It was over.
But in still thinking and pondering it over in my head, I've come to the conclusion that it was as much my fault as it was hers, as it is with most relationships I presume. The relationship was with Michelle, or Misty as she preferred to be called, and it started about eight months before the gig at Clay Hall.
I met her through a blind date connection and we hit it right off. Outside of her being a good person there was something in her eyes, those green eyes that would meet mine whenever I looked at her and (I hope this doesn't sound too queerish) actually gave some adoration to me. For a decent amount of time in our fling she saw past the fact that I was 23, working a dead end job at Perry's Lawnmower company with my real money being in my band coming to me not often and got drunk a little more than I should've. We had such a good thing going that I really felt affection for someone for the first time in my life (my family can go to hell for all I know, but that's an entirely different story).
That was until Denish, one of my best friends and one of my band mates in the punk band I played drums and co-sung in called Disgruntled Worshipers, asked me if we could start making a second album. Our group had already made one album entitled "Mouthful of Bull" and we thought we would compose a second one soon after the first one sold a lot, but it only sold 976 copies (147 of them to our families) so we parted ways for about a year and a half. But now it seemed like we could sell more if we did a gig at Clay Hall in Montclair, the finest venue to play a punk show in New Jersey since it was not too large or small and also had room to have a moshpit. Plus, there was the chance of other record companies, larger ones, getting a look at us at the concert. All we had to do now was make a new album with the other band mates- Spud and Sara the Keyboardist.
I was excited about the prospects of getting more money and getting some more exposure outside of the few jack-offs who came up to me at the lawn mowing place asking me to do my famous drum solos when they most definitely haven't seen me play at all. So, one night I called up Misty and told her about what was new with my band getting a new album and maybe more after the gig. Unfortunately I hadn't took into two things before I called her 1, she had asked me not to play what she called "worthless
garbage" like I played (she wasn't entirely inaccurate with that when I think about it) and 2, she was on the rag. I recall our conversation going something like this:
"What? Why the hell are you going back to those assholes!"
"Come on honey- "
"Don't come on with any of that shit, I told you I hated that album and you agreed you wouldn't fuck around with that stupid band, if that's what you call it."
"Hey, it wasn't stupid to me, besides, it could make me, us some actual fucking money-"
"So what, you don't buy me anything anyways, I'm the one who always pays for your car and your damn CDs."
She paused for a minute and then said, trying to sound calmer yet with an anger I had heard once in a while when we had arguments-
"Look, I think you and I have grown distant in the past weeks and maybe we should try and move on, OK."
"Huh? You wanna break up with me? Over this?"
"Yes Mick, I know now I can't trust you if you do this and I thought our relationship had that trust. Bye now Mick."
That's when she hung up on me. I felt pissed too, but I tried to push it back in my mind. At that time I justified what she had done showed that she really didn't care about me if she wanted to break up over my group. After that I went into the studio and recorded the new album with the others in a quick week. Now we had an album with mostly new songs on it titled "Id with the Tubloidial Butt-Noids" and the gig coming up at Clay Hall we were scheduled to play.
But all the time we recorded and rehearsed (about a ¼ of that time was drinking for yours truly) I felt still quite down about the argument that ensued with Misty and I. True she was in those delightful few days women get into about a dozen times a year, however I knew I should have called her back. Whenever I thought about calling her I figured though if she really would want to get back together she would have to be the one to decide that, not me. I wasn't about to make a fool out of myself in that area…yet.
It was the night of the gig a week after the album was finished. The crowd started filing in, and even though we weren't scheduled to play first, I peered in through the side exit door at the, how should I put it, colorful characters that were piling in. Filthy, mostly chained, filled with beer and crank punks and punk wannabe pricks (I know who is who most of the time since I was once a part of the punk group and still am in a sense) started to come in and I was nervous but not unconfident of what was to come. Even after two weeks Misty was circling my mind and it was the really big thing keeping down my concentration. So I decided, since Spud and likely Denish would be hammered by the time our set was done, why not join in? From the cooler I took out the coveted bottle of Watermelon Pucker that I was planning to save for after the show and chugged about more than half the bottle before the opening act Sick of It All finished their first song.
I recall Sara saying in my direction "Mick, you gonna be ok to sing tonight? Spud can play but he's garbling all his god damn words from the weed, is it ok with you man?" I was half drunk at that point but was able to give an assuring thumbs up that I was ready to go. At about that moment Sick of It All left the stage and the four of us proceeded up to the stage with broken beer bottle pieces and globs of spit all scattered over the stage. I sat myself down on my good old drummer's stool and picked up my sticks, the mic's were now getting checked, and from the audience there was a mix of applause, curses and one or two bottles thrown while just setting up (and this wasn't with the chicken wire set up the Blues Brothers had at Bob's country bunker) so it wasn't exactly safe or un-stressful to be up there even before we played a note.
But then we started our first three songs, which I can remember sounding like The Exploited's Whatcha Gonna Do?, Protest the Protesters – original one – and The Ramone's I Just Wanna Have Something to Do (or was it Now I wanna Sniff Some Glue, I can't recall) which came out actually pretty decently considering I could hardly sing or keep a perfect beat with Spud's usual erratic live bass, though I don't think words are the important part of Ramones songs anyway. Then when we took a quick break in-between our stretch of songs, I looked out at the audience for a minute and noticed her…Misty, a little bit away from the pit but looking up at the stage, at me. I couldn't really believe it at first, but there she was, and I had no reasonable explanation why she would be there to
see me. That made me a little more pissed, and a long with that confusion mixed with the tenseness, the utter tenseness that came from being on the stage in front of the enthusiastic (or maybe just mental) crowd of the audience surrounded by band mates high and drunk or both, all this made me feel, well, panicked. I kept it all inside though, and tried to flush it out of my system by chugging the rest of the Pucker bottle and getting on with the next part of the set.
The next four songs I really don't recollect entirely, although pieces of songs like To All My Loves, At School (originals) and a melody of Vandals songs I think. Then the music seemed to stop and though, well, why not partake in a forty while we rest for a second. Denish leaned over right before our songs started and whispered "You good to go on man, cause I can sing if you want."
"Huh, uh, no, I, that's ok man, I am good to go dude." not totally coherently I responded.
