By night in LA
A friend of mine called me up at around midnight on Wednesday. He said he was coming to Los Angeles for a meeting and he wanted to catch a punk rock show, and I obliged.
I don't see this friend very often, maybe once a year, so it was important for me to go. I've known him for more than half my life, and he's nine years older, so he's like a big brother of sorts. Our relationship has been a sort of a teacher-student relationship at times, and most of my current music taste has it's roots in what he showed me.
I took half of my day off and pulled up to the Santa Monica's third street promenade. We had a beer or two, and talked about how his job was going and how mine was as well.
I noticed a bit of awkwardness initially, which was strange because there aren't too many people in the world I'm more comfortable with than him. Maybe as we grow older, the initial divide between us gets bigger, and the effort to communicate with someone wears and tears, like our bodies. I'm not sure. But this time around, I needed some alcohol in my system to speak my mind, and say something original.
I told him about my life away from work, how I'm fixated on making a digital magazine, (I got the idea, of course, from Bolano's Savage Detectives). He smiled and asked me how far I had gotten with that. I cheekily said, nowhere. Not yet, at any rate.
He told me about his life away from home, constantly traveling to different places. He mainly goes to Japan, and tries to entertain clients and win them over for his company. He eats junk food a lot and doesn't get a chance to exercise all that often. Which is a shame, because when he younger, he was great at sports and had a fit body.
He also lamented the fact that he can't make new music anymore. Sometimes, he said, a riff would come to him. But it was much harder than it used to be. Although he has gotten much better at his day job, he thinks his creativity is dulling. For some reason, that hit me hard.
We drove to Highland park, and a 20 mile drive took an hour and a half, as is the case in L.A. He showed me some artists, and his roots in indie rock and emo music are still palpable. If I was to use him as a model, it seems like when you grow up, you stick to things you like. When he finds new music now, it's much less experimental than it used to be. But I still like it, because accessibility is not a means to an end.
When we got to the show, no one was there. No Age starts at 10:45, some Chinese stranger with a disheveled hairstyle said. Our tickets said the show started at 8.
We decided to go to a bar next door to pass the time. We ordered bourbon, and started talking about work again, but in a different way.
He finished his drink and said that I wish someone were to give me the advice that I'm about to give you now. Are you ready? I nodded. Don't get used to your office job. Don't make your life revolve around it. It's okay to do something to get paid, in fact, I'm proud of you for doing that and saving money. But don't make that your routine. You have your whole life to do the safer bet. Take a risk for what you are passionate about. You'll hear that a lot, but very few people will actually do it. This message is usually reduced to cliches, but I'm telling you straight from the heart, as one man to another, make your life in your own image. Because creativity dulls. It dulls and things you may have wanted to express, that you thought you wanted to express, disappear, unless you get them down on paper. And when you grow older, and you have responsibilities, you won't get your chance to take that risk anymore. Look, I'm an enormously happy guy. I have a great wife, a beautiful son. But that doesn't mean that I don't regret not being able to be in your position and do it all over again.
The advice, although it was something I heard before, had an impact on me that it had never had before. Maybe it was the way he told it, or maybe it was the ambiance of the place, or the scent of the bourbon, or the physical closeness between us, which was enhanced by the fact that the bar was small and homely, that it gave me a sudden rush of energy, a new love for life.
When I was younger, I had all this energy I didn't know what to do with. I used to think it was lust for a woman, the potential thrill of a young night. But as I grow older, I think it has more to do with finding meaning, and working towards building something greater than yourself.
It was only when we finished our third bourbon when we realized it was time to go to the show.
No Age was a loud band. So loud, that I heard ringing in my ears at the concert. We could barely hear the lead singers voice on top of the multiple layers of guitar distortion. As I looked around me, the crowd looked more like they were at a classical concert than a punk show. Everyone was swaying back and forth, as if a hypnotic lull fell over the place, and there was nothing that was to be left to chance.
I saw a girl make eyes at me but I ignored her.
I started to dance myself into a rhythm, either dancing like Michael Jackson, or a total fool, it didn't matter. My goal was to have the floors etched with my footprints by the end of the show; to make my mark. My friend was closing his eyes and moving his head from side to side, his go to dance move at concerts. I don't think he noticed at the manic pace at which I was dancing, or else he would've moved away.
No age closed with Teen Creeps, their most famous song, and before we knew it, the show was over.
As we drove to the air bnb, I asked him how he had so much energy. He had just taken a flight to Los Angeles in the morning, was running on two hours of sleep because the baby had woken him up, and he still managed to be so energetic.
He told me it was because he was so happy.
I was expecting a more physical answer, like it was because he drank lots of water, or that he took his vitamins. But I guess this made more sense. If depression can sap the life right out of you, happiness can be the jolt that moves you forward.
We got to the air bnb, where we parked and walked towards, like two ruthless hedonists in control of our own shadows.
When I woke up, he was gone. He had ubered to the airport and went flew back home, to his wife and child.
On my way home, I called my friend. My liver was hurting but I had a smile on my face. I had a strong appetite to work on the magazine now, and as I closed my eyes, even my voice began to sound different.