Friday, April 22, 2005
Oh tonight began with anything...
This morning I had Pearl Jam's Mookie Blaylock demos in the car, recordings they did before releasing their first (and still best) album, Ten. It's too bad grunge, as a musical genre, imploded so quickly and finally. When they were good, they were very, very good.
In my second year in college one of the highlights of my young life was a Pearl Jam concert in the Folk Arts Theater (funny how I've never watched any folk arts - or anything local for that matter - at that venue!) I remember hitching a ride with Vladimir Sy, jumping into the mosh pits and stage diving into the arms of the crowd.
Vlady was a six foot tall, Frankenstein's monster of a Chinese guy who played killer bass guitar. He was the quietest, most reclusive guy you could imagine in class, but by the end of the night we were both headbanging Bill and Ted style in the car. Beside us, windows down, was a dark blue Lancer (strange how you remember the little things) with three girls from the concert, all grinning and pointing in our direction.
Vlady and I look at each other, wave in their direction. He shoves a pen at me and waggles his eyebrows - "GO get their numbers!" I bolt out of the car and do as the driver says. Unfortunately, I forgot to bring any paper to write on...
One of the girls rips her ticket stub in half and grabs my pen. The lights go green. "Dude get in the car!" my stupid sidekick shouts. I mumble thanks and smile at her - she was all smiles herself, though looking back I could tell it was more of a mocking, you'll-never-call-me-will-you? grin than anything else - and jump back in the car.
She was right, though. We were both too chickenshit to do anything about it afterwards - just high enough on music and life in the aftermath of the concert to take risks we would never have done. Vlady joked about it afterwards, saying I jumped into the wrong car.
I haven't seen him in years.
In my second year in college one of the highlights of my young life was a Pearl Jam concert in the Folk Arts Theater (funny how I've never watched any folk arts - or anything local for that matter - at that venue!) I remember hitching a ride with Vladimir Sy, jumping into the mosh pits and stage diving into the arms of the crowd.
Vlady was a six foot tall, Frankenstein's monster of a Chinese guy who played killer bass guitar. He was the quietest, most reclusive guy you could imagine in class, but by the end of the night we were both headbanging Bill and Ted style in the car. Beside us, windows down, was a dark blue Lancer (strange how you remember the little things) with three girls from the concert, all grinning and pointing in our direction.
Vlady and I look at each other, wave in their direction. He shoves a pen at me and waggles his eyebrows - "GO get their numbers!" I bolt out of the car and do as the driver says. Unfortunately, I forgot to bring any paper to write on...
One of the girls rips her ticket stub in half and grabs my pen. The lights go green. "Dude get in the car!" my stupid sidekick shouts. I mumble thanks and smile at her - she was all smiles herself, though looking back I could tell it was more of a mocking, you'll-never-call-me-will-you? grin than anything else - and jump back in the car.
She was right, though. We were both too chickenshit to do anything about it afterwards - just high enough on music and life in the aftermath of the concert to take risks we would never have done. Vlady joked about it afterwards, saying I jumped into the wrong car.
I haven't seen him in years.
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