[from
Memphis TN] Intense. Several people on the “stage” in various stages of maskedness
and hoodedness. Many remained stoic through the whole set, making it all more
disturbing. Aggressive rap. The audience knew them, loved them. Good sound but
eh lyrics, from what I heard at least. It was interesting watching the white
rockers enjoy them. The political expansiveness of Gonerfest was just about
exploding my heart. There would be young girl rockers later that night – not even
sexy young girls – not even edgy young girls. Who knew nihilists could be
ethical and caring… promoting the careers of all sorts… uniting all sorts… my passion
for Eric Friedl grew.
The lead rapper thanked us genuinely for coming at the
end, in a highly entertaining break in character. I pushed through the crowd,
jonesing to be on time for my second studio tour: Royal Studios. And what a
tour it was. The son of Willie Mitchell showed us around – he was warm, modest,
funny. Total change of the pace from the I-am-a-rock-god-who-does-not-smile
Jody Stephens from Ardent Studios. He was wearing a Star of David necklace—I think
… I was curious but we didn’t get close enough for me to pry. Whereas Ardent
had the staid feel of an expensive bricked college, Royal Studios was warehouse-y,
more rundown, relaxed and draped, yellows and purples, good stories. They’re
known (not to me, I know like five labels tops) for Al Green, Tina & Ike
Turner, and lots lots more. Everything was warm – another group of people were
being led around by an old lady on the downside of the hill, a great aunt? Our
guy & her were cracking jokes with each other. The place was generally suffused
with family love. There was a collection of bizarre instruments – I feel like
one made an important sound in some song … … this is why I have to write everything
down. He showed us the Emmy he won for producing Bruno Mars’ “Uptown Funk.” AND
THEN we ended up in a room … where the mixing machines are (I don’t know what
these rooms are called???) ... and slid down the long slippery slope into music
nerd heaven: requesting songs, listening to songs, discussing songs. I was
perma-grin happy. I requested a song by his dad because I’d never heard of
Willie Mitchell & I wanted to see his respecting-my-dad smile, which I got.
He, of course, played “Uptown Funk” and threw his eyes up to the ceiling and moved
like it was the most inspiring song Ever. I’m overstating his enthusiasm - his movement
to the song was modest – he was a modest guy. I don’t deny I noticed the song
when it came out, even as a pop-ignorant. I think “This hit, that ice cold / Michelle
Pfeiffer, that white gold / This one for them hood girls / Them good girls
straight masterpieces” motivated me to look the song up. But really, who’s not
going to adore the song that won them an Emmy. And he told us stories of how they
stayed up all night perfecting it. A pity they didn’t work on making the lyrics
make sense. He played Al Green’s “Let’s Stay Together” and even though I’ve
heard that song 1,001 times, it sounded better in that room. I was real busy
though, keeping one eye on this charming morsel of music/family-love and the
other eye on Eric Friedl, who had shown up, wandering around in the big
warehouse room we could see through two sets of windows, past our room of
mixing machines, and past the room where the bands stand in front of mics
(sorry, don’t know these room’s names). I wasn’t surprised Eric was there
because, for one, he organized the festival, and for two, I knew destiny was on
my side. He was roaming around with his two woman friends from New York – I don’t
remember how I knew that, it’s possible I’m making it up. Unfortunately, I was
pretty sure one was his date for the weekend. Fortunately for me, she was tall,
like me, and, fortunately for me, I divined they were having a lukewarm time. It
was a strain to keep tabs on him through all of those layers. I was on a little
bench along the wall next to a friendly Canadian woman. It was mostly weirdos,
again… Germans with fannypacks (don’t get excited, not the new hip ones),
trivia nerds foaming at the mouth to show off their knowledge. Apparently real
rockers don’t do studio tours. And then Eric & his entourage entered the
room and I had to steel myself not to notice, but to still appear friendly and
different from and better than the crowd I was sandwiched in the middle of. But
then our guide unleashed the very important fact that the Wu Tang Clan had
recorded there and I nearly lost all composure – I started sputtering and
asking incoherent questions – and he played a song I’d never heard by them,
recorded there, and I was all Eric Friedl Eric Schmeidel. I’m pretty sure we
would have all been content to sit there for the rest of the evening but it was
time for us to leave. Everyone was filing out, and when I saw Eric and
entourage sitting in the lobby, I knew it was my last chance to express my
admiration and gratitude for everything he was doing. And to let him know we
were going to be Together Forever. I really really hate groupie-ism so it took
a few minutes of steeling, but I did it. I said, “Hi, you’re Eric?” Before I
could get to my next sentence, he broke in, “Eric? Eric Friedl? No.” Unexpected
turn of events. Sort of horrifying for a person who was already horrified by
what she was doing. So I muttered some sort of apology, turned on my heels and
walked out. Squatting on the lawn out front waiting for my Lyft, feeling
defeated… feeling sad… my spirits suddenly rose… like two hands pulling the
strings to raise my crazy flag. Of course it was Eric Friedl! How else is he
going to deal with fans! And how had he known “Eric” meant “Eric Friedl”!? I had
studied his pictures online – sure they were murky but good enough, good
enough! He would not deter me!!!!!!! … Every good stalker knows. I forced
myself to wait a day or so before I called him out via facebook message (we are
not friends on facebook). My message was light, ‘funny’… at least as far as I
could see, in my post-festival haze. A little paragraph about how of-course-he’s-Eric-Friedl,
why would he make my awkward moment more awkward, and thanks for the great
festival blah blah. He responded. Something to the effect of: “An awkward
moment more awkward? Oh no! It was probably noisy and I couldn’t hear you. Glad
you had a good time!” And the game continues – a master of pretense is he. Next
year, Eric Friedl.
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