The Rough In The Smooth

Red sky at night. Things have been really quite hectic here over the last two weeks. In an effort not to wonder at the lack of communication from Nico, I moved on. I rehearsed with the band. I recorded a twelve hour session which was an experience and a half. I squeezed an eventual perfect drum recording from the drummer, put my foot down over some sounds and waited patiently for other things that the engineer had to figure out for himself, argued with the head of the school about how to mic a cymbal, got told I was only a girl, only this only that, got my way in the end, got the band to stay throughout and keep their temper, organised rough mixes and other recording sessions and did it all while my mam and sister came to visit. And event that went a lot more smoothly than I thought it would, although they are now convinced I am an alcoholic.

Alex has been great, helping me sort out direction and priority for the band, just being a cool person to hang around and drink too much with anyway. I am waiting for him to come over and collect the latest mix of the song we will be recording on Friday cos he will probably have to record it himself at home. He has been advising me for a while to go out and just find someone nice to be with. Well I found a Sardinian Doctor. And he is a nice man, but I can't help but find myself mourning Nico. How is it possible to decide you can love someone like that so quickly?

And yet, here is a man who revels in my intelligence, flatters every curve, has a sense of humour and a soft side, who is sensitive and complicated. A man who will bite when I ask it and sometimes when I don't, who makes me feel special, who will listen and share, who is (despite himself and any previous hurt) falling for me, who asks me when it will be I feel the same. A man who's touch gets to me and then suddenly makes me shiver with revulsion at myself. I feel dirty. Why can I not be with someone who appreciates me like this? Why do I expect fire and dirt, roughness and sharp tongue...and every night I want to go and drink myself into an oblivion.

I am not depressed nor sad. Actually I feel attractive for the first time in a long time. It is nice to have a normal attention. What is not normal is my instinctive reaction. But I am yearning for another, still planning away, hoping that when I finally get paid that I can call Nico and get him to come to see me, even if it means inviting him to a gig...

What to give a Depressed Man

Already having shown my amazing ability to obsess over nothing, I shall now demonstrate my mind's penchant for silliness.

Nico is depressed. I should know, cos I was depressed up until recently myself, and I can just hear it in his voice. He made great effort to contact me and explain to me what was going on, which isn't easy when you are speaking to someone on a balcony with a toothbrush in their mouth while dancing to Los Jaivas, and you have to get her to repeat everything anyway cos she doesn't speak Spanish that fluently. I kept thinking about how, despite my obsessing, we had agreed that we need to enjoy ourselves. I don't want to lose sight of that.

Ironically, that was what we both did, both decending into our individual worries and lows. Irrespective of whether things work out or not, I know we are right in thinking we have something in common, and hopefully it will last into some sort of relationship, be it friendship or more. I think we have a positive effect on each others' humor, and I also find myself trusting this person, with only intuition as my guide. Let's hope there is no fall.

So I once again tried to explain to Nico that I really don't want to worry about tomorrow, that the deal was we will have fun, and if it is not fun cos he is feeling shit, then we should just meet when he feels better. I laughed a lot with him to try and warm him a bit, which I hope he didn't find fake or irritating, but gradually he began to warm up a little.

So I spent today thinking "What do you give a man who is depressed?" The last thing I want to do is to make him feel he owes me, but I want him to be quietly pleased. I want to make him laugh, choose something that is a joke between us, and something that does not cost much both because I am poor and because otherwise it looks like I am trying to buy him. Whatever it was should come with home made instructions.

So, I already had a box of chewing-gum, which I had made into little men and repackaged so it looks like a normal box of the gum he chews. I think that will be amusing(but then I've an odd sense of humor {but so does Nico}). Then the brainwave - flashing teeth! Over the last few years during Christmas in Dublin, they have sold this sort of denture apparatus which you fit over your teeth and press a button to activate and all your teeth light up in ludicrous colours. I couldn't find any last year as they were all sold out, and then for my birthday my sister managed to locate some. I take them out with me sometimes when I go pinting cos I find it hilarious to wink at people when wearing these teeth as they stare back in horror. They are truly hilarious.

So my sister had sent me two pairs, and I wrapped up the "spare" teeth with the chewing-gum and made an instruction leaflet explaining how, when both are used together, you will find yourself enjoying the plastic sensation of solidly stuck psychadelic teeth until the battery wears out. The drawings involve the flip-top-head man of previous joke drawings we made, so I reckon he might like it.

Now the only question is how to draw this particular hermit out of it's shell long enough to present the joke...

The Swing-swong

This morning I woke up without a wrinkle in the sheet, as I had not moved the entire night. Mind you the entire night consisted of 3 hours, as I followed my current trend of drinking to forget. The night before I had found myself in a Karaoke bar with black walls and neon lights along the edges only, full of round men and cigarettes, and beer. This morning I didn't want to get up, what is more, I physically couldn't.

I got to work an hour later and my manager took one look at me before grabbing me by the arm and bringing me downstairs for a coffee. I am embarressed to say I just started crying - the usual, no sound, just tears and a broken smile and a crippling pain in my throat and chest. She was lovely and talked to me about things in her life, which is just what I needed, someone else to focus on.

After work I went to a new studio in Glories to record a song. Our drummer knows the guys who are finishing a project for SAE, a sound engineering and professional recording outfit, and we were to be the first to try this new studio. When I walked in I couldn't believe the place. I would pay to go on holiday there. They have the most amazing equipment and endless rooms - you could probably feed all of Africa with the money they spent on the place. Alex and Darren practically wet themselves.

Alex, by the way, is our new bassist. He is actually a friend a long time, and a producer and sound engineer, and the longer I know him the more convinced I am that he can play every instrument under the sun. He has been my drinking partner lately. I dunno why we didn't think of it before, but basically we tried him out as bassist and he is perfect. We also talked about doing some sort of covers band so that neither of us has to work in shitty jobs as opposed to playing music. We are going to see if we can do that also, with his Basque friend Eneko. I can't wait. Although it will be a while.

So anyway, Frederico and Alfredo were our engineers and we got a decent drum track down. The guys get on well with Alex, and the engineers were really respectful and changed the sounds as we asked and were good themselves anyway. They turned out to be from the Dominican Republic too (honestly, I live in the Republic of South America here in Barcelona) and I think they were nervous and relieved also when we got along.

Recording puts me in great form, and soon I was playing songs with the lads as we waited for stuff to be set up, and showing Alex the ropes. Talk about throwing someone in the deepend, but the man didn't even know the tune he was coming in to record. We played it a few times, and next thing a young lad called Santiago was at the door. Also from the Dominican Republic. "Hey, do you guys have other songs too?" he asked after a discussion with Alfredo. Do we what! Next thing I know we have managed to land recording sessions for free with this guy too. I mean, how lucky are we! I walked home a happy girl, my woes deflected.

On the way home, I stopped off at Alex's, to transfer some of my songs to his computer. We had some beers, played dodgy eighties classics like Take on Me by Aha, and Jump! by Van Halen, before I decided to call Nico. Earlier when we were playing music, I was struck by the feeling it was gonna be okay, and rather than spite myself, I decided to act. I called on Alex's phone. he answered, and my rehearsed thoughts went out the window. He answered like he knew it was me, and I didn't even have to say who it was. I didn't know if you were sick or what, I tell him, honest as ever. "I was sick all week, and now I'm working," he says, cool as a snozzcumber. "Wanna meet tomorrow though? We can meet, if it suits you?" Te parece, there it is again. I love that phrase. If you want, I tell him. He interrupts impatiently. "Okay, I'll call you between eight and nine." You'll call me? Okay, if you want.

I have a stupid grin on my face and Alex is looking at me like a proud mother. He is trying not to laugh. We have a great auld belt out of Living on a Prayer by Bon Jovi before we head out. Today I have had the most amazing day ever.

To say someone is like a swing-swong, is to my knowledge an Irish expression. It means to go from one extreme to another, like a swing-swong. How fortunate for me I had the opportunity.

Light me a Candle,Make me a Wish...

The LCD sign tells me it is 24 degrees but it desn´t feel like it. It is cold and windy, the air damp from the sporadic tempestual showers that August brings Barcelona. The streets of Gracia are full of long tables with various shapes made of foam and old tetra bricks being spray-painted bright colours in advance of the week-long festival that takes place this week. Everyone I know is making an effort to go early to see the decorations before the festival even starts.

And yet I am once again preoccupied and unenthusiastic.

The story is quite simple. Last week, I met a guy who I really connected with. We enjoyed two really great days together which ended with me bundling him out the door cos he was running late for work and being pulled back into a promising kiss, with an agreement to meet again. "Tuesday will be very very difficult for me," he tells me, screwing up his eyes as he thinks. Fine then, I say, how is Thursday? I know he has to hand in papers for a divorce and all kinds of things, and I am trying to give him some space. He looks relieved and smiles. "I´ll call you on Thursday," we both say, and he leaves. I watch him go up the street.

On Thursday I call him, and it turns out he is sick. That does not surprise me as I too have a heavy cold and I wondered where I got it from. "I´ll call you when I am better, is that okay?" Yeah, sure. "Does that suit you?" Okay. "Does it suit you, you sure?" Yes. Friday is band rehearsal and I am not in the mood. I go out drinking. Saturday I find myself waiting again and finally at 1am, call him. It rings twice, then tells me User Busy. I try again, same reply. I curse, and then I stop myself, wondering. I am not so paranoid as to usually curse after an episode like this, afterall, I know the guy a week, he has been sick, and then working, plus he is going through a bit of a difficult period, and I believe him when he talks to me. I go out drinking again, in an effort to forget, to do something with myself.

So what has changed then? Nothing. Saturday we met, Sunday we went out, Monday I said goodbye, Tuesday/Wednesday we agreed not to see each other, Thursday he was sick but we spoke, Friday I figured he´d still be sick, Saturday I called but got no answer...It has only been a week.

So the best thing I can do is leave him alone for a wee while. He has my number and knows where to find me if he wants to. My only worry is that I might stand to lose him like that, by being distant. I have been worrying inside, but I have not been pestering him with calls or anything so I doubt very much he is feeling hemmed in. But is there a chance he said he´ll see me again and doesn´t mean it? Well of course there is. But then the first time he promised to call me, and he did. So all I can do is trust him a little. Afterall, I can call him in a week if I don´t hear anything.

I Have Never Laughed So Much

We had drinks on Saturday for a girl who is leaving. The lads from work decided to go to an 80s club to dance, but I dunno why, I just felt that I needed to go to the Chilean bar. I was determined not to go on my own, so I called my friend Alex who finished work at 2am. “Yeah, I’ll meet you at the Sugar at 3. I’m with 2 friends from work. I think it would be really bad form if you stayed home now!”

Rubber arm duly twisted, I headed down to meet him and after strangely finding many places were closed, I decided the Chilean would be a good bet.

As we rounded the final corner in our approach, I noticed four people standing in the shrouds of darkness. A blue light flickered, bathing the wattle door in a weak wash of light. Two characters stepped out from the shadows, cigarettes hidden in the palms of their hands, blue light lighting their faces.

“Hi.” One is the musician from the bar, Mario, and the other is one of the prescripted tall dark and handsome types that I feel sure I have met before but can’t recall if it’s actually the case. The two other figures stop rummaging in the back of the police car, and head back through the wattle door of the Chilean bar. What’s going on, I ask Mario, although it is quite clear that the lads have been busted for not having a license. There is a fifth presence in the shadows who I know is listening to us. “Well,” says Mario, head nodding slightly towards your man, “seems like they are shutting down Sergio’s…” But where will all the Chileans go to hang out and play music now, I ask. Mario smiles and nods approvingly, taking a drag off his cigarette and stepping back under the shade of his tree.

I turn around to Alex and his two friends, who look bored. Will we hang on for them, I ask. The lads shrug, and after a serious amount of foot-dragging on all sides, decide to head down to Papillon. Mario, Dark Nico and recently-liberated-of-his-bar Sergio all know me better than I realised, and say they are going drinking and playing music. How can I refuse? I bid goodbye to Alex, who doesn’t really mind but probably is a bit pissed off by all the time-wasting, and head off up the street where incidentally I got mugged before.

A quick survey of night bars proves why the police never do anything about robbers in the area. Not a chink of light to be seen. In a strange moment of foresight I think we are entering a house which we will eventually end up in later in Raval. But we pass on, until I propose sitting on a bench and drinking the beers Sergio managed to smuggle from the bar. For some reason there are many beautiful girls passing and the three lads are having a good oogle. Oh feck it, so am I, although Sergio who I know has a crush on me, makes a gentlemanly effort to chat about something else. We all laugh and chat and everyone tries not to snigger as they pass. Dark Nico is like a crazy man, jumping back and forth with the speed of a firecracker, and serving beers in his lovely yellow trousers that make me laugh. I tell him he reminds me of a banana.

At 6am we raise ourselves and head to a nearby bar, where the rest of Chile seems to be drinking. Mario starts playing music, and a quiet homeless man makes his way over to us. He has no voice, it’s the heroin he tells me later, and in a breathy scratchy hiss, he requests a song from Victor Jarra. Nico instantly buys the man a beer, and several rebel songs later, we are deep in discussion with Jesus about music and politics. Nico is just as energetic and leftwing about his politics, which pleasantly surprises me. He is surprised I have any knowledge of Chilean politics, and I tell him of the shrines to the Disappeared I visited when I was there. Somehow we have a band started and a guy across the table has this hat on that makes his head look deformed. I start drawing cartoons of what is really under the hat and how it all happened, and we have a really good laugh. Sergio and Mario ask me to play a song. All goes quiet and I think ah crap, here is the bit where people think first I dunno what I’m doing, and then tell me I’m great because now they fancy my voice. Nico leans in. Crap. I decide to play a song for Jesus about the area I grew up in, where there are still many heroin addicts. It starts off very quietly, and I hear one of the women behind me telling me to go on, you can do it. It is a nice gesture and makes me laugh, and the chorus comes and is belted out and I love seeing everyone’s expressions. I can sing but people always expect I won’t be able to. Mario and Sergio are preening themselves and Nico is squinting at me. When I finish Jesus tells me he liked it a lot, and that the police had been there but had gone off. Somehow everyone is singing or playing percussion on tables and bottles, and the guitar is being passed back and forth. A percussionist singer who plays with Mario arrives on the scene and plays a few Cuban songs. It turns out he is the owner of the flat which we return to, to carry on playing music.

Steffan’s flat is like a small room that has been divided horizontally in two. I assume upstairs is a loftbed, cos there is little room for more. The bathroom down the hall is similar to a student campus. With five of us and a skinny black cat, we are all practically sitting on top of each other, Mario on the yellowing fridge, Sergio on the floor, Nico (who has been stealing kisses from me) and Steffan and I all play musical chairs as we dance and sing and bang about. They are all beautiful yet completely different singers. Mario is a traditional tenor and is the eldest of us. Steffan has obviously less training but a simple clear high voice which is unique. Nico has a rich low full bass voice, with quite a high range. Sergio obviously doesn’t think he can sing but sounds lovely backing everything. The harmonies are sublime.

It is 11 o’clock and there are giant empty beer bottles lining the skirting. Nico has been saying he is leaving for about 3 hours now and is still here. He has purple eyelids and I feel sorry for him. I am secretly delighted he is still here. I decide to leave. Mario is not pleased. He insists on walking “Sergio’s girl” to the metro. They all call me that, although we all know which way this is going. The three of us leave, kisses all round, and I wonder when will be the next time I see this lot if I can’t go to the Chilean anymore.

I am sure now that Nico is just playing with me, but I don’t mind, cos I am having fun. We stand talking at the metro gates, an impatient Mario going on ahead, and it is not til he pushes me back against the map as commuters stream past us and kisses me full force mid-sentence that I realise what is going on. Up until now I was sure this handsome man was just flirting because he knew how attractive he is and was having fun. But a combination of joint silliness and the attraction of good musicianship and mad energy (on both our parts) has fused us into really understanding each other. “You know,” he says thoughtfully. “You are attractive and intelligent. But you have something else. You are incredibly silly. I like that. Let’s get married in four years. Mark the date!” Of course I am delighted with the flattery even if it normally makes me squirm. I am very simple: I tell him to take my phone number, even though I am not sure what it is yet as it is new. “I will call you tomorrow at 11,” he says. I know he means it. So simple!

I hate waiting for phone calls, and I am not joking you when I say that on Sunday I did press-ups while watching a film in an effort to take my mind off the possible disappointment of no call. When the call arrives, I shake so much that I can barely put my jumper on. I had deliberately not dressed up just in case, but five minutes later I am waiting on the street corner like a lost dog, with a piece of paper and pen in my bag to draw some more silly cartoons.

My Scheming Little Mind

I just realise what I did. In the below post I outlined events today, omitting one important detail. The bit where I say to Sergio to stay in touch regardless, cos maybe we can organise gigs with our two bands playing together. I believe I may even have said something shamefully similar to a marketing executive, along the lines of “The two styles could really complement each other” although I am blissfully unable to recall for sure. I just know myself quite well.
You see the whole plan in my scheming mind (I’m just after realising) is that at that stage we will be in separate bands and he will get to hear my band on a good day and the music will be good and he will decide: hey maybe she is worth a second look, and the doors will open and we will merrily get hammered together that night and fall asleep intertwined under some bridge or in a ditch someplace. You get my drift.

Isn't 80 per cent enough?

If I were to write my own horrorscope, I would write:

Time of emotional turmoil. You know what you want but you don't know how to get it. Despair, and give up. You know things will just go the way they want to anyway. PS don't date bandmates.

But I don't write Horrorscopes.

I have cheated on my band. We had a very messy rehearsal recently so I excused myself from today's rehearsal and went to find another band. I found one I liked the sound of and emailed them. Sergio emailed back. Friendly, complete with smiley faces that were somehow less frightening than usual. Then a photo so I would recognise him. Wowsers. I prayed he would be short and uglier.

I made it to the audition-I-don't-know-what-to-call-it slightly early. He came dashing round the corner right on time, and a lovely smile lit up his face. I hope it was for me. We run to the studio and I get to meet the rest of the band and a girl who is trying out for bassist. God they are cool. I like how they are friendly and how they look at me. I am so nervous but I am happy. Except that I know I want to play in this band already. I have heard them and I like them. I just don't want to be doing silly flops for the lead guitarist. They play, I tell them the song has changed, what the hell, I sing. They play another song, after 2 goes, I join in. On the way in Sergio asks if I play folk music. No. The other guitarist, Dani I think is his name, asks if I like this kind of music. I think they must have the wrong impression of me. I look at him like he has two heads. "But I heard it before I came!" I tell him, amazed. "Why do you think I came?" Hmm, am I arrogant, or have I merely forgot I am the one on trial here. I laugh and point out mistake I make, never a good tactic. After thirty minutes I am done. I bid them goodbye. "You remember me of the Cocteau Twins," Sergio tells me thoughtfully. "And I can only understand 80% of what you say..." That, my dear Sergio, is because you have single-handedly reduced me to a babbling idiot.

They say they are auditioning for the rest of the month, and they will let me know. "We will also let you know if we find someone earlier, so you can continue your search for a band." I am not feeling that chirpy. Something is wrong here. I go home and on-line seek out Iarla, for some advice. "Why don't you send them a message saying thanks for the audition, really enjoyed it, just letting you know i'm still interested and look forward to hearing from you." Bold words indeed. Well I may as well try it. I text it before I get scared.

So here is the nub, or the crux of the matter. I want to play in this band. I also want to run away with Sergio. Both options involve staying in touch in the future. When I like someone, as evidenced today, I cannot look at them. Do guys get that, that shy women look at the walls, the ground, the ceiling, and look scared if they catch a look in the eye? Or at least I do! I also do a good job of sounding relaxed and distant. Dear oh dear. So since I am not in the band (I reckon) how exactly do I get to know someone I met by chance? It sounds like a candidate for straight-forward asking out, and to be honest I am not someone who has ever done that, to my recollection anyway. I reckon he has a girlfriend, and I would have to play the "exotic" card as I am hardly the type he would normally be seen with. Hmm, how to regale him with your enchanting wit.....yargh!

I think I will just have to find some money and go out and get hammered. Beer at home is just not the same.