Nick Part II

Note: Photos for these posts do not fit chronologically. 

September 19, 2008

 

I take Jill on a walk (4 mile hike) to the Haight Street Buffalo Exchange. And…it’s time to stand in line already! I’m feeling sick and sinusy, so Jill stakes out the line. She starts the line, actually, a bit before 2pm. I join her at 4, and damn I am hungry! Here’s a cheese sandwich. Four inches of cheese! Dangerous amounts of cheese. A dream overwished. I have to do some squishy surgery.

 

In line I meet Yuka, a Japanese woman who flies around the world to see the band. She’s on show 50 and has just arrived from Japan. She’s head-to-toe adorable. Yuka has photos of Nick with her, of her grandfather, the family’s house and the family dog. We both have to go to the Will Call line and then get back into the main line. Luckily, we have a placeholder. A tall, buxomy, harloty, beautiful placeholder: her name, Jill.

 

The show is at the Warfield on Market Street; doors are at 8. Heart beats get faster as the countdown begins. I am told to RUN to the front of the stage. This is an odd challenge seeing as I have never been to the venue before.

 

Here we are at the barrier. I am front and center thanks to Jill. I can be no more front and no more center. I will not break a sweat all night and I have a place to hang my coat. An effeminate, chubby, black boy from New York enthusiastically places himself behind Yuka. He’s very sweet. He’s alone, but doesn’t seem lonely.

 

The Red Sparrowes, an instrumental LA band, open and they are pretty good. It must be hard to play when everyone just wants you to finish already. There are some entertaining visuals projected on a screen. Later, I hear about them being prima donnas, but who knows.

 

It’s time. The band takes over the world. There are so many Seeds and they are all platformed and lit and smoky. Here’s Nick. Oh, he’s 15 ft, 10 ft, 5 ft away from me. He moves like a flame. He’s 100 ft tall and 90 lbs and lovely. He is in a suit with a wafer-thin shirt open to mid-chest, and he’s sporting a gold cross. Warren is in similar get-up.

 

 

Jill is a pro. She throws out a Beat-like “Yeah!” every so often. I don’t know what I look like. I think my smile’s too big for my face. Boy from New York squeals in joy: “Weeeee!” “Make the Bells Ring!” he screams. OK, it is getting annoying.

 

Nick cuts his finger on a string, knocking over the mic, running into stuff. Mick is making strange faces—he knows something sordid.  Conrad looks like Beetlejuice.

 

Someone gets Nick’s bloody towel. No, thanks. That’s not what I’m in the market for. Midnight Man comes and he’s awesome. We call upon the orphans to explain. And they do. They do.

 

I can’t believe he is playing “Hard On for Love.”

I can’t believe he is playing “Hard On for Love.”

I can’t believe he is playing “Hard On for Love.”

 

Nick cracks up during “God is in the House.” He’s forgot the lyrics. That’s one interesting thing about the show—he’s got piles of lyrics on a stand. They look abused and disorganized. The stage crew does their best to keep them in order.

 

Does he wax his chest?

 

The show is sadly coming to an end. A boy in lederhosen crawls up onstage and gives Nick two feathers.

 

We get in line for the afterparty, held downstairs in the Green Room.

 

There is a very, very short woman running door security. She’s in her 60s and her hair is fire engine red. She denies Jello Biafra access downstairs, saying he has to go to the back of the line. “I know who you are,” she says. When he walks to the back of the line, she says, “Rock Stars! You know what they’re like.”

 

Downstairs, almost the entire band comes out and socializes with people whom they mostly already know. I can’t believe it when Nick actually comes out. I’ve been to many backstage parties at which the star is nowhere to be found (and I do not blame them.) But, here he is. He’s beautiful. He talks with Jello and many, many people. Lots of people are hugging him. I do not have my camera, but that’s ok. My mouth is agape. Jill is coolly sitting across the table from me. “Go talk to him!’ Uhhh.

 

Like a total jerk, I ghost him until he turns around and I am there. “I want a hug!” I blurt out. “A wah? Oh! A hug, yeah, ok.” He hugs me for about 3 seconds and he smells so clean. But I have it on authority that he has not showered since the stage. And he had worked it, and he had sweated--but now he’s immaculate. Are demons and angels both clean? His hair is so very soft. 

 

But I haven’t delivered a message to him. A message from me. There have been so many, but I never ever thought I’d ever ever meet him. He really likes hanging out with the older, black security guy. The man doesn’t seem to be a huge Nick fan. He is polite and jaded. But Nick really likes talking to him. “Worse thing I ever did was quit smoking,” he tells the guard.

 

But I am not to be stopped. I hound him again.

 

“Can I ask you a question?”

 

“It better be a yes or no question.”

 

“Actually, it’s not. I teach your music in my composition classes—I teach English—and I was wondering what song should I use?” (Honestly, a ridiculous question. I agree.)

 

“Ack. None of them, all of them, I don’t know.”

 

If you’ve seen “A Christmas Story,” you’ll remember that when Ralphie was pushed down the slide after he froze up on Santa’s lap, he pulled himself back up and pushed out his thought in one word. I do the same:

 

“Iteachyouasoneoftheverybestliterarymindsofourtimes.”

 

“Wha? Oh…(three beats) Thank you!”

 

I will always love you, Nick.

 

Here’s the set list from Friday:

Sept. 19, 2008 / The Warfield San Francisco CA

Night of the Lotus Eaters

Dig, Lazarus, Dig

Tupelo

Today’s Lesson

Red Right Hand

I Let Love In

When Numbers Get Serious

Mercy Seat

Deanna

Moonlight

The Ship Song

We Call Upon the Author (Orphans)

Papa Won’t Leave You, Henry 

More News From Nowhere

Encore:

The Lyre of Orpheus

Into My Arms

Get Ready For Love

Hard On for Love

God is in the House

Stagger Lee