rockandroll Blog and Journals

I went with Keith and Prescott to the recording studio to hear the French horn part being recorded for “Manic In the Light.”  We walked down a spiral staircase in a room with mirrored walls, and then we went through a door into a long dark hallway.  It twisted and turned in all different directions and occasionally we passed rooms that were lit up with the red and green glowing lights of recording equipment.  Before Keith and I got there, we had been practicing our mouth French horns (“bwaa bwaa bwaaaaa”) and we agreed that we sounded good enough to be on the CD so that they wouldn’t have to pay a professional, but I guess we didn’t live up to Prescott’s standards (he’s a master of the air cello), and they proceeded with the real French hornist.  The studio was dimly lit and the walls were covered with red shag carpeting.  There was a large main room where drums and other stuff could be set up, and the area with the mixing boards and mechanical stuff was raised up above it behind a glass wall.  There was another small recording room next to that, which reminded me of cages at a strip club because it was all enclosed in glass and raised above the rest of the big room.  Keith and I stood in there doing our mouth French horns and kissing and laughing about random things.  This was the last part of the recording for “Manic” so the rest of the song was already done, and we got to listen to it over and over again to see what changes needed to be made.  There’s an awesome vacuum cleaner noise followed by an explosion that I wasn’t expecting because obviously they can’t do it during the live shows.  At the bridge, they had this weird “whoa oh oh” thing going on that sounded like a tape of ghost noises you’d put on your front porch to scare kids on Halloween, and it kept cracking me up and then they eventually decided to get rid of it.  I thought that was a good choice and I was proud of myself for being on the same level as the musical geniuses.  After a couple hours it was all done, and the three of us left the building as Keith and Prescott imitated the weird ghost noises all the way down the hallway.

The next day Keith and I went out for dessert breakfast, and as I was leaving, there was a man lying in the middle of the crosswalk.  A crowd was starting to gather around him and some people were on the ground trying to get him to regain consciousness, but he couldn’t get up.  A cop came over and called for an ambulance, but that was the last I saw and it’s strange because now I have no idea what happened to him.  After seeing someone unconscious in the middle of the road, you want to know that they’re okay.  It’s kind of unsettling.

The drive usually takes me about an hour and a half, but it was considerably longer due to traffic, and the real kicker is that I was only home for about an hour before my dad told me to get out.  I was in the kitchen heating up some enchiladas and talking to my mom, when my dad burst in and, as usual, demanded to know what we were talking about.  I said, “It’s none of your business,” and he told me to leave.  I packed my bags and started making phone calls to friends, and that’s when my dad also added that I couldn’t take my car because it was insured under my mom’s name.  Fortunately Steven was able to pick me up, and we went to Sweet Tomatoes for dinner because I didn’t get to eat my enchiladas.  I didn’t know where I was going to stay, but I had narrowed it down to either Keith’s or Jade’s.  (Jade is my aunt and friend.)  Depending on where I was headed, I had to take a different train, so Steven and I pigged out at the buffet to kill time as I tried to determine what would be easier. 

My epic dessert

I ended up deciding to go to Keith’s, so Steven drove me to the train station and saw me off at the platform.  It was almost 10 at night and I was headed right back where I’d come from earlier in the day.  When I finally got to Chicago, the first thing I did was apply makeup in the bathroom, of course, and then I got a cab and was on my way, dragging my four bags along with me.  I walked in, told Keith my story, laughed, and promptly fell asleep.

Brief fun

Then sleep

So, the tricky part was that Keith was leaving for a tour the next evening.  V Sparks had a show in Raleigh (with Five Alpha Beatdown) and then they played the Florida Music Festival in Orlando.  Being the sweetheart that he is, he had keys made for me and told me that I could stay at his apartment while he was gone.  Around 1:00, we had to go pick up the tour bus from Adam’s friends.  They lived in a cool old house that smelled musty and was decorated with album covers and various instruments.  It was very much a home for musicians.  Everything was made of wood.  The only real colors in the place were from the ’70s curtains and the pinball machine in the corner.  Anyway, we got the bus, and it was totally pimp.  Old, but pimp.  It had six bunks, two couches, and a TV.  Interestingly there was no passenger’s seat, which I suspect is because a groupie is meant to be kneeling over the driver’s lap.  We cruised around (Keith driving, me leaning on the seat next to him and getting thrown against the walls), while blasting music and pretending that we were on a major U.S. tour as we made our way to deliver the bus to Prescott.

On tour in Chi-town

Keith left that night, and he told me that his friend Mike was going to come over at 8:00 to also spend the night there.  My internet connection was very weak and sporadic, so I mostly talked to friends on the phone and read a book called Vox (which is about phone sex, which I did not have with my friends).  But Mike never came and eventually I went to sleep.

Around 11 in the morning, as I was sleeping of course, someone walked in and said, “Is anybody here?”  I replied, “Yes!” and fumbled around in the bed in my semi-naked state, trying to get dressed and fix my hair.  So I met Mike and told him about my homelessness.  He listened sympathetically and told me that he’d like to take Keith and me out drinking if I had a fake ID.  

Around this time, I flipped a light switch only to discover that the power was out.  Fortunately I had enough hot water for a shower, but I couldn’t blow dry my hair or use the microwave or any other appliance.  With nothing in particular to do around the house, I decided to make it a shopping spree day.  I checked out some of the local boutiques and then sat in Starbucks for a long time taking advantage of the wireless internet.  According to Google, Wicker Park had quite a few record stores so I decided to check them out.  Of course I had no car, but I managed to find two that were within walking distance despite my horrendous sense of direction.  First I went to Dusty Groove, but the name was misleading because the place was very clean and organized.  I was disappointed.  Next I took a long walk down Milwaukee to Reckless Records, which was much cooler.  Their clientele seemed to be mostly twentysomething men with long hair and ripped jean jackets.  They had a much larger selection and all the used vinyl was really cheap.  I didn’t buy anything though.  I’m so picky.  By the time I left, Ragstock and most of the other cool clothing stores were closed, but it was getting dark so I wanted to go back anyway because I didn’t feel like I was in the safest area. 

When I got back to the apartment, it was pitch black because of the power outage.  I couldn’t see a thing anywhere besides the living room.  I fumbled around with the blinds, and they fell off the window.  It was only 8:00, but I didn’t know what to do.  I couldn’t read because there was no light.  I couldn’t watch a movie because there was no TV.  I couldn’t surf the web because there was no internet.  I called tuesday, but we couldn’t talk long because I was afraid my phone would die.  So I lit some candles and stared at them for a while, and then went to bed even though I’d only been awake for ten hours.

Aside from that last part, though, I had a very nice week.  I did some exploring, vacuumed the crazy red rug, and spent a night with Jade talking about how awesome penises are.  Needless to say Jade and I also got really drunk and I sent Keith stupid texts about the greatness of V Sparks, but it appears that he still likes me. 

Apparently the show in Orlando went really well and they got to talk to some guys from Atlantic and MySpace, so that’s a big plus.  I’m very hopeful that they’ll get a record deal.  Anyway, when I went back to Keith’s I was so hung over that I could barely move, so I sat on the couch and did nothing for hours.  A few weeks ago he and I had watched Hedwig and the Angry Inch together, so I decided to watch it again and I think it’s more inspirational the second time.  The last song made me shaky because I believed in it so much.  I think my dream, more than modeling or anything else, is to be a rock and roll singer.  That’s what I want.  I deny it most of the time because it’s so scary to me, but it’s who I really am.  I’m just not sure what to do about it.

Lazy hangover Crystal

I went out to eat and tried to write song lyrics as I sat at the bar, but it doesn’t matter anyway because I can’t write the music part.  So then I went back and sang along with my iTunes until I got sleepy.  Can someone finally tell me what “Suffragette City” is about?  I’ve never known why it was stuck there in between “Ziggy Stardust” and “Rock and Roll Suicide.” 

Keith got home bright and early yesterday morning.  I was so happy to see him, and he had brought me back a pair of handcuffs.  After he partially unpacked and showered, we settled in for a long nap because they’d driven for 19 hours straight.  I couldn’t sleep though, so I just hugged him while he snored against my chest and drooled down my shirt, and I laid there thinking about how much I really really like him.

Last night we went out and met his friend at Swig, and we ended up staying there till almost 2 talking about music.  I didn’t drink because I wasn’t even supposed to be in the bar so I didn’t want to push my luck, but I had a great time anyway, while everyone else pounded them down.  As the bar started to get empty, we listened to some V Sparks and Motley Crue that I sang along to, and then they put on Appetite for Destruction.  As everyone knows, this is easily one of the greatest records of all time, so we all rocked out intensely, singing along with bad imitation Axl vocals and smiling at the dirty lyrics.  I’ve never had so much fun being the only sober one in a group before.  Keith explained all his different feelings for me as we sat there at the bar, and we made out and groped each other inappropriately whenever we weren’t busy singing.  The bartender called us “sickeningly cute.”  I have such a huge crush.

I had a doctor’s appointment today so I went back to my parents’ house this morning, which is where I’m at now.  It’s pretty dull around here.  When I looked at my socks, I saw that I still had tufts of Keith’s red rug stuck to the bottom of them, so I’m choosing to view that as a sign that I should stay in the city more often.