It’s a dream. Like I died and came back. Back to life. Back from the dead. Back from one life to another I already somehow know. It’s all started over for me. The lights, the friends, the sound.
We walk into Casey’s band on stage. But I walk in first to Megan and Amanda chatting in the box office like they were waiting for me. Now my eyes drift to the stage past my moving backdrop to the bass. Whatever blend of beverages happens to be in my head is pointing me there.
Julia and Tina. New people. New friends. We grab drinks. I see the guy from Fear and Loath- Hunter S Thompson. He’s at the bar too squirming around. The bass solo brings me back to the floor. Casey’s bass player, Chris Duffy, digs into it. Prying up boards. And we groove.
And cheer from the crowd. That felt good.
And I smile as the lights go bright and the sound get’s high. “Clark Smith on the sax.” His solo comes and we take a deep breath.
So many new faces, young faces. But right up front goofin’ out in a foot slide … he digs in with us this man you know’s been to more shows than a good quarter or more of the room combined. He might be the oldest one here.
A rockin’ group of girls throws their hands up to the right of stage. I have memories of being one of them once, a seemingly long time ago. As if we shuffle like playing cards through time. We are always there. Those girls making the stage look gorgeous. Those groups of fans, those stereotypes that make up what gives a show it’s life and groove.
Hunter S. Thompson creeps around with his yellow glasses and fishing cap, leans back and laughs a cackle.
Prepared as if heading off on a long trip as I’ve become accustomed, I grab up my sack and pull out a drink. Much like my old coat, within it can be found anything and everything, a sort of Mary Poppins bag.
And then her voice cracks out. The real woman on stage letting it go for us. Proudly herself and proudly someone else.
Julia comes around. She wants to tell you :
A familiar song. “Love The One You’re With.” One of my all-time favorites by CSNY. Why don’t you love the one you’re with?
The drums solo until the band drops back in for the end. Casey Russell’s Soul Shack and the lights come on.
A new friend says hi.
Too many people to meet. The conversations go in flashes,
Hellos,
Goodbyes,
Nice to meet yous,
Where are you froms.
Robert, Julian, Charlie …
We speak books for a while until the lights go out and music starts and it all changes like a theater scene whose furniture has to be moved. The stage moves.
“Takin’ notes?” He asks.
“About everything,” I manage to dance out.
Garrett on the bass. Dom holding the sax. Lights flash on the keys. Smiles, cute girls, dreads, tie die, long hair, a cup to the lips.
Shoes, they slide and shimmy on familiar floor. Wood that’s seen a million feet.
Some text with their bellies leaned up to the left of stage but this floor groves. Colorado. Colorado grooves and don’t tell me any different. Bring me to a town that gets down, moves like Boulder does. Like Denver does. I’ve just looked and didn’t find it.
Song 2 after a pause. I look through the faces to find familiarity but only new smiles meet me instead. Joey’s hand slides across the keys and the song is a lullaby to some sick hippies who need a little bit of swing to get those veins pumping. Do you hear me? Music is your drug. Did that sound cheesy? Fuck yeah. But it’s fucking true and have I steered you wrong so far? Joey’s key’s sure haven’t.
I don’t see Megan. She must be schmoozing.
Guitar solos.
