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Current mood:  amused
So, I know it’s been a while since we’ve posted a blog, and for that, all I can do other than to blame myself is to blame my bandmates, who don’t like to write much more than music. If you’d like to hear about The Superficials from one of the three other perspectives in the band, then please, let us know. I’m hoping that your petition may one day result in an op-ed by Matthew Togger, but I’m not holding my breath. Needless to say, the following will once again be penned by the lowly bassist, and I shall chronicle the first part of his week for you now. The second part will come later, and shall be entitled “Our Street Team is Made up of Street People”.
The tale begins long ago (last Tuesday) in a place far, far away (east Nashville)… We were slated to play on inauguration night at The 5 Spot, which had us slightly concerned, as we hadn’t been in touch with the proprietors in a while, and it was to be an unseasonably frigid weeknight on the east side of town. These fears were allayed quickly, however, as our friends Leslie Dysinger and Quinlan showed up to perform, with fans in tow. The show began in a lovely fashion, with Leslie performing her consummate folky songs to a room of courteous listeners. Then, Quinlan took the stage with his ultra-hep band, rocking away with a style akin to Coldplay, but better.
As we took the stage and tuned up, an intoxicated woman approached us and asked if she could take the mic to make a “very important announcement”. We obliged, and she quieted the audience by paging her boyfriend. Once she found him, she then utterly silenced the crowd by asking for his hand in marriage. After what seemed like 2 minutes of an uneasy stillness, the blitzed beau finally capitulated (probably out of fear embarrassment), and seizing that immediate opportunity, Tripp chunked out the chords of our first song.
It seemed like a typical set. Unbeknownst to us, the soon-to-be newlywed couple had managed to accrue a bar tab that would’ve put Nick Nolte to shame, and unfortunately had not one, but both of their credit cards declined, which resulted in their subsequent ejection from the tavern. After we’d finished, I walked over to the area where the performers had placed their stuff, and sought out my coat, which oddly was nowhere to be found. I thought “Could someone have really walked out with my coat (and the shirt that was sitting on top of it)?” Of course, the reactions elicited from my friends were typical, “Nobody took your jacket…I’m sure you just lost it…Have you been drinking?” Eventually, I’d searched the whole place, and even asked Todd (the owner) if he might’ve seen it. No luck. Then, Tripp suggested that it might’ve been accidentally picked up by Quinlan, who was now at the bar next door enjoying a beverage or two. So, I make the cold trek to the Red Door Saloon, and naively ask Quinlan if he’s seen my coat. He responds (in the cordial tone one uses when celebrating a good gig):
“No friend, I have not seen your jacket. BUT I WILL HELP YOU FIND IT…and if we can’t find it, I have an extra jacket that you can borrow.”
I told him that it wasn’t necessary, but he insisted on coming with me back to The 5 Spot. I watched as he nobly scoured the bar just as I had done minutes earlier, and as before, no jacket appeared. Then, he walked over to an empty table, picked up another coat on a barstool, and said, “Here! Here’s my extra jacket!” insisting that I put it on immediately.
Now, it was obvious that Quinlan and I aren’t of the same physical stature, but despite this concession, the coat still felt strange. Coming up to my chest and puffing out, it felt like a lifejacket with sleeves. When I expressed my concern, Quinlan was quick to ignore it, and told me numerous times that the jacket I was donning was very “expensive” and “sexy.” He also kindly told me to keep it “as long as I need it.”
Shortly thereafter, we began to pack up our equipment. As we brought our gear out of the back door into the small parking lot, I noticed that the brown shirt I’d laid atop my missing coat was lying on the asphalt. This served as confirmation that I hadn’t merely misplaced my coat, because I had not been outside behind the club since well before the show. Now that my theft accusation had been proven correct, Matthew and I searched the area to see if it hadn’t been thrown in a dumpster of something like that.
Needless to say, my coat had gone the way of the buffalo. I thought to myself, “Oh well, I hope whoever took it needed it more than me.” Then I realized that it was 20 degrees outside and couldn’t think of anyone who needed a jacket more than me at that particular moment. The funny part, however, is how long it took me to realize that the zipper on the vest I was wearing that Quinlan picked up off of the barstool was on the “wrong side.”
Yes indeed, Quinlan had outfitted me in an “expensive and sexy” ladies’ jacket…and yes, I wore it all the way home. Of course, when we got back to the bungalow, we were all in hysterics about the whole thing. Did Quinlan own a ladies’ jacket? Was he just trying to do a good deed? Or was he completely messing with me? The World may never know. Or I could just ask him next time I see him. After all, he does live right down the street from us.
6:00 AM
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