Thursday, March 6th

Last night was, in a way, a volleying back and forth of musical/cultural entertainment. It definitely could have been stretched to further extremes. But, as it happened, I enjoyed myself.

On Wednesday, Laura called and asked if I would like to see The Neville Brothers? To which I responded, “The Neville Brothers? … As in, Aaron Neville?”

“Yeh”

My first thought here was not of sweet love by a fire, or even of any particular Aaron Neville song that I had long-ago heard on B103.7alongside Jon Secada and Jimmy Buffett. My first thought was of a Family Guy aside, in which Peter used his Aaron Neville megaphone.

So on Thursday I met Laura in the city and went to the Grand Opening party for the new Adcenter Building. There were a lot of “industry types,” none of whom meant anything to me since I’m not at all involved in advertising. There were some speeches. There were catered snacks and free booze. Then there were The Neville Brothers. They were very tight. I’m not sure how many of them are related, but I assume the white guitarist is not. Nonetheless, they were definitely on point. I’m not familiar enough with the Neville catalogue to know which songs in their set were originals, but I’m fairly confident that most were not. This did not stop many in attendance from dancing their booties off. The crowd seemed thoroughly entertained throughout the set, even if Aaron had a look on his cross-tattooed face that betrayed his awareness of the state in which his career resides.

At the end of their performance, the brothers all put down their instruments and walked together to the center of the stage and waved to the applauding audience, while a simple keyboard version of “Won’t You Tell Me How To Get To Sesame Street” played over the PA. When the song ended, they left the stage.

That was just very strange.

After some more talking to Laura’s classmates and a ping-pong game of “The Drunk VS. The Blind” (the Drunk won), we walked to Oregon Hill. My friends, and soon-to-be tourmates, Pedals On Our Pirate Ships, were playing with Ghost Mice at a house called The Flying Brick. We unfortunately arrived after Pedals finished, but I wasn’t too disheartened since I’d be seeing them every night for the next 8. Ghost Mice played a fun, simple folk-punkish set with a lot of male/female vocals that don’t harmonize or work in a traditional sense, but in this music its great. I keep comparing the vocals to Rainer Maria’s “Past Worn Searching” album, but I know there are more apropos comparisons, especially since the music is not at all the same. A chill show, in someone’s living room, with a lot of dirty punk kids, several friends, no dancing. A completely different experience than the one had less that an hour prior.

As a temporary non-driver, my movements are completely dependent upon the whim and ability of others. This is not a position in which I enjoy being placed. But I understand and accept it’s necessity right now and my friends and family have all been incredibly accommodating and giving of their time and eyesight during my recuperation.

Obviously tonight Laura was in the driver’s seat. So after the show in Oregon Hill, our next destination was her decision. Her Adcenter friends had taken their evening to New York Deli. After joining thier evening, we realized how little time our evening had thus far occupied. At 10.30 most of the Deli crowd was drunk to a point that one rarely accepts prior to at least 12.30. (Not me, mind you. I’m a huge fan of being drunk in sunlight) But tonight, after the free Adcenter booze, and the freer Adcenter Neville Bros, most of the crowd was very ready to continue drinking and get down to the sounds of DJ Easy Tiger. I’ve been meaning to come see Easy Tiger for a while, as he is my friend and we both hope to DJ a party together at some point in the future, but until now my previously mentioned immobility had prevented me. So this worked out well. He and I talked for a bit, he bought me a drink, I hung more with Laura and her classmates, talked to some folks, and generally had a good time. We left around midnight and headed home.

From the schmoozy, well-dressed, yacht-rock of the Neville Brothers Adcenter Party, to Ghost Mice at Flying Brick House in Oregon Hill, and finally the 80s/booty jamz dancing at NYDeli, a night across a spectrum. I’m not sure what kind of spectrum. But I am sure that I am a very well-rounded individual.

[endnote: the term "yacht-rock" came from Laura's creative mind. I cannot take credit for it.]