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19 june 2000
----- Friday, where did I leave off? As with most gig nights, it left me with a vague set of memories, mostly a mental slideshow of sound and vision. I won't have a complete impression of the night until I see and hear the video of the performance. We arrived at the club around 6pm, and I retreated to the dressing room to shave two weeks worth of facial hair and slap some contact lenses in my eyes. The soundman deserted us for about an hour; as a result, we had no time to do a soundcheck before going on. I recall running across the stage, behind the curtain, testing every microphone about five minutes before we went on because the rest of the band were still doing makeup/changing clothes. The last of my stitches were half-in, half-out, and poking the inside of my cheeks to the point of pain. I mentioned the prospect of percocet to band management ("I can't sing if my mouth feels like this") and, not wanting me taking any 'unpredictable' pills, they bent the rules and provided me with a doubleshot of whiskey which I quickly downed one minute before curtain. I was feeling rather warm by the time we started playing. In retrospect, I could say the Lakers kicked our ass, as a lot of people admittedly didn't show up because they were glued to their tv sets for the basketball game. What the audience lacked in size they made up for in enthusiasm. It was one of our more appreciative crowds; at least it seemed like that from the stage. As for our performance, I have no idea ... the video will give us a better idea, but from my onstage vantage point, there were a few shitty moments buried in an otherwise solid, if not spectacular, show. I know I made my share of mistakes, most notably on the organ solo of my own tune, which I somehow managed to play in a different key from the rest of the band. There's too much to think about when you're on stage, the setlist, the cues, lines to speak and sing, presets and switches on both the organ and synth -- sometimes I wonder how my brain processes it all. We finished the abbreviated set right on time, and I quickly scampered to the dressing room and tore off my outfit. I was half into my street clothes when, amidst audience cries of "more, more," IceDog announced we were doing an encore ... "Selva's tune, now!" "But I'm not dressed..." "I don't give a shit. Get up on stage." So I did, shirt unbuttoned, fly unzipped. Played a few test notes on the organ, the curtain disappeared, and we were there, with no PA, and the club wouldn't turn it on. They wanted us off the stage... ... obviously to prepare for an hour of dance music playing to a completely empty room. Sometimes I don't understand the LA club-management mentality. No, make that "most of the time..." Hung out for a while after the gig with friends. Met Rachel, who was really cool and seemed to enjoy the show. We're gonna hopefully meet for dinner later this week, since I hardly ever have time to be any degree of social after our shows. Went back to the studio and watched the roadies unload the truck. IceDog was bitching and moaning about his onstage mix, and blamed it on me, claiming I had hogged the soundman for my own monitor mix. Hardly true. I set him straight. We kissed and made up. Got home to Malibu around 1:30-ish and promptly passed out. Saturday and sunday were similar in a very relaxing way. I got nothing "accomplished" on either of the days, aside from good drinks and good conversation with friends. I had the pleasure of a platonic bedmate on Saturday night, which may or may not have been too much for my starved semi-conscious sunday morning libido. And I can slap myself silly for my own behavior, but it's just a fact of me: an attractive woman in my bed will affect me in a certain physical sense. There's no doubt about it, and there's nothing I can do about it -- but it did leave me with a certain degree of guilt which I carried for the bulk of sunday afternoon. Sometimes I wish I could control certain facets of myself a bit better, especially in the event where it makes a friend uncomfortable. On the bright side, I find myself reaffirming a personal defiance of the "When Harry Met Sally" law, as I'm currently finding myself enjoying two good friendships with women I find physically attractive. Today is winding down, and I've found myself emotionally vacant for most of it, as I recall a conversation from this weekend about whether men go through anything approximating the emotional swings of a menstrual cycle. Makes me want to do research, mark today on the calendar as "blah, cranky, upset stomach" and see when it repeats itself in the future. The fact that a year ago tomorrow I was contemplating the same exercise only lends credence to the whole idea in my mind. For lack of anything else, today's pic is from one of our reheasals about a week ago, that's Mojo and Casanova... ~~~ In the forum:Do men have "periods"? 19 june 1999: : didn't write 19 june 1998: my paradise : All I need now is some Cream of Coconut, Pineapple Juice, some decent rum, and lots of crushed ice.
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