While ordering my lucky drink I’m wondering if the guy next to me at the bar is here for the same reason. Noisy music, arty people and a shitload of tourists in a clumsy small bar on Chalk Farm. Peculiar scene. The noise was our choice. Sensible to play dirty music before going on stage. Arty people, that’s what Camden consists of. And the tourists? Well it offers a part of us a permanent reward. Fit.
Whiskey coke. Part one of the lucky Trinity soaked. Thank God. I walk back to the human-free part of the pub and see S playing the last part of one of our new songs. His voice exhibits exhaustion. The stringed instrument he’s playing on produces an obscure sound and makes me feel pointless. He is a god on guitar. God again.
I open my bag and search for my old trousers. Redressing before performing became a habit. Putting my favorite boots on fulfills the second part of the lucky Trinity. Preparing to spend another random eve on stage might sound a little abominable, isn’t it?
Fifty minutes to show. Count down starts slow. Tuning my guitar makes me more nervous than J reporting the gig is sold out.
Half an hour to show. Total numbness operates.
Twenty minutes to show. Potentially disaster consequence in mind.
Ten minutes to show. A last cigarette to light. And to share. As if we literally are a bar on each other’s door and fresh air. Third part of the lucky Trinity? Check!
J to walk with us down to the stage. One minute to show, the ritual three kisses on each cheek and a walk from the dark into the light and unknown. First chord and a crowd to react electrified. Second chord to get us all dancing. Cause as soon as you play music, music is gonna play with you.