Project MERCATOR
After a series of frustrations that left me unable to see any of The Loose Ties' shows since their return in last August, I was able at long last to see not one but two shows on the Friday just past. The first was at the Good Beans Cafe in Flint, on Grand Traverse north of the river. The Loose Ties were the second of four musical acts to play as part of some manner of Halloween-themed event; costumes were expected, but as the date was 22 October & not 31 October, I declined the opportunity. My acquaintance Elise—costumed as a pirate only to the extent that she had a eyepatch & a cartoonishly exaggerated plastic scimitar—chided me for not wearing a costume. I explained to her that although I am all in favor of costume balls at all times of year, this particular gathering was promoted specifically as a Halloween event; yet, because the event was being held too far in advance of Halloween to fall with the Halloween grace period, I could not have attended in costume, not in good conscience. (Because Halloween falls this year on a Sunday, I well understand that many if not most Halloween festivities may be held on Friday, 29 October & Saturday, 30 October. Those dates are well inside a reasonable Halloween grace period, but Friday, 22 October? I call shenanigans.) She replied that I was only saying this because I'd neglected to wear a costume, but what care I for her opinion?

The first band was mellow to such an extent that even though they prefaced each song with an explanation of the genre into which I fell all their songs sounded very much the same. The Loose Ties gave their usual frenetic performance, though, curses, the performance space in the Good Beans Cafe was too small to allow for any skanking; in such a small area, horns need not be "miked" to be gloriously, overwhelmingly loud. After the ska came a solo distaff singer-songwriter, who unwisely opened with a not-ready-for-prime-time cover of Sarah McLachlan's "Building a Mystery." Her original material was much stronger, though she can't hold a candle to The Watergirl's compositions. Last came the evening's organizer, a chap also of the singer-songwriter persuasion, who had the gall to belittle ska & then play a Dave Matthews cover; drat & double drat, there's never a brick on hand when someone needs to be pummeled in the face. He then compared himself to Tom Waits &, per Elise's request, played a John Mayer cover. (I only know these songs are covers because he described them as such, I had no familiarity with any of the music beforehand.) I stayed for the entire show, but The Loose Ties were the only bit really worth seeing. In future, I shall most certainly hold Elise's rotten taste in music against her.

After leaving Good Beans, I made a quick stop at home to make sure my V.C.R. was set to record the Korean Grand Prix & then 'twas on to Woobies & the second Loose Ties gig of the night. I arrived at Woobie's just as a quaintly generic hard rock band was concluding their set, & so found myself confronted with a larger crowd than I'd expected. Of course, most of my visits to Woobie's have seen The Loose Ties as the entirety of the evening's entertainment; so, it should not have been a surprise that several different bands throughout the evening—I think The Loose Ties were fourth of four—would produce a larger crowd. I said "Hello" to the band before they went on & was congratulated by several for my appearance on Jeopardy!, & after only a few minutes it was time to get down to business. The larger number of people crowded closer than usual to the stage, removing much of the area in which I usually skank, but in time space was found & also as usual the act of skanking induces some people to inch away. I was not alone in skanking, being joined by the brother of Dick, the trombonist, the brother, Jon, also serving as "designated utility musician," filling in from time to time on drums & bass guitar, & also by a small gaggle of girls. One appeared to be the girlfriend of Phil, the lead singer, guitarist, & frontman. An old-fashioned punk replete with flying Mohawk also joined in. The largest number of people skanking at any one time was, methinks, six, during the Ties' slow, steady cover of The Mighty Mighty Bosstones' song "Royal Oil." Many songs, especially as rushed through by The Loose Ties, are too fast to skank all the way through, unless one is a snot-nosed fifteen-year-old with boundless energy, but "Royal Oil" is that rare gem that is paced perfectly, permitting non-stop skanking all the way from start to finish. The six of us all skanked in a circle, our feet thrusting toward each other, but never quite colliding, never disturbing the rhythm. 'Twas grand!

One area of concern is that over the summer one of the two couples within the band--the exceedingly nice drummer, Matt, & the astoundingly lovely saxophonist & singer, Becca--broke up. Such strife can sink a band, but to my relief The Loose Ties appear to have weathered the storm. Becca was there with a hunky fellow & Matt has a new cute girlfriend; so, at least to this outsider's eyes all appears to be well. To have found a local ska band, this long after the Summer of Ska, is preposterously improbable. I am thus convinced that anything so improbable must also be cursedly fragile, & I am alert, constantly questing for the blow that will shatter The Loose Ties, my source of such boundless & ludicrously accessible fun. The old saw says that forewarned is forearmed; so, I'm trying to be forewarned.

I didn't quite close Woobie's, but only just. My return home was not until shortly after 2:00 A.M., after declining an invitation from Jameson, the bass player, to join the band & company at Phil's apartment. I appreciated the invitation, & Project MERCATOR dictates that I should have accepted, but after a night of skanking I am a disgustingly sweaty beast desperately in need of a shower. So, home to said shower I went, the right decision having been made. In my apologies to Jameson, however, I fudged the truth by saying that, rats, I'd love to go to Phil's, in only I didn't have to get up very early the next morning to go to the art museum with Vitamin H. The part about the museum was true, the fudge lay in citing that as my motive. And so I dutifully woke up on Saturday morning, wicked dehydrated by the one-two punch of being a human steam bath & replacing the water lost as sweat with gin & tonic. Vitamin H. & I had been trying to coordinate our schedules to see an exhibit at the Flint Institute of Arts (F.I.A.), Unbroken Ties: Dialogues in Cuban Art, but on several consecutive weekends either I was out of town master debating or she was out of town visiting her folks & siblings. At last we were both in town & free, but why did we do on Saturday morning instead of, for instance, Saturday afternoon? Especially since last Saturday did not feature a Michigan football game, making the afternoon unusually free? Because one of the other friends she'd invited had to go to work at 1:00 P.M. Curiously, though, of the four of us who gathered on Saturday morning, all were still at the F.I.A. when one o'clock rolled around, & no one hurriedly excused himself to race to work. There's nothing I love more after a late, physically punishing night than to wake up early the next day for absolutely no good reason.

Joining Vitamin H. & me for the morning's cultural excursion were Frankenstein's Monster, his brother (though the fellow never showed up), & another chap named John with whom I was not previously acquainted. This outing was by no means any kind of assignation, I had no objection to adding to our party, but Vitamin H. knows that Frankenstein's Monster & I ceased to be friendly when I learned he was defaming me to all our mutual friends; so, what could she have been thinking, inviting him along & springing this on me only when we pulled into a parking spot at the F.I.A.? I shall have to reevaluate whether I want anything more to do with the thoughtless Vitamin H.; it strikes me that I might already have too many silly, childish girls in my life. All was smooth & pleasant at the time, & Frankenstein's Monster & I got along well as we always do when face-to-face, courtesy being the glue that holds society together. Unbroken Ties was itself underwhelming, not least of all because we were waylaid & briefly held hostage by an overly enthusiastic docent. (I made a quip when first we encountered her, a mistake. "A decent docent?" I asked with a smile, & after that she was terribly fond of me; she would not let me go even after my three companions had escaped. Curse my charm!) Though we'd come for the Cuban art, I stayed for the prints; on display in the corridor-like Ford Graphics Gallery were a variety of works by the American artist Richard Florsheim, many of them thought-provoking & several of them downright entrancing (artlink). On my last visit to the F.I.A.'s galleries, in July (I'd been there since for a film), there had been on display a traveling exhibition of Tiffany lamps. The gorgeous glass having moved on, the permanent collection of 19th & 20th century European & American paintings had been restored, but I had not the time I would have liked to have spent therein. I shall have to make a point of returning to see those works before they are next displaced by a temporary exhibition.

Next time: Roller derby!

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
The Hold Steady, "Stuck Between Stations" from Boys and Girls in America (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"She was a really cool kisser,
And she wasn't all that strict of a Christian.
She was a damned good dancer,
But she wasn't all that great of a girlfriend."