All
Tomorrow's Parties
"Baby if
you'll just say you care
I'll follow you most anywhere
Roll away the Stone, Roll away the
Stone"
Alone on the
upstairs dance floor at Coney Island High,
with Mott The Hoople's "Roll Away The
Stone" blaring on the sound system, I
lost myself in the music for a few minutes
that I wished would never end. To dance with
myself- to be transported to another state of
consciousness by a song that's been one of my
favorites for over 20 years - was my way of
coping; my way of pretending not to know what
could not be ignored. On the night of the
last Green Door party, I couldn't even say
those words out loud.
Jesse (from D
Gen, if it even needs to be said) was
spinning upstairs that night. When Ian
Hunter's voice faded away, I walked over to
thank him for playing such a poignant song.
"I don't usually do this, you
know," he said to me. I assured him
that, if he listened to his heart, he would
pick all the right music.
"And in
the darkest night
I'll keep you safe and alright
Roll away the Stone, Roll away the
Stone"
I don't know
Jesse that well, but he's always been kind to
me and I like him very much. I remember Green
Door a couple of months ago, when I was
sitting on the edge of the stage watching the
crowd dance to some Blondie song. When I felt
a hand on my shoulder, I turned to see Jesse
sitting next to me. "I was looking for
you," he said. "I wanted to tell
you how much I liked that interview you did
with Jello Biafra." I thanked him and we
talked for awhile, in one of those 'club
conversations' where you have to speak
directly into the ear of the other person in
order to be understood above the din.
Rather than
looking into the eyes of the one your talking
with, you find yourself staring at the side
of their head. And each time I'd turn my head
to speak into Jesse's ear, his hair would
stab me in the face.
I also
remember noticing Jesse's skin: how white and
smooth and - rare for this part of town -
free of tattoos his arms are. Several times
during our conversation, I felt compelled to
punctuate my words by placing my hand on his
bicep. His skin is very soft. It's funny how
things like this stick in your mind when
you're searching for a positive memory to
make the sadness go away.
"Won't
you roll away the stone
Why be cold and so alone
Won't you roll away the stone
Don't you let it Die"
I spent the
final hours of Green Door in a kind of
bittersweet haze; floating between the
upstairs Detention Lounge, the main floor and
the Porno Lounge in the basement; dancing,
drinking, running into friends. When people
of differing paths come together to celebrate
or mourn under a common banner, it becomes
apparent that what ties us together is
stronger than what pushes us apart. So I
found myself bonding in shared misery with
big-haired girls in the ladies room or bikers
at the bar over snippets of dialogue woven
together with the common thread that Mayor
Giuliani is a dick. You see, the Mayor
refuses to grant Coney Island High the
cabaret license needed to perpetuate events
like Green Door. It seems odd that in NYC,
where the social mantra is "Anything
Goes," the freedoms we've come to take
for granted are being restricted all around
us and you need a license to dance.
Seeking
validation in the comfort of strangers was
only enhanced by the chance to cry on the
shoulders of cherished friends. Several times
I found myself enmeshed in confabulation with
my buddies, Thin Lizard
Dawn, who had played a set earlier
in the evening. Those guys are amazing. You
could throw me into a pile of them and I'd
take whichever one I landed on.
Garvey Rich
has resurfaced after spending two months in
London recording an album with the
Interpreters, the band he manages. While he
had promised to bring me back my favorite
candy - Cadbury Flake - I noticed he did not
have it with him at the club. Maybe he was
trying to divert my attention from that fact
when he commented that my red platform boots
were appropriate footwear for saying goodbye
to Green Door. Then he laughed the way he
does: like a little pixie boy. It's hard not
to love Garvey.
"No
Matter if fools say we can't win
I know I'll fall in love again"
The weirdest
thing was that both Lindsey and her husband
Curt (part owners of the club) were missing
from Green Door's swan song. They had good -
no, excellent - reasons for being absent.
Lindsey's band, Killer Kowalski, were recording that
weekend and Curt was on the road with his
band, L.E.S. Stitches. But I missed them, and
the circle seemed incomplete. Maybe they knew
that, eventually, someone would feel
compelled to play The
Doors' "The End." Maybe
they just couldnt' bear to hear that song.
"So sing,
We've still got a chance
Baby, for love and sweet romance
Roll away the Stone, Roll away the
Stone"
When I was
tapped on the shoulder, I don't know why I
was surprised to see my friend Louis, a
sculptor and artist whom I've known longer
than anyone since moving to New York. Louis
is a major scenester and usually does the
gothic thing at the Bank on a Saturday night,
but I guess he heard the call to solidarity;
If the kids are united, then we'll never be
divided. Louis is over 6 feet
tall and has those dark good looks that mark
"my type."
He's never
made it a secret that he finds me attractive,
but we're such good friends that neither one
of us has felt comfortable crossing that
line. He tried for hours to get me to leave
the club with him to go over to the Bank but
I told him that when I did leave, I'd be
taking a cab straight home. I didn't want to
dilute the essence of this right of passage
by mixing it with the vibes from another
scene. Louis never did make it to the Bank.
When we did leave, we left in a cab together.
There's nothing like being wrapped in a pair
of tattooed arms to make you forget the
world.
"Won't
you roll away the stone
Don't you let it die"
Sometime after
3:00 AM, we walked out into the new morning
and, as the door to the club closed behind
me, I said goodbye to a piece of my life that
was now gone forever. On Sunday afternoon, I
put "Roll Away The Stone" on my
outgoing voice mail message. I know that
everything happens for a reason.
[Next month The
Worley Gig resumes its regular format]
Previous turns
of The Worley Gig:
The
Worley Gig #1--
Summer, The Rules
