My heart is like a broken cup I only feel right on my knees
I spew like a sewer hole and still receive your kiss
How can I measure up to anyone now after such a love as this?"
- Pete Townsend
We were somewhere on the edge of America, at the Canadian border, when the Paranoia began to take hold. I remember saying something like, "Boy, we must look like musicians..." as Canadian offcials searched my scientist pal - the Jew's - car. The Jew and I could do nothing but stand there stupefied, chewing our nails to the bone as hungry foreign hands caressed every nook, cranny, and ashtray of our black beauty. A voice was screaming, For the love of God, Don't open that! And then it was quiet again. It was almost six, and we still had about a hundred miles to go. Everyone's hands were shaking too much to adequately roll a kind one, but we would have to press on. Band registration for the North by Northeast Music Festival was already underway, and we had to get there by nine to claim our sound-proofed suite. Phil (photographer and designated soldier-driver of fortune) pointed the beaut toward Toronto - we were in search of the American Dream...
Minds rolling as fast as wheels, it took two minutes to realize a city's potential fatal breakdown ability to suck you in; force you into being one of its urchin. I'll have to remember to write that down... Johnny, our drummer, didn't even come back to the hotel room until 5 AM. We thought he was asleep - that's how good our concept of reality was for two and a half days. John said he was abducted by aliens for the evenin' - somewhere around Lake Erie. Or was it Lake Ontario? He doesn't quite remember.
I slept the sleep of the unconscious, thinking "Boy, Chris (bassman, looking like Morrison in the early years) sure is taking a long shower," as the toilet ran overflowing into the Full Moon Fade... IUNSOLICITED ALBUM PLUG BY THE AUTHOR: LATER REMOVED FOR LEGAL TENSIONI...
I woke to the giggles of Chris and the Jew in bed together, singing their own rendition of "Who Are You?" - by the Who - as "Poo Are You?" Ah, but "Poo are YOU?", said the hooka-pillar. Funny thing is, Chris needed to poo badly, but had to wait for Toronto Hilton Hotel officials to figure out how to fix our overflowing toilet. I couldn't help thinking of the Pooh-mobile back home.
We met in the lobby, 11:30 a.m. sharp. Apparently, that's when things get rolling in this city. We had trade shows to work, packages to hand out, Killintyme to check into for the night's gig, and shopping to do. But we were hungry for "Fucking vegan coffee!" - as the Jew tended to call it lately. We soon realized that not only could we obtain Vegan coffee in this land of excess and dreams, we could pay a squeegee kid (see photo below) off of the streets $0.50 to go get it for us. Rob (new and innocent guitar player unwittingly dragged into the strange crew) was slowly beginning to like this town...
The club in town we were scheduled to play in at 10 PM was haunted - in a Hartford sort of way. Lots of cocaine energy running through the dusty pipework... the kind of place owners and managers swelling at the chest meet in private rooms, showing their true faces to one another.
But the band that played before us was a slick retro-glyd concoction called Kiss The Midget. Being from Canada, they exuded an allure of confidence. Free like Alligators in snakeskin suits. Not bad, their style! And unlike Hartford, the mix was good. Then we took the stage. jamie strange. from hartford, ct. hello... When we finished the last song of our set, the club was at full attention, yelling "One More! One More!" They were beasts. It would have been dangerous to disappoint them. Or was that Paranoia again? It gets hard to tell... So we have them a shot of " Glue", yeeha... Ride em, gallop!
And then Toronto's reigning king-of-bands, The Conscious Pilate, took the stage with fish-smelling smirks. Nothing like a little competition to bring out the bad boy in all of us... They were OK. If you ask me, a band like the Lilys would have wiped their asses all over the place for lack of original content. But they had groupies and style like you wouldn't believe. And their street look was their stage look. We know this because we ran into them at check-in. When I see that, I can't help but ask myself, "Which comes first, the illusion or the performance?"
Into the night we listened to the bands we had been slotted to play with. A handful of friends from home drove all the way out to Toronto just to give their support to us. As we hung out in and outside of the club, I was beginning to feel like I was part of some strange commune. "Lots of girls walkin' by..." Johnny noted.
But our gear was packed. It was time to come on down and ride the bus or a caravan...
