[from New Orleans LA] I spilled out of my hotel room midday
all sorts of messed up from a truly delayed flight, work woes, sleep woes, and inappropriate
responses to my woes. I stood in the little parking lot in a not really
pleasant neighborhood and watched a skinny unfocused man spill out of his room,
slick 70s garb, wing-tipped shoes. And then my Lyft arrived. Between the first
and second bands, I removed myself to a sidewalk just by the venue to have a
phone chat with my sister. Took my beer with me, because the south doesn’t give
a shit. While chatting, a van pulled up and a man spilled out the side. The
very same man from my hotel. He stumbled to the backside, opened the doors and
two guitars tumbled onto the ground. I was enjoying the spectacle so much I
lost track of my conversation with my beloved sister. He got it together. I
refocused. Upon re-entering the crowd – a pretty mellow we-like-to-rock-on-Saturdays
crowd, I found myself standing in the vicinity of Eric Friedl, the owner of the
Goner Records label, the facilitator of Goner Fest, my obsession, obviously. Of
note, because he stalked me the entire festival. Or, was is that I stalked him. Whatever. I
also reflected on my persistent need/desire for countercultural interaction and
how that complicates my romantic entanglements. Thus the appeal of
BrightShardsOfGlass who is possibly the most exemplary example I have of
someone who lives outside of societal boundaries while still living mostly
productively. In the wisdom of that day, I decided it all comes down to: What would
Alijca do? But really… If you don’t know who I’m talking about… sigh ;) Alijca
Trout was only the co-founder of the most foundational band of the last decade:
Lost Sounds. Jay Reatard, her male counterpoint, overdosed in a totally-typical
blaze of 29-years-old rocker ‘glory.’ Just like Kurt, Jimi, Janis, etc etc etc.
Alijca went on to participate in multitudes of excellent bands. Jay did not. Jay
was the garage chaos, Alijca was the fierce pointed dark. I’ll leave it to you
where my loyalties lie. This band was more style than quality/substance,
although they were fine to listen to. The older-than-middle-aged woman wore a
Cult-esque black hat and large boobs and a cigarette. Cruella was the drummer.
Slicked-back-hair on bass. They were dark sexy rockabilly. Reminiscent of X. They
were awkward with the crowd, telling lame jokes. There was good synergy between
the lead vocalists. They did a Rolling Stones cover. I worried about the
bassist (my fellow stumbler) who appeared to be drinking himself to death…
obviously because, he’s in a band that was old news before he was even born.
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