How to Avoid a Future Life / Somewhere in the Crowd

Contents

How to Avoid a Future Life

Somewhere In The Crowd

How to Avoid a Future Life

It was a cold November morning in 1980 on the lower east side of Manhattan. I was driving my p.a. equipment in the gutted back of ‘67 V.W. to a club called ‘The Building’ to prepare for the show that night. I was listening to a bootleg tape sent to me from a friend in L.A. It was a six song cassette. I was listening and singing along to the track entitled ‘Depression’. I had a piece-of-shit tape deck but it had a 100-watt booster and it was loud. I drove down the street with it blaring and screaming at the top of my lungs.

If someone had mentioned to me a few years ago punk-rock was the latest music craze, I would’ve said that you were crazy. Now, I’m driving down 6th Ave. singing it in my car on the way to the show I’m playing. I was eighteen and life couldn’t better for someone who only had three bucks in his pocket. I had no real job and no girlfriend. All of my family deeply resents my choice of career over college. Yes, life couldn’t be worse!

I always whip my car around in the middle of the street & park right in front of the building. Early every morning I come back out and see that I’ve received the usual parking ticket. I always immediately crumple it up and throw it away. Of course, it doesn’t matter because the car’s paperwork is totally fictitious.

I go inside the bar and start to set up with everyone else. The stage is all the way back and rose up two feet.

I notice Steve isn’t around and seeing as he’s the lead guitarist in the band, I felt compelled to ask the stupid question,

Hey, Tommy, where the fuck is Steve?

I dunno. He called here at lunch and said he’d be here in two hours. Tommy continues to tighten drum hardware as he talks.

What?! I screamed, And you believed him?!

Yeah, Tommy said wile raising two tom-toms.

Shit! I’ll be right back guys! I grab my coat and rush toward the door.

Well, hurry up! We still have to rehearse for tonight’s sow! Joey snaps.

Just make sure your fuckin’ bass is in tune tonight, Joey! I turn point and yell.

Ha, ha! Very funny! Besides, I thought you liked it that way! he yells as I run out the door.

I burn rubber all the way down to Steve’s place on 1st Ave and park right in front. I use my key and race upstairs to his studio apartment. I bang loudly on the door.

Steve! I yell, Open up this fuckin’ door right now before I bash it in! I hear him mumble.

What? I yell.

It’s open! he yells back. I rush in to find Steve on the floor. A used syringe and empty spoon were on the coffee table. Besides the bed on the floor, a small dresser and a few chairs, was the only furniture he had!

Oh man, not again, not today. Fuck man! My voice is shaky as I run my hand thru my hair. I turn back toward him.

I asked you to stay straight until after the show, man. Fuck!

Yeah, but this is the best dope on the street right now. I couldn’t help it man, he slurs. He crawls over to and up on the couch. I grab up his kit and put it in one of the wall drawers.

Oh bullshit! I say angrily.

I start to think to myself how good this little cretin’s got it! He’s in college at CUNY studying behavioral science. He gets money from his parents for rent and tuition. Then, he blows whatever he makes from playing on dope. It leaves him continuously broke!

Look, Steve, get up, I lift up and try to help him walk it off. He just laughs as he drags his feet across the floor.

An hour and a half later we show up at the club with only 30 minutes of rehearsal time left. We don’t go on until 9pm but the bar opens at 7:30pm to get everybody as drunk as possible before the show. I suggest we all go get something to eat before playing and everyone agrees. We walked down to the corner and bought some hot dogs from he vendor.

Hey, Johnny.

Yeah, Tommy?

What are we gonna do about Steve, man? he whispers to me.

Shit, don’t worry about it, man. I’ll take care of it. I am unconvincing.

That’s what you always say but he just keeps getting worse! Tommy shakes his finger in my face.

Look, man, I start, Tommy interrupts-

I mean you always say you’re gonna take care of it and you keep cartin’ his ass to the hospital! When are you gonna see that he’ll never change. Let’s dump him. I know this other guy…

I start to think about how Steve and I met. It was a house-party in 1978. The summer in Jersey. It was hot and so were the girls at that party.

As usual, I wouldn’t know what to say to a girl if my life depended on it! I started to walk around the party to see if there was anyone I recognize. And there was.

I knew I’d seen him before, guitar in hand. He was playing like he had 64 fingers on each hand. He was switching categories from rock to jazz to country at wild random. All I could think to myself at this point was, ‘This is it! If I could get this guy to jam with me, we could get together one of the best bands around!" For the first time in my life I get brave enough to actually introduce myself to a total stranger-

Hey man, what’s up? My name is Johnny. I raise my hand.

Hey dude, my name is Steve. He gives with a peace sign.

Dig man, I really like the way you play the guitar. You in a band? I ask anxiously.

Well as a matter of fact, I am. He lights a cigarette and offers me one in gesture.

What type of music are you playing? I sit down in a chair.

Right now? Metal. You know. Ozzy,Zepplin, Judas Priest. Mostly covers. He sits across from me.

Yeah, well, quit ‘em. I say as I move closer to him.

Yea? he starts to laugh, And why should I do that?

Because, I got something better. I point at myself.

"Hey, man, where are you at?’ Tommy shakes me.

Huh, what… I stumble.

You’re day-dreamin’ again. Off in the great beyond! Tommy chuckles.

No, I was just thinkin’ . . .

What? Tommy leans over and looks at me real close.

Oh… nuthin’ . . . forget it. I push his face back. We go back into the club and get ready to play. As usual, I have a splitting headache. I go over to the bar and order tequila. By the time 9pm rolls around I’ve got more than half the bottle gone.

Johnny, are you drunk? Joey snaps.

Sheesh naaah! Whiiy do ya shay dat? I slur.

Well, maybe it’s because you’re spilling your drink on your shoe, he adds as he points down. I look down and jump. My drink spills all over. I set the glass on the bar. I frantically brush off my shirt which is now soaked all in front.

Ha! Ha! You’re always sush ah kitter! I fall against Joey and he pushes me off.

Goddamn! A drug-addict for a lead-guitarist and a drunk for a singer! We’re never gonna make it! Tommy says as he puts his head in his hand. I look him straight in the eyes and slur,

Oh, take it easy, will ya? Everything’s gonna be fffine…

I stagger through the crowd which is three times as drunk as I am and meander my way to the stage. It’s very hot in the club even though it’s freezing outside. Everyone’s cramming in just to get out of the cold. (Packed house whether we want it or not!)

The entire crowd is hot, drunk and totally annoyed that we’re twenty minutes late. I set up, strap on and plug in. I can hear them mumbling, ‘What the fuck is going on, these guys suck, I want my money back,’ you know. The usual things people say that make me feel so good inside just before I take the stage! I step up to the microphone, take a pick and start to shout,

So we suck, huh? The crowd roars-

YEAH!

So you want your money back, aye? I coax them.

YEEAAHH! They scream even louder.

Well, FUCK YOU THEN! Take back your money! We’ll play for free and we don’t need you here to have a good time!

We rip right into ‘Voices’ a high-speed, high-energy hardcore punk-rock song I wrote. The crowd goes mad and turns the entire club into one huge club-sized pit party! I reveled in the rowdiness of it all. People were going crazy retarded!

Some kid jumped up from the swirling crowd at me as I grabbed for the microphone stand. I thwacked him right in the middle of the foreface with it! He flew back into the crowd and immediately jumped up off the floor. With both fists clenched over his head he yelled,

YEEEEAAAAH!

I take this as discerning. I think to myself, These kids are fucking nuts! We start cutting into every fast song we all knew which was a lot! I had no intention of letting this crowd do anything short of crawl away. No doubt about it. We took that club by storm and rocked them all away. Later on the night I’m sitting at the bar with Sam and the band getting drunk, getting ready to get paid.

You took in a big purse tonight, man. Says Sam.

How much? I inquire.

100 big ones! he says with a stupid smirk on his face.

Gee whiz, Beav! What a take! I mock.

Oh fuck you, Johnny! Nobody else in Manhattan or Brooklyn’s gonna pay you more than that and you know it! Sam points around in between rinsing glasses. He continues, You know, you better start respecting me or I’ll spread the word around that you’re nuthin’ but a bunch of little cocksuckers who do nothing but trash every place they play! He points at all of us. We group close together, wave our hands in the air and shout,

OOOOOOOOOOOOO!! We laugh out loud. Sam just waves his hand at us.

Ahh! Get lost you bums! We start to get up to disperse and tell Sam we’ll see him next weekend. He acknowledges retentively. I look around and notice Steve trying to sneak off without the rest again.