The Concert at Clay Hall

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.

Denish whispered back "Get your fuckin' head on man, Epitaph could be here tonight. Remember, Blitzkrieg, DK and old album 1, 2 and 6 ok!" Then our next set started, and as hard as I tried, I couldn't keep up with the electric fast beat with the high-hat. My eyes were fading in and out of the sight of the audience, but in my fucked up state I could make out Misty, looking at me now for the first time ever with a look of panic on her face; the kind I probably had on my face when I first noticed her there except her look wasn't as shocked as mine was, almost mournful though with no tears shed at all. This was purely a glance in-between guitar solos however, and I could still feel myself drooping over in my almost frantic last effort to try and keep up. I felt more shit faced than a comedic character in a gross out comedy getting repeatedly thrown in excrement to entertain the "do-do" crowd.

And she saw me the entire time.

I don't remember anything after that until I woke up in the hospital, my head throbbing surrounded by the usual lot of emergency patients at 3:30 AM in Montclair Hospital. When I woke up, Denish and Sara who were sitting on the only empty bench in the area sat up and walked over to me.

"Hey dude, that was fucked up what just went on in that concert," Denish said.

"Yeah, I got drunk again. What the hell with my head?"

Sara responded to that mumbled remark, "He doesn't mean the 40 man. A half full beer bottle was thrown right at your god damn skull, your lucky to be alive much less sitting up cause that coulda cracked your head."

"Shit, I musta blacked out before that though Sara, cause my head feels like Pompeii here. Was the show any good?"

"Fuck I wish, all we made was the bit in admission, but I can tell you this my friend, we can sue those assfaces for what happened to your head." Denish thought he knew his stuff from doing a little pre-law, but the word lawsuit wasn't really in my vocabulary at that time, or really not for consideration in the present state I was in (but that changed later on). "Anyway man, it was cool though cause while I was walking out of the hall this dude gave me this card," and out flashed a card in front of my face which read: Tony Norton, Vice President/Record Producer, Epitaph Records, Los Angeles CA.

"Whoa, that's cool. Uh could you two leave me here a minute though, my head is kinda throbbing and a nurse might come soon with some Valium or something," I muttered as I suddenly noticed her, walking in through the hospitals, Misty. I knew Misty wouldn't want to talk to me with Denish and Sara around so I told them to go and they agreed and said they'd see me to tomorrow if I were not still hungover. They left and Misty came my way.

"Hey Misty."

"Michelle now."

"Ok Michelle, what are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to see if you weren't dead, Mick." She said and then sighed and looked at me with those green eyes again. "I guess your wondering why I came to the show tonight?"

"Well, yeah. Why did you?"

"I was thinking of coming by cause I was sorry for giving that outburst the other day. I was generally pissed off and it wasn't really right to take it out on you, so I came to the show and thought I coulda told that before the show, and I even wanted to tell you during your breaks but people kept on throwing shit on the stage-" she paused for a

second as she sometimes did "-but then I also saw how nervous and drunk you were so I left, then I heard from outside in the parking lot all the fans storming out complaining that the show ended early. So I came by here to tell you I'm sorry Mick."

I was definitely shocked at that, and it sort of sobered me up. I was almost right in the middle of a moment out of a romantic comedy where the girlfriend takes the boyfriend back or something like that, and I gave a grin at that thought.

"Well, I'm sorry too. So does this mean we're still together and all?"

"No, not really. I'm still pretty pissed at you for getting on that stage in the first place, and then you get all drunk with this shit. Sorry about that too." Then she said, "Listen though, and if you ever get to Hollywood, maybe drop me a line."

"Uh-huh." That was all I muttered to her and lied down facing away from her reaching for the medication the nurse was brining over to me. And then she left me.

For good. After that night things changed indeed, from the settlement we got out of Clay Hall for a number of things that went wrong with the gig and the card from Epitaph continued into a small yet good contract after a long meeting with the vice president there. Now I lead a bit of a better life than I did in the past having a little more money now and being a little better known and getting more recognition as a musician even in the punk rock world (Tony's comments about me summed up to being "un-solid yet brilliantly together in form").

But there are still those minutes, maybe even an hour or so when I think back to what I left behind, not the crappy job but the good girl, the good girl who realized my flaws outweighed anything I could try to offer her even before I could try and work things out with her. Really, I couldn't do that; it wouldn't be entirely fair from my decisions for one, second I wouldn't know how. We had a relationship going that had something, yet after that night I couldn't go back to her, not like the liar I was. But there comes a point when I think back to her when I also think that is the past and it is time to try and move along to the next activity. I put it behind me although it remains in broken yet loving pieces.

That tale is over, and things won't ever be the same again.