This is a lesson for everyone, regardless of what kind of music you like.
Context: when I met Ebony, all we did was go to shows. That’s a vague, sweeping statement, but that is kinda what we were into. Live music. We would go see shows. Rock, Metal, Industrial, Reggae… new wave stuff.
After she passed, I was devastated and didn’t want to go out, didn’t want to be among people – kinda social anxiety disorder -- and couldn’t be happy – couldn’t see myself being happy, it didn’t seem right – so going to shows wasn’t an option. An old friend and colleague, Jamie Roberts, knew a little about this from personal experience and called me up and said, “Hey. You have to get out. You have to live. Because Ebony would trade places with you in a heartbeat. You have to get out and start seeing shows because you’re a music guy and that’s what you do and that’s what she would be doing. What’s the matter with you? Celebrate Ebony!”
So that was harsh. Hard to take. But she was goddamn right. Even though I didn’t want to. So she put me on the list +1 to go see her band AWOLNation, a band I had ZERO knowledge about. But I got a good friend and we drove to Providence and we saw ‘em. And they were great – not in my zip code and won’t make my iPod, but an incredible live act. And it was awesome. And thanks to Jamie, I kicked off a nonstop tour of SouthEastern New England seeing shows. Saw the Cult with Bush and Stone Temple Pilots (my 30th Cult show -- thank you Anne Marie Foley), saw the English Beat (thank you Rey Roldan), saw about 30 or 40 bands that summer and fall (2018, thank you ALL publicists) and that carried over into the new year. Saw Blacq Audio and then Bush again and have been trying to hold that down seeing bands in my area while I figure out the next chapter.
So one of the artists I saw in 2018 was a Jamaican reggae performer called “JAH9.” Her real name is Jeanine Cunningham and she’s a prophet, a mystic, a poet and a revolutionary – AND – she rocks. Amazing. Turns out, I found out only days before – she’s playing the same venue (The Ocean Mist in Matunuck – Wakefield - Rhode Island). So of course I got tickets. So I got my buddy Alan, who’s a real estate attorney in Westchester who has a condo at the end of my Mom’s street, and our mutual friend Anthea, who is going through a world of shit because her mother has Stage 4 Cancer.
And for more context: these are two people who knew and loved Ebony and when the chips were down, they were there. Not going off on a tangent about that, but they were there. But both of them are going through horrible shit right now with their loved ones and I TOTALLY GET THAT. So I said I would drive (because Alan and I had been to the Ocean Mist twice the year before to see the English Beat and JAH9 and we took a Lyft. A little pricey and I am trying to save money so I said I would drive) and they could get White Reggae-blasted and we’d all have a good time. No worries, mon.
SO. I pick ‘em up and we drive to Matunuck, which is about 40 minutes from Newport on the mainland. No worries. Everything was good. Get there about 7:30 and order. I had Buffalo Wings because I started watching this show called “Hot Ones” on YouTube and went down this rabbit hole about hot sauces, which Ebony and I loved to try. Now: Alan and Anthea are going to drink, I’m not. BUT: I was having hot wings and they have these flights of hot sauce so I ordered ONE BUD LIGHT BOTTLE. I had a Bud light at like 8 and a plate full of wings and DID NOT finish the Bud Light (because, let’s face it: it’s pretty good cold and then goes warm and it’s shite). So I ate the wings with all these hot sauces and DID NOT FINISH the Bud Light because it’s garbage after ¾ of the way down.
So the waiter comes over – band hasn’t gone on – and I switch to ice water because I’m driving and we’re going to be here until Midnight. Alan was like, “OH!” but quickly recognized that I was here for Anthea and him and I got ice water, which I continued to drink all night (although I switched to Coca-Cola at one point). I was fine. No worries, mon. We’d been there for 4 hours +.
Saw JAH9 KILL IT. UH-MAZE-ZING. So brilliant and also, kinda easy on the eyes. Seriously, I don’t even know what to say, she’s awesome. She’s a little skinny, but, you know: vegan yoga Rasta, that’s how it do. But damn, what a show. And the drummer: wow. John Bonham – “Fool In the Rain” – you would’ve loved this.
Show ends around, I don’t know, Midnight. I’m good, they’re good, so let’s go. Get out to Route 1… I’m in a 2018 fully-loaded Toyata Corolla. All the bells and whistles. Backup cam, SiriusXM, this thing BEEPS when you get even one centimeter over the median on either side and we’re off. About 15 minutes down, heading back to Newport, and this is the fucking part where it gets crazy – there’s a fucking police car behind us and they pop the cherries. I’m getting pulled over and I don’t know why.
South Kingston police come to the passenger side, where Alan is sitting (my attorney) and it’s “License and registration.” I haven’t been stopped since one time in the late 90s or early 2000s -- I have a PERFECT RECORD. But I am a mess. I don’t even know where the registration is. I give him my license, he goes back to the cruiser. I am a wreck. What the hell did I do? Comes back, “You were kinda swerving…” Okay. This thing BEEPS when you do that and on a curve, I did for like 3 seconds. And I said, “The thing didn’t even BEEP!” He’s gone.
I am fucking terrified. I was not drunk, no way beyond the limit. Like. At. All.
Gets worse.
Another guy comes out, “Sir, would you step out of the car.” HOLY SHIT. WHAT. THE FUCK. But what do I say? “Of course.”
I walk to the back of the car, mortified. “Sir – (by the way – these two were like, easily 20 years my junior and they’re calling me “Sir” and I have fake blonde hair halfway down my back, not feeling like a “Sir.”) – and he wants to give me a test. It’s one of those, “I’m going to move my pen left and right and you follow it with your eyes.”
WHAT?
Yes. Yup. It’s GO TIME, BITCH.
In my head, I’m thinking back and wondering how ANYONE could think I was drunk driving. I avoid that like the plague. Because I cannot possibly imagine THAT PHONE CALL. “I’M IN JAIL.” Fuck that. That’s what’s great about New York: you go out, you party, you get in a cab, you go home safely and no worries, mon. Irie.
SO now I’m standing at the back of my car and terrified and wondering WHY? and now I have to follow the pen. He’s holding the pen, this guy, this police officer, and he keeps saying, “Don’t move your head.” I am thinking, “I’m not moving my head. I’m doing the side-eye thing like Corey Booker listening to Beto O’Rourke. This felt like it went on forever. And then he thanked me – thanked me – and said, “Go ahead and take a seat in the car.”
WTF?
I AM TERRIFIED. WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?
He and the other officer come back after AN ETERNITY and hand me back my license and say, “Thank you, sir, try to keep to keep the speed down and watch the road.”
AND THEN HE WANTED MY SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER.
OF COURSE I GAVE IT TO HIM BUT HE DIDN’T SAY WHY HE WANTED IT AND I, COWARD, PUSSY, DIDN’T ASK. BECAUSE WHY? I WAS FUCKING TERRIFIED.
AND THAT WAS IT. IT WAS OVER. WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK? SO NOW THIS GUY CAN ACCESS MY CREDIT CARD AND BUY SHIT FROM RAYMOUR & FLANIGAN? WHAT FUCK THE FUCKING FUCK?
I was a wreck.
OH, BUT IT DIDN’T END THERE.
Now I’m driving like a sloth on a eucalyptus tree. I’m terrified. I did the right thing and I am terrified. We’re all going over it but my voice is getting dry and I keep wondering if Ebony had moments like this for, well, maybe DIFFERENT reasons, and I am a mess. I am driving easily 10 miles under the speed limit.
NOW. We get to Newport. You get off the bridge, turn on to Van Zandt Ave., and then you get to the intersection at Malbone. You go forward to Summer Street and there’s parking on both sides. Hard to navigate. You go, you pull in left between cars, you pull out, you go left again while someone passes you. I pull in for this guy, I’m between two parked cars on the passenger side and one guy goes by…
AND THEN ALL OF A SUDDEN SOME JACKASS STARTS BACKING UP LIKE FUCKING STEVE MCQUEEN IN “BULLIT” AND HE’S COMING TOWARD US AND I KNOW FOR A FACT IT’S NOT FUCKING STEVE MCQUEEN.
HE’S COMING TOWARD US, AWKWARDLY, VEERING LEFT AND RIGHT AND I AM POSITIVE WE’RE GOING TO GET HIT. NO SHIT. I HAVE NOWHERE TO GO! THIS FUCKING HAPPENED.
I MOVE THE CAR SLIGHTLY TO THE LEFT, WHICH IS ALL I CAN DO AND HE JUST ABOUT CLIPPED US BUT SAILED RIGHT BY, NARROWLY MISSING US.
MY HEART IS IN MY FUCKING MOUTH.
I HAVE TWO PASSENGERS -- CLOSE, CLOSE FUCKING FRIENDS – AND I HAVE THEIR LIVES IN MY HANDS, WHICH ARE TREMBLING – AND THAT GUY BLOWS BY US AND KEEPS GOING. NO IDEA WHAT HAPPENED TO THAT GUY AND I DON’T CARE. I FUCKING PUNCHED IT AND GOT TO BROARDWAY AND AS I’M LOOKING LEFT, SOME FUCKING KID IS WALKING FROM THE RIGHT – WALKING AT 1 A.M. – AND I ALMOST HIT HIM. NOT QUITE BUT COULDA.
I AM A WRECK.
So now… we’re going down Gibbs to Old Beach Road. We’re dropping Anthea first and we have to go to Middletown, just past Easton’s (1st) Beach. AS I AM COMING DOWN OLD BEACH, I TAKE THE TURN SLOWLY – AND NO WORD OF A LIE – THERE’S A FUCKING GUY, PROBABLY A SERIAL KILLER – WALKING AGAINST TRAFFIC – AT 1 A.M. COMING FROM THE BEACH? -- AND I SLOW DOWN, MOVE OUT TO THE ONCOMOING LANE AND GO AROUND HIM. I FEEL LIKE FUCKING CLINT EASTWOOD IN “THE GAULTLET.”
So we get Anthea home. Turn around, go back onto whatever they’re calling the boulevard next to 1st Beach and this car, looks like a Newport cop car (now that they have those fancy SUVs) and I am driving at like 20 to take Alan home and I am a mess. Turns out: it was a fucking bullshit silver minivan. I hate those things. Soccer Moms, my ass. It’s a buncha short girls who want to sit up high. One person in those things all the time and they’re 4’11.” WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Where are the kids? You fucking poseurs. I hate you.
Drop Alan off and get home – relatively – unscathed. But it’s after 8:00 and I haven’t been able to calm down. I’m a wreck and WIRED FOR SOUND. I did not do anything wrong.
And now I know for a fact, at least as much as Ebony told me, what it’s like, in a manner of speaking, to feel persecuted for no reason. That might be a stretch but that’s my go-to experience. Not that I wasn’t sympathetic, but I didn’t have any Rosetta Stone to compare. Maybe this brings me a little closer. Maybe not. I don’t know. Court of public opinion might feel differently and no disrespect, but HOLY SHIT I WAS TERRIFIED.
And now it’s --- what? 8:05 A.M.? – and I can’t sleep.
Next time: LYFT. I will spend the 80 bucks to avoid this feeling but there won’t be a lot of times I can blow 80 bucks.
Moral? No idea. Ideas? Take a fucking LYFT or UBER if you’re going out in Rhode Island this summer – or any summer – because who needs that shit? Certainly not me. THIS IS WHY I HATE DRIVING AND LIKE TO WALK EVERYWHERE. You can make fun of me all you want for whatever: but I sure as shit knew not to fuck around and I got into an incredible night of crazy. Imagine if I didn’t care.
Oh, and the lesson? Figure it out. I think you got it.
By the way: the wings at Ocean Mist are great and so was JAH9.
So happy to be alive. Irie.
Yes I.
And I am still going to fucking shows. For Ebony and for me. Because fuck that.
PS: Still awake right now. So if I don’t answer emails today, well…
*with apologies to Zakk Wylde
