Long ago, MC Breed informed me that there’s no future in my frontin’. Since then, I’ve tried to avoid it. So now I must confess something.
I wasn’t excited about the Rehab show. Not at first. I knew they played Whiskey River once or twice a year, and that somebody was from Warner Robins. I knew that much before I moved back to Macon because they were all over MTV. For no good reason, I got snobbish. What bothers me now is that I don’t know when that happened or why.
Then I did the interview with Demun Jones. He was cool as shit so I decided I’d go. When my little brother found out and begged me to take him, I was sure I’d have a good time. Hell, I thought, I might even learn something.
Friday, November 24th – Whiskey River
By the time we got there, a sea of unfamiliar faces was swarming around the stand-alone bars on both levels. It took a half hour to get my bearings, which is to say, my whiskey. And then, in one tremendous stroke of luck, I found Dale Ray who had a sweet spot staked out with his beautiful bride and some of their friends.
DJ Crisis took the stage and one by one, other members followed suit. As soon as Danny Boone stepped up, unleashing his verbal pyrotechnics, the throng went insane. You could feel them through the floor, vibrations rising up in the tables and chairs. There wasn’t a calm moment the rest of the show. I even saw a crowd-surfer and boobies.
The highlight of my night was “This Town”. The chorus rocked around the room: “This town is my home/It’s deep in my soul/That’s why I’m at home even when I’m on the road.” Demun had joined them and so there were two local boys up before the crowd, which was frantically waving their arms like the Tomahawk Chop on meth.
Yeah, it’s Danny’s ode to the Wartown but I was moved. Civic pride was thick – folks singing like their towns depended on it. For at least four minutes, I knew the area’s dumb fuck naysayers meant nothing. Working for a paper that’s so Macon-oriented, I couldn’t help being both envious of what Rehab accomplished and glad someone had done it so successfully. So, color me converted. I’m a fan now.
First Friday – December 1st – Synergy
Some straights won’t go where gay folks are. I don’t have that problem. I know that if I don’t want to have sex with a man, I don’t have to. It’s that simple. The folks who are too scared are missing out.
For starters, the martini room may be the best place to hang out in downtown. It’s quiet enough to actually talk to someone, the booze is never far away and the party’s just a short walk down the hall.
A few friends – the ungodly hot Leah, the ever-elegant Ellen and always-smiling Jay and Fernando – invited me to join them for a drink. For hours, we juggled conversation with trips to the back room for the drag show, which had been moved inside because of the weather. There was hardly any room to stand and glancing around, I saw a bunch of different types of people. I presume I wasn’t the only hetero and I certainly wasn’t the only one having a good time.
We left while I was still buzzing so when I bumped into a troublesome dude named Jose Cuervo, I didn’t have the wherewithal to say no. Once the tequila got in me, all bets were off. Let me put it this way, my happy feet took me on another late night adventure to investigate another Macon landmark. At least this time, no trains were harmed in the living out of this endeavor.
Saturday, December 2nd – Rivalry’s
At first, Heather Kemp sounded familiar, like the Lilith Fair stuff I faked interest in when I tried scoring with girls. But she transcended that quickly. Now, I’m not suggesting she’s completely found her voice yet – I think there’s a place that she’ll eventually get that’ll be entirely unique – but she’s already close enough that she’s real easy on the ears. Right now at shows, she plays the acoustic guitar, which doesn’t supplement her vocals like the piano does. Regardless, her voice flows freely over and through the spacey melodies she creates. Just remember her name because I bet you’ll hear it more often as the New Year takes shape.
Unfortunately, she didn’t play all night. If she had, I may have kept my easy-does-it attitude. Instead, a friend came in late and the Jager train left the station. It was like stepping off a cliff. One bomb, two bombs, three bombs – I was gone, plowing towards a special place where I’d watch bartenders in a fire-breathing face off after close. Too bad Leslie wasn’t there.
And I danced with DJ Icebucket. And passed out in a booth then got up and played video game golf before we left at 6am. Because Barnesville and Po’Taint Y’all made me, I watched the “40-Year Old Virgin” and kept laughing until 10:30am. When I did sleep, it was on a couch in which I’d stuffed a bundle of pilfered Playboys. I was comfortable enough.
No comments:
Post a Comment