. Goddamn! Am I trippin’?! Or does the guitar sound fucked up man! Sustained pulsin’ of feedback. There’s no gettin’ through the dancin’ mass. Nothin’ much you can do besides surrender to the sonic sensations. Flail like an electrocuted Peanut. Playboy Bunny go-go dancin’ beside the lava lamp. I told Cam on the ride up here. I just wanna dance tonight.
“I feel like I’m in the way. But everywhere feels in the way.” Fur coats and velvet suits brush past. Sequins and bunny ears. Skin scarred with rainbows of ink. Someone slinks behind ya. Someone else slitherin’ between Cam and Kate. Distorted figures pass the lenses of my sunglasses. Blurred in the dimly lit bar. And the smudged purple glass from gettin’ knocked around. Look at all these beautiful people.
Johnny’s records fill the dancefloor with the stench of must and mildew as the 45 comes to a close. “We’re the Stools… You’re Northern Lights… I sold that drum kit to Sugar T to pay my fuckin’ rent!” The familiar greeting brings the crowd together. Familiar freaks and MetroTimes hipsters. “Get that boy some money!” Matt screams back. Gettin’ ready to get rowdy. KQ wants to see some bodies fuckin’ move. Man. That motherfucker will always be my definition of cool. See him skatin’ in the School of Rock parkin’ lot. Velvet Underground and Nico raglan. Add that to the list of things I only tell my friends in my head. Flailin’ about on the corner of Conner and Hell.
Owner of the joint staggers through the crowd. Bitchin’ about people hittin’ the low hangin’ light fixtures. Will reminds everyone to keep it cordial after Chuck breaks out from behind the kit to cuss out the asshole gettin’ too aggressive with the ladies upfront. Interrupted by Cam divin’ at the guy extednin’ a middle finger. It’s gettin’ fuckin’ rowdy in here. And it’s only the second band. That Harsh Green River triggers the tinnitus serenely. Hair splashes my face with the cool comfort of my sweat. “Man I’m just tryin’ to dance!” My lips make the words to somebody pushin’ me to the core of the pit. But I can’t hear the syllables. Just sounds of the snare crunchin’ under Chuck’s feet as he stomps it to pieces.
“I want to dance!” Kate’s bass pulses the collective nostalgia of everyone thrashin’ about in the street to this durin’ ESG’s Labor Day set. I can see Cam perfectly in the middle of Campau. Yelpin’ away their lungs back. Ava’s ring on the cowbell snaps me back to the here and now. And in the here and now Shadow Show still the grooviest to ever do it. The matchin’ outfits were always intimidating. Some type of liberated Manson girl energy. They got the psych poppin’. Band boppin’. Heads bobbin’. Forget about the go-go dancer. Willy’s standin’ on somethin’ beside the stage. The long braids whip through the air. Damn… I know some truly beautiful people. They may be on the covers of magazines. But photoshoots can’t capture beauty like that. “2024 and we’re still rockin’ baby!” Dom screams at me. At some point tonight the year changed. Dizzy in the delirium. Tryin’ to roll a joint outside. Bar’s too crowded to get served. Let alone ask for a water. To be one of those poor bastards drownin’ in the pit. Fresh Miller High Life foamin’ over the edge. Not even able to get one sip out before the champagne flows across the floor.
“Sorry for roughin’ up the joint. But it’s nothin’ a lil’ bit of Lysol can’t take care of.” Jake slobbers into the signature, orange taped 57 or 58. I don’t know man. I don’t give a shit about gear. A ferocious ‘60s homage. The Seger System to the most meta band to fuckin’ do it. The Monkees. Will, Ava, and Antonio geekin’ out as the tracks resonate through the squeals. Is that the PA? Or did my hearin’ just cut out? “Cigs inside?” Joey shrugs from the side. The only thing this shindig is missin’ to be a real ‘60s Playboy party. Toeheads thankin’ Mary and Audrey for throwin’ this hootenanny. Even if things seem to be gettin’ hostile here and there. “Be my baby!” Jake drools as the whole room holds each other and sways. Splattered balloons bouncin’ overhead. Occasionally explodin’ in the crowd.
White light flashes from the cell phone below our faces. Jake pullin’ me and Cam into the Toeheads circle for a group photo. People linger. Cuttin’ a rug as Johnny Athey cuts up the wax on the turntables. Can’t make it more than a few feet without someone grabbin’ ya. Arms wrappin’ around each other. Exchangin’ sweat. Lips meetin’ cheeks and face stubble. These are the people they make urban legends about. People that know the miracle of moments. That understand the joy of bein’ alive is just fuckin’ bein’ there. No letters in any of the alphabets or snapshots on 35mm or Polaroid will properly preserve the fleetin’ beauty we can experience. How alienating it is to be trapped in our own fuckin’ brains? Too anxious to embrace each other in full vulnerability. First New Year’s Eve off in years. And damn does it beat tryin’ to slit your own throat blackout bartendin’. “I’m glad my text this mornin’ reached ya when ya needed it!” Cam hugs me as I thank them for their lovin’ text. Helpin’ break the oncomin’ depressive episode.
“What’s your new year’s resolution?” Ava asks me at the round table with Cam, Will, and Kate. Covered in more of Joey’s sweat than I have been in a long time. I see Jake dancin’ and singin’ his heart out to that 2000’s white girl music my brother says I probably secretly fuck with. “Just Dance.” “Supersonic.” “One More Time.” There are no guilty pleasures here. As Will will tell ya. Everclear taught us how to rock n’ roll on Ned’s Declassified.
“Be better…” I say. Starin’ away from her to the blank table in front of us. Our hands meet to hold each other as I leave that generally. Be better. About all of it. Not shakin’ off the image like an Etch-a-Sketch when it’s too overwhelmin’. Say some of these things to the friends outside your head. That KQ still is the hardest motherfucker out there. That Jake’s hugs make ya feel worth it. That Antonio’s guitar sounds so fucked up! That as Joey puts it “it’s fucked up we’ve known each other so long now!” That between clippin’ monitors and clippin’ eardrums. The urge to relapse is muted by the ringin’ white noise as everyone closes their set with a reminder to tell your friends you love ‘em. Happiness will only ever be fleetin’. But we got each other and some good fuckin’ tunes to sustain and resonate with. Feel we are one of the beautiful people we surround ourself with. Cause baby we’re all rich men too. Ava will tell ya the real heads know. We’re more than just secondary characters in each other’s semi-autobiographical, great American adventure novel.
“Life’s been good to me so far…” Cam harmonizes with Joe Walsh. My grandma always thought this was the funniest song ever written. In spite of the inevitable oncomin’ impendin’ doom. Life’s been pretty good to me so far. As Cam drives me to the other gas station cause they thought I meant the chips when I said this one didn’t have Buglers. Who else is gonna drive you in the middle of the night. No questions asked. To the other gas station across town cause they think ya need the right snack.