AUGUST 14TH, 2005. | ARCHIVE

Sunday Night

I’m feeling penitential tonight because I missed church and I missed football and that is usually my little soulful Sunday 1-2. Especially church. I’m going to feel bewildered for the whole start of the week.
Do you think I’m stupid to think that? Some of you will. To some of you it maybe seems like I’m upset because I forgot to pack my teddy bear or something. Like I’m placing importance on charms and superstitions.

Who knows, maybe you’re right. Maybe I should just embrace the brazen realities of life! Mmm. When I think of it for a second, without the promise of something else, the brazen realities just seem a little bit three-dimensional.

I love this little flat with funky neighbours, and the palm trees in the courtyard. There is always the far off sound of a party going on somewhere, and though I’m not at the party, it’s nice to feel that there’s a party going on somewhere. I feel slightly less vacuous.

I don’t want to leave. It feels like, if I wanted, I could be on the cusp of making medium term friendships if I made the effort. But I am leaving soon enough. I never did make friends with the girl across the courtyard who always wore a hat in a distinct fashion, even when she was hanging her washing out. She was sitting on her balcony earlier, smoking, and listening to “American Girl” by Tom Petty.

“Is that Tom Petty your listening to?” I would’ve said to her.
“Yes, is it bothering you?”
“Oh no, carry on, carry on!” I would say.

If I came back to LA I’d want this exact apartment. It was pretty fluky; I got really lucky with this. There must be perhaps 120 apartments in the building, and I got about one of the four that I would’ve been completely happy with. It’s at the top, on the inside corner; quiet, no traffic. I can see myself trying to ask for the exact same apartment in a few years. Like an autistic person trying to find his or her own spoon in the spoon drawer.

I just had my friend on the phone for a couple of hours there. It was almost morning her time; she hadn’t been to sleep. She’d taken an ‘e’ that night at a club, so now all she wanted to do was talk and talk and talk, and that was fine. I liked listening. I just opened the balcony door, stretched out on the sofa, and let her spill her guts all over the phone. We both figured that it was mostly speed that she had. It always is with these things.

“Would you ever take ecstasy?”
“No. I think I’d rather make a record.”
“Oh, really?” she says sarcastically, like she heard that one a thousand times.

Even if I just finished a double album, and was dying to see people, and someone put the pill on a velvet pillow, and everyone was doing it… I wouldn’t be arsed. I’d go for a walk or play the piano or something. Sounds boring, doesn’t it? Wonder why I wouldn’t do it?

“Maybe you’re so in love with yourself that you couldn’t bear to be separated from your ego, even for an hour or so.”

Maybe she’s right.

Me and Stevie crawled out to the ballgame today. It was kinda religious. We went out there to salute a god on the mound, Pedro Martinez. He was pitching for the Mets. He pitched a no hitter till the seventh, when unfortunately I said to Stevie.

“Oh, Pedro’s got a no-hitter, and we’re at the bottom of the seventh. Trouble is, now that I’ve noticed that, and drawn it to your attention also, it is extremely unlikely that he’ll be able to keep it going. Someone’s going to get a hit, just because I said that.”

Next ball, someone got a hit, got on base. Next batter steps up and knocks it into the bleachers. 2-1 Dodgers, and that’s the game.

“Mommy, the Mets suck,”

some kid says to her mum as I retake my seat. The whole family laughs, and the laugh’s on me as I’m the only Mets’ t-shirt in site.

So I turn and say to the kid,

“They do, you’re right. They’re overpaid, they constantly under perform as a team. They lack soul.”

The kid looks at me a little bit frightened.

Monday Morning

I’m kinda beat, and I only just made it to work. I tried to catch up on emails this morning. Then on the way to work I heard a Stones’ track on the radio that I really liked, and I started thinking about the time that I was listening to “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” while wandering in the SOMA district of San Francisco about 6 years ago.

Never been a ‘consistently’ big Stones fan, but I just loved the production on this track, and the ambition, and the soul. And the groove.

It struck me that I felt some parallels with the Stones around that time. Now this may seem extremely presumptuous and all that, but a boy has to dream. It seems to me that they started making some of their best records around that time. I add that to my mental list of groups that had been kicking around for a while, but somehow still had to make their decisive move. (Stones, Bee Gees, REM) Less for the Stones, more for REM.

Ach, what does it all matter. Stevie and I talked about it on Saturday, and we realised that no matter how much we chased the prize, we would still follow our hearts before anything. And our hearts just love music, recorded music, music of the soul, smash hits, transcendent singles, trippy albums that take you by the hand and lead you to the promised land.

We talked about it while we were back in the wonderful Jukebox Café. I had some catfish and greens (for the soul) and a root beer, Stevie had the veggie burger. The atmosphere in the place was different; the light was lower and the hipster element up; a Saturday night warming up vibration. We just wished we were going the same place as some of these cats were going.

I went to feed the Jukie, but somehow there were 20 free credits. I fed in a good few, putting in some that I thought Stevie would like. While I was there a young mother came up with her kid.

“I was wondering what was playing just now. Can you tell?”
“Yeah, hold on.”

I flicked through the selection until I came the number that was playing.

“It’s the Arcade Fire. They’re the ‘new big thing’ just now.”
“Oh, right.”

I could have dropped the ‘new big thing’ bit. She just wanted to know what it was that she was listening to. Personally, I couldn’t wait until it was off and I could hear “Say Hello, Wave Goodbye” by Soft Cell, and “Walking On The Moon” by The Police.

My selection didn’t start to play until we were kicking back, ready to pay the bill.

A friend remarked to me once, in a New York bar

“If you can hear your selection coming on the jukebox, it’s probably past the time when you should have left.”

He was right, particularly one night when I finally heard my tunes coming through. Or thought I heard them. My head was such a fug of hard liquor at the time. Those New York measures of Jack!

I was playing pool, perhaps swaying lightly. We acknowledged, the same friend and I, that we had heard our tunes coming on. We cordially agreed that this was a job well done, and that we should leave. Having some little difficulty walking, we made it back to his apartment. His girlfriend was helping us I think.

I took to the couch like Puck to the bower of an ash. My friend left a precautionary saucepan next to the couch in case I should need it. I regret to report that I puked into it sometime in the night. Must have been the jetlag…

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