saturday, march 23rd
star struck
sound at the right vibration can bore holes through a solid object.
last night we walked the skyline of manhatten. it was twinkly and all the windows were like goddamn stars and as night fell on hoboken we gazed out at new york city ghosts and flowers.
we'd spent the whole day there, heading by toys in babeland and some record spots. flowers outside all the fire stations made me sad. i owed josh ten dollars from toys in babeland and decided to hand it to him after i'd got change from kate's paperie. (they are having a sale. be still my beating heart). and, just for the fuck of it, i said really loudly, "here's the ten dollars i owe you from the sex last night. it was great." the man working there laughed a bunch, nootch.
so, anyway, so, we were headed to maxwells. we got all shy around holly because she is the most badass rocknroll lady from my country, but we asked her if she could do an interview. and she was so sweet and smiley and told us she'd love to after the show and she was standing there with meg white waiting for a table, so we decided to stay in the resteraunt, too.
even though we were full, we didn't want to seem rude, so we ordered a whole bunch of raspberry tea and split a coupla desserts. there was a couple right by us who were insanely cute. they must have been in their mid-to-late thirties, and they were just the smiliest folks i'd seen in a long time. and me and josh were sitting their scribbling down questions for holly and goofing around and spying on people and it was cool.
the first band on had the whole front section dancing wildly like some ready steady go audience from the mid-sixties. it was totally wild and the band were called the roger sisters; with a howling bass player and a gorge lady hammering on the drums. knock me out, why don't cha?
and it was after the band played, while i was checking if holly was ready for the interview, and while josh played the seeds on the jukebox, i found myself staring at mark ibold.
this is beginning to sound like a soap opera plotline.
and, i acted straight out of a sopa opera when i saw him. mike reid would've been proud. i should back up here and splain to all new readers, that i am totally digging pavement. and mark especially. it used to be quite an obsession and i'm not quite over it yet.
so, what does this cute, globe travelling girl do when faced with a wonderful opportunity to speak to one of her heroes?
she grabs her boyfriends cell, locks herself in the bathroom and calls matthew, whilst having a huge crisis of faith style panic attack. he told me to think of all the cool things i've done before, and all the people i've interviewed. he told me to just talk to him already, and try and bag an interview.
i found myself watching the greenhornes by the lady from the white stripes and the lady from the roger sisters; so i soon loosened up and told myself not to be so goddamn star-struck. and, calmly and sweetly, (i can see josh laughing now), i spoke with him and arranged an interview. badda bing. and then meg got on stage and danced around during the set. i didn't think meg would be the way she was last night. i assumed she'd be all shy and stuff, cause she never speaks in inteviews. i also found something out but i can't write it here because i am too poor to get sued and i am too young to die. e-mail me if you wanna.
oh, and then holly played. i swung up to the front to catch her sing, and it was down and dirty, raunchy blues full of heartbreak and death. very sexy and very cool. love holly. she dug the hairclip i gave her, and we seemed to really get on (maybe because we're both british chix), but after the show her voice was too fucked to do an interview.
she said she'd put me on the guestlist for the philly show tonight but i'm so tired for that. i dunno. maybe i'll just do an e-interview. i'm just glad i saw her play live again, because she never plays in the us.
the last time i saw her, sleater-kinney were dancing round to her sounds. it was super-fun.
we ran back to catch the train, and i read zines the whole way home.
suds at