Thursday, March 09, 2006

An open letter to the Wedding Present.

Dear Weddoes,
I'm sorry I missed you last night. I truly am. Something deeply nostalgic collided with something deeply now. The now won.

The nostalgia really wanted to watch you play lots of disturbingly loud, fast, jangly guitar indie rock. The now wanted to get a good night's rest before a very important day of work.

The nostalgia wanted to pretend that I was 16 again and dance the night away to the aforementioned brand of guitar based, fast, loud, jangly, indie rock. The now really had to tidy up the apartment before the cleaning lady came.

The nostalgia knew that if I only had three beers I could probably cope with a smaller than usual ammount of sleep and be only slightly deaf in the morning for all the very important meetings with all the very important people.

The now knew that would not be the case at all.

The now knew that I would be sluggish and deaf, less incisive and perhaps even slightly smelly. The now knew that I would cheekily drink five beers and that I would hurt in the morning.

The now knew that weekends are for rock and that school nights are for watching 'Six Feeet under' or 'The West Wing'.

The nostalgia didn't care when the lady at the Bowery Ballroom told me that you would not be playing until 10pm. The now knew that it would likely be 10.30 or maybe even later. The nostalgia was all up for sitting in a bar and hanging for 2 hours. The now knew that that would be a recipe for disaster! The now took me home.

The now realises that a little something died last night. But that's OK. The now keeps telling me that age may well have wearied you as it has me, That you may well have come across as four, forty year old men rather than the twentysomethings you used to be. The now wonders just how much frenzied jumping about there would have been. The now is trying to make sense of all this. The now really wishes that you had scheduled this gig for a weekend or even just a night when I didn't have a massive day at work the next day, and not the massive kind of paperwork day but the massive kind of meeting with people who need me to be serious yet knowledgable kind of day.

The now could go on and on about this.

The now and the nostalgia meet, they acknowledge each other and smile. They are still good friends, very good friends. The nostalgia is willing to let this one go, there will be other battles.

8 comments:

Listmaker said...

the now wants to know what supposed rock shows you're attending on weekends.

Debbie said...

The now feels your pain and applauds your right choice.You're right there will be other times to let the young kid out:)

weasel said...

Jolly good for the now I say. Nothing worse than an aging indie kid in an ironic t-shirt yawing his or her way through work the next day.

bri said...

Yay for fricking grown-ups.

Mondale said...

list, you know what i mean, stop being so fucking literal all the fucking time.
The rest of you, thank you for your support. The mere idea of it is still making me tired.

Listmaker said...

the now is clearly a defensive prick.

i wish i knew the then - i would have gone to rock shows with him.

Mondale said...

You would have liked him.

Anonymous said...

David Gedge came back from Benicassim festival on the same flight as us last summer. I met him when I was 16 at Ipswich Corn Exchange and I met him again at 33 in baggage handling. He has not changed one bit. I mourn your lost youth. Gedge travels Easyjet.

Postscript: I don't usually go to see reformed bands, but at a festival, with no competition at that hour, it seemed rude not to watch the Weddoes. They did create my favourite two albums of all time. I was delighted to hear tracks from George Best and Tommy. It ended up being the highlight of my weekend.

There is nothing worse that a 34 year old indie kid...