Whacking Poetic and the Notes to My Future Wife

Chapter 8

Sam's favorite address in Chapel Hill was 452 - 1/2 West Franklin Street. With a front entrance that was nothing more than a set of tiny stone steps that burrowed between the West End wine bar and a clothing boutique with a pink awning, The Cave Tavern was one of the oldest bars in the region. Entering the tiny cavern, you could almost feel the moisture dripping off the stalactites and other rocky formations on the ceiling and walls, not because the tacky brown paper mâché formations looked real, but because they were attached to the cold and clammy walls and low ceiling of an old basement. Alex always thought it was a claustrophobic and sleazy dive that attracted homeless panhandlers, but she simply failed to identify with the David-Lynch-Pabst-Blue-Ribbon esthetic that the cramped hobbit hole evoked from the local music and poetry culture. The bar was supposed to hold 75 but maybe a third of that could fit in the front room where the music was and so when you played there it always felt like a capacity crowd. There were just enough cheap Christmas lights strung along to help you find your way to the bar with a dozen or so wooden stools, and if you entered late enough on most nights you'd certainly be greeted by quirky live music coming from the small stage to the left, an amazing rotation of local bluegrass, UNC garage bands, acoustic trios, occasional touring alternative rock, and anyone else that described themselves as eclectic. The bar was simple, with standard liquors and a few decent beers to choose from if you could afford it and the two-dollar PBR for the musicians and unemployable graduate students. The bar had an opening to the back – a cavern tunnel with crude rock formations on the floor that made even short students bend over as they passed – that gave way to another small lounge where people could play pool or watch TV. A back entrance opened up to one of the many Chapel Hill alleys that offered scant parking.

As Sam arrived to set up, the bar was relatively quiet, since it was only seven o'clock on a Friday night in mid-December as the semester was winding down. Whacking Poetic was opening, which normally would be a bummer since they only got to play an hour or so before giving way to Zipper Chat, an alternative rock band from Wake Forest, but Sam actually liked to play first since it gave him a chance to show up extremely early to set up properly and warm up all of his instruments. Sam relished his role as the band's chameleon – everyone else brought one sound to the mix and he created a different color on each song.

Sam was almost set up when Sarah interrupted. "Ok, I give up. What do you guys normally wear to gigs?" She sounded exasperated. Everyone in the band was finally comfortable inviting Sarah to join them on stage after weeks of practice. They had worked out specific background vocal parts for a couple of songs and rhythm guitar parts for others. Then the biggest surprise was how many songs sounded good with a college-level auxiliary percussionist adding color to X's thunder.

Sam turned and looked at her clothes. She was wearing a baggy v-neck shirt with blue horizontal stripes and sleeves that drooped just past her elbows and jeans. She held a denim jacket in her hands.

"Oh man," he said. "What to wear? That is certainly a decision that demands nuanced and multilayered consideration. In fact, that might be the single most difficult decision you could possibly have to face on a day-to-day basis as a rock musician."

"I always hate this but it's usually just me so who cares? My clothes just look normal. Are you supposed to dress normal?"

"That's just it. If you dress normal, you look like a dweeb. You are supposed to look very cool. And yet, oddly enough, you can't look like you are trying to look very cool or else you still look like a dweeb. It is actually absolutely impossible unless you really are very cool."

"You are no help," she said as she looked down at her shirt like there was a stain on it.

"Yeah, well, sorry. I didn't make up the rules."