a little confused

that i haven't written this post yet. but, here i go. how i found frisbie. this will all get edited at some point, so what if it is herky-jerky now. if i repeat myself like someone who has had too many rum and cokes. that's what it was at first, you know. rum and coke. preferably bacardi and coke, but i'd drink ronrico if i was short on cash. it was all about having enough. enough to get me to where i needed to go.

later, i switched to captain and coke; i guess it was jen and jack that turned me on to the delights of that particular pirate. the captain never really let me down, only i let me down in his presence. the captain was always sure and steady, always set me on a sure course. i've heard many alcoholics talk about liquor this way. how they always knew what they'd get for a certain price. how much, how drunk, how many shots out of a fifth. how strong, how many it would take. it didn't fluctuate like weed or coke or acid. there never was a doubt about what it was, maybe just how i'd drink it or what i'd do with it.

ah, this story really is going to be frisbie and my alcoholism interwined. as i realize, since i really did intend just to talk about the first time i saw frisbie...and ended up drenched in some alcohol analogy.

so.

may 6th, 1999. i'm going to see big star. finally. my friends, shawn and ryan, have told me all about this band. jen and jack and shawn and ryan and i worked at this radio station in naperville, il. they taught me about bands like the replacements who wrote songs about guys like alex chilton who, in bands like big star, influenced bands i actually knew about and grew up with like R.E.M.

but i am a quick study, and i learn about the replacements and i learn about big star and i grow up to learn about all the magical links of music inbetween. from the beatles to the beach boys to big star to the replacements to R.E.M to material issue to matthew sweet. i'm there. i'm sold. i'm hooked.

my friend, shawn, and i went to see our heroes, material issue at this very venue, once. at the (cabaret) metro. i've always wondered why they felt it necessary to ditch the cabaret. even though there were always plastic cups filled with draft beer and not so many fancy cigarette holders, it would have been nice if the name could have sustained the illusion of a nightlife of glamour, rather than a nightclub of moshing. this was the case the night we stood front and center to see jim ellison and maybe swoon a little, and ended up getting crushed by the testosterone energies swelling at us from all sides, realizing that although we loved the rock and roll, we couldn't see dying for this particular love.

we moved to the side, and watched the throng engulf the small space we had once occupied. when had power pop become so violent, so crazy? when had moshing gone from punk and thrash shows to something to be done to 'valerie loves me?'

we were standing at the same stage, the same metro with the painted black floors and the huge speaker stacks flanking each side of the stage, waiting for big star to be revealed. it was ryan, shawn, and shawn's friend, phil. i can't remember if my roommate ann marie or my friend, murph were there or not. so much of my memory is just lost. i don't know why. i could blame it on drugs, but i have sober blackouts today, so i just think it's some weird function of my memory (or lack thereof).

we were standing around, talking. shawn and i brought up the material issue show, and how we had seen this opening band, specula. (the name still hits a little too close to the word 'speculum,' the instrument used to peer into a woman's vagina during a cervical exam.) to this day, they were the worst opening band i have ever seen. the lead singer played some sort of electronic silver recorder/trumpet/plastic horn instrument. it was horrifying and excruciating (much like a bad gynelogical exam). besides the anticipation of wanting to see material issue, the anticipation of wanting them off stage was huge.

at one point, i said out loud, "i just hope the opening band doesn't suck."

that was my expectation. low to none. i was also hoping that alex chilton wasn't in a surly mood, as i had heard rumors that these gigs could be fraught with him being pouty and mad that he was stuck having to reprise the songs of his heyday, a heyday that really didn't go much beyond 'the letter,' when he was 16 years old and singing like he had chugged a bottle of jack and smoked too many marlboros.

a hit at 16, and then a tortured career that people recognized in some sort of cult status in whispers and bows after it was really too late to do anything about it. he had some sort of 50's stylings thing he did from time to time, and all in all, things with alex could be a little volatile, it seemed. the posies sang backup, and those guys were just something else. but, if i had to sit through something before i saw the master, i just hoped it wasn't too heinous.

and.... here... we.. .go.

out walks 5 guys... in matching outfits... and my first thought was: it's like the beatles.

and you know, then at one point there's these incredible harmonies. i start to think the lead vocalists look a little like john and paul.

and their keyboardist is playing a trumpet.

and i'm a horn whore, so that's an immediate smile generator.

and i'm definitely interested.

and by the end of their set, they are playing this crazy song. it's called "mourning machines." and the crescendo on this song is incredible. the waves of sound are surrounding me and taking me under and it's loud. real loud. too loud. but i like it.... and there's some counting thing. thing about 4 and 5, lucky 7 ....what?

i'm dialing in four fives to recognize
six little lies playing to play
sleeping away
to wake up on some lucky seven
cause all we've got here's a little promise
to hold a little piece of your heart
yeah all we've got here's a little promise

a little piece, huh? by the end of the song, the noise was physically assaulting. and i didn't know what to do. i just stood there, letting it surround me and win me over and wash around me and take me in.

and we're fucking machines, hell yeah

who were these guys? frisbie. right. frisbie. i was not going to forget that name. the next time i saw that name, i was going to be there.

pops highwood

so, i promised i'd write about pops highwood some more. i don't really need to know the exact dates, because i find them coming out as i find all those crazy lists i wrote down. yipes.

that tells me something about the intertwining of my manic-depression and the frisbie story, actually. or ADD or OCD or whatever the hell i've got. i definitely see all those lists, and i love frisbie and DO want to document their travels and story, but wow. every tuesday, i'm writing set lists, and i'm ranging from buzzed to wasted, but i'm ABSOLUTELY writing down EVERY SINGLE SONG they play, sometimes with commentary and stuff we say and stuff they say and what not.

i'm convinced that i probably was already heading down the manic-depression slope toward the downward slide of things at that point, looking at the scribbles and scratches of some of these lists. some of them just have sort of a 'manic' feel to them, knowing what i know now.

*note. i HATE when people toss the word manic around these days. i don't hear about manic-depression (remind me to tell you my theory (lol!! i'm talking to a blog, but this is just the rough draft of the book, and maybe someone will read it and comment one day) about the difference between the names manic-depression and bipolar) and then all of a sudden, everyone's bipolar and people are making cracks about everyone being manic. it's irritating, to say the least.

so....the story. i don't know if shawn and i both do this of our own accord, but i end up googling frisbie or putting them into metromix.com. and lo and behold, there's an entry for steve frisbie and liam davis at pops highwood on tuesday nights. WHAT? where's highwood? well, my friends, highwood is more than a little jaunt from the city. luckily, at this point, i still have my car (story some other time), ann marie has a car, and shawn has a car!! kelly cronin, who is soon to become part of the posse, also has a car. SCORE!

highwood is a sleepy community nestled somewheres in by highland park. you have to get on the expressway to get there, and getting to the expressway from where we lived (wrigleyville at the time, methinks) wasn't that easy of a task in and of itself. yet, we made the first surprise visit to find this pops for champagne sister up in highwood, il. it was weird. steve and liam, both on acoustic guitars. a fireplace in back, and an outdoor patio when the weather was warm. i will have to check my facts to see when we went. it might have been coldish spring at that point. still sweater weather.

the place served food, but stuff like fancy pizza and brie and hors d'eurves that were too expensive and not what you'd call 'bar food.' they served port, for heaven's sake. i still often just had captain and coke, but you could get bellinis and cosmos. it was this weird upscale crowd, napervillian in scale at times, who would come and drink and get lit and listen to steve and liam.

then there were the regulars. damien the bartender and kevin and alvy and me and sman and kelly and shawn. the people who were coming to tie a few on, but were frisbie fans. some of the guys had been coming to pops long before i even knew it existed. it was a strange mix, to be sure. but by the end of the night, one of us could usually coerce a journey song out of steve, and it wasn't unusual to hear liam still the house with a chilling rendition of 'into the mystic.' both were equally powerful and both were equally masterful in their skill. steve got better at guitar, and liam got better at loosening up and having fun.

pops highwood was truly musical improv at its best. you never knew quite what was going to happen. who was going to show up. what was going to be said. what was going to be drunk. what would be sung. how it all would be put together.

one night, when kelly cronin i were there, i saw steve, liam and zack sing a version of 'novocaine' that had everyone breathless. the harmonies were transcendental. the timing was impeccable. the chemistry was electric. afterward, i asked steve and liam if they knew what just happened. we barely could talk. i still don't really know what we said, but they said, 'yes.' they knew it was a moment that would never be re-created again.

pops highwood. it's my frisbie CBGB. it's my frisbie whisky a-go go. it's my frisbie cavern club.

hymn

"deliver
deliver me from darkness
deliver me from darkness
my world rocked
my world reeled
up from the smoke
and you were revealed"

the opening lines from a song entitled "hymn" by liam davis.

i'm listening to it now. i'm sure i'm not the only one who's ever heard it, but it feels like my own private treat sometimes. it's beautiful and seems like something that definitely speaks to the side of me that needs nurturing, especially today.

i've come to find this shoestring spirituality, tied together, with prayers that sound sometimes more like desperate whispers in bathroom stalls and with comments at meetings declaring how fucked up i feel that day... how i felt like ripping some clerk's face off for not giving me proper change or how when someone at work said that there was too much work to do in one day, i wanted to respond, "well, at least it keeps you from killing yourself, hey?" (a thought and comment that spoke much more about -my- state of being rather than the woman to whom i really wanted to address, but whom i knew wouldn't find it morbidly funny in the slightest.)

these are the prayers i've been uttering lately. ones out loud, not specific, not really to my god of my own understanding, this higher power i've managed to come in contact with, but not understand -- but rather just ones toward him/her/it. it's like i've just been avoiding him (god, i hate that default pronoun, but i feel so helpless and lazy to come up with something else.) out of apathy or laziness or probably...what apathy and laziness and procrastination really are symptoms of: fear.

fear of feeling something. sadness. that contemplation of a new year. the contemplation of really changing. the fear of what is in store for me this year. all the good things. all the unknowns. the growing older, the growing mature, the growing up. i'm scared. and i don't know how to say it. even to my loving, all-encompassing god. the one i made up, right to specifications for this 'program.' i'm scared. and i hate that. i hate when i finally get a little quiet and i find out that's what's going on.

new job. new stuff. new roles. new opportunity. good stuff! lots of it really is. and i'm scared. and then i run away from god. and i don't get it. sigh. and i'm not smoking, either. and it's funny how much that was enough to numb out for a little while, those precious seconds of smoke.... just enough to x out something i didn't even know i was running from.

they say AA is a simple program for complicated people. 'nuff said.