All This Can Be Yours

Thanks to everyone who came to the online show at Arden Gild Hall! Sometimes I miss playing so much. And sometimes…

I’m walking through a town where there’s a festival. It’s warm and sunny. No makeup on but I think that’s probably good, only the people I want to see will see me. I notice a guy crouched on a curb, hanging out with some other people, and realize it’s my guitar player friend Steve. He looks so cool—sunglasses, denim jacket, great boots. I try  to wait until the other people move on to go over and say hi.

After we catch up for a minute, I walk along and enter a sort of warehouse building and a guy in the corner says “You must be one of the artists—you probably need one of these” and he hands me a laminate and a canvas bag of swag: stickers and beer coozies and bottle openers. “You’re gonna have a great time,” he says. Then he tells me I’m playing in front of a bar on the main street in town.

“Wait, what do you mean?” I ask. “Are the gigs all staggered?”

He looks at me blankly.

“Well,” I continue, “If there’s a loud band from Cleveland (I don’t know why I say Cleveland, it’s just the first city that pops into my head) playing at the same time outside the bar across the street, how will anyone hear me?”

“Wow—you just want everything, don’t you?” the guy says. “No, they’re not staggered. Everyone just plays—that’s what creates the atmosphere of music. If you don’t like it, don’t play.”

“Well…FUCK YOU,” I say. He looks shocked. I smile. “Just kidding, buddy. I know you’re only doing your job. It’s gonna be fun. It’s gonna be great.” I walk off in a bouncy way, smiling and seething. Where’s Steve playing, I wonder. Does he know about this bullshit? How many more years do we have to put up with this crap?

Then I wake up.

Back in another decade, in what feels like another life…