NYC City. Rio Grande River.
So we’re back from the mighty nation of NYC. Friends inevitably ask whether it was awesome did we have an amazing time and when I’m feeling lethargic I answer affirmative. When on an honest streak I explain it had its peaks and valleys and I’m glad to be home. Truth is, it’s like a lot of things that occur in my life or (everyone's) life where any experience (such as a trip to nyc) is made up of a bunch of (hard to cleanly delineate) baby experiences. Some babies are wonderful, some mediocre, some not so good...
We got the worst over with two days into the trip with the worst gig of our lives at a club called Siberia. Walked in, apart from the charming door guy who looked like a doughboy in the wrong clothes (all black), the particular swirl of beer, smoke, aging vomit and non-descript punk music raging from the basement did not bode well for the evening. Only the most loyal of friends managed to stick it out to the 2:00 am start time (an hour late) where the curly-haired bartender/soundman opted to voice his indifference by staying behind the bar while those little girls of Eagle and Talon played through tornadoes of feedback and bewilderment at how the world (the soundman!) could be so cruel. We ended our set early and spent the next few days believing that the gig had gone so completely badly that we didn’t even feel traumatized. Only Kim stopped feeling excited about music.
That was Gig No. One. Thankfully things picked up after that. I will write more on those (to balance the complaining anecdote above) when I’m not just procrastinating.
-Alice Talon
We got the worst over with two days into the trip with the worst gig of our lives at a club called Siberia. Walked in, apart from the charming door guy who looked like a doughboy in the wrong clothes (all black), the particular swirl of beer, smoke, aging vomit and non-descript punk music raging from the basement did not bode well for the evening. Only the most loyal of friends managed to stick it out to the 2:00 am start time (an hour late) where the curly-haired bartender/soundman opted to voice his indifference by staying behind the bar while those little girls of Eagle and Talon played through tornadoes of feedback and bewilderment at how the world (the soundman!) could be so cruel. We ended our set early and spent the next few days believing that the gig had gone so completely badly that we didn’t even feel traumatized. Only Kim stopped feeling excited about music.
That was Gig No. One. Thankfully things picked up after that. I will write more on those (to balance the complaining anecdote above) when I’m not just procrastinating.
-Alice Talon
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