Dressed in black

Alia flew into town recently, and we went to see her friend Mick play a show at Fontana's. I believe that Mick and Alia "hung out" in the 1990s, although I do not believe that their relationship was ever really defined by either of them. Relationships are very mysterious to me, and, since the 90s, whenever I have tried to "name" a relationship ("boyfriend," "lover," etc.) I have been swiftly and irrevocably corrected by the party I am referring to.

Mick is my favorite of Alia's "friends." Once, in the 90s, when the three of us (!) were hanging out late-night, and Alia had excused herself to go to the bathroom, Mick looked at me seriously and asked if I would like it if he went with me and Alia to the gay night at Don Hill's, so I could find someone, too. I gazed thoughtfully at Mick, and replied that I had no trouble meeting people (by my estimation, at that point I had bedded 200 men, and I preferred the fellows I encountered at XXX video booths, to be frank) and he said that he hadn't thought so. But I was so touched by his offer! Mick is a rocker, and all the rocker guys I knew before him were complete assholes or so clueless that they didn't even realize I was gay. (Once, at Tonic, I was chatting with the lead singer of Trans Am about recent rumors about Ash Bowie from Polvo when he suddenly offered me the job of playing guitar with Trans Am! I cracked up. How would it have looked if I was suddenly playing, like, the Knitting Factory in a band that people actually cared about? That would have altered my whole world, the trajectory of my life, which is going according to plan and getting more and more myopic and isolated).

I saw Mick play a few shows in the 90s. One was at Irving Plaza, where he covered a Dead Boys song so convincingly that I got over-excited and emotionally congratulated him on his performance afterwards, shaking his hand, even, if I remember correctly, and then burned with embarrassment at my lack of cool. Like, you fucking fanboy. His performance at Fontana's on Saturday night wasn't like the Irving Plaza gig. He wasn't playing a character, really, just playing with some friends he's been playing with for years. I loved it how the other guys in the band sang along with him--it was like they were a band of brothers, attacking the audience with a song. Bananarama was like that for me, too, all of them singing in tandem, without the slightest hint of harmony. Mick's was the loudest gig I'd been to in years, the most rollicking. I think one of them was using a Wizard amp, maybe? They are called The Threads, and if Mick posts their gigs to his Facebook page, I will be attending more of them.

I don't think that Mick would mind if I said that he and I share a problem, which has only endeared him to me over the years. I find myself wondering if Mick and I could help each other with our mutual problem, but in the world of Rock, there is no helping, really, and certainly not between the rocker and the--what am I? WHAT AM I

Mick in this picture has removed the black sunglasses and hat he performed in earlier in the set. To my mind, this was an improvement. I don't trust a man in a hat for some reason. During the set, he gave shout-outs to Alia, her brother David, and to me. When he was finished playing, he came and hung out with us and, when we were saying goodbye, he said to me: "I love you." I fucking love you too, Mick. Hero of my youth. Rocker with his heart on his sleeve. You look the same as you did in the 90s, although that's not saying much, because so do I.

Juliana and Evan

I went to see Juliana Hatfield play a gig with Evan Dando a couple of weeks ago at the Mercury Lounge. I went out of respect for the completist in me, not because I thought they were going to change my life or anything. (Okay, William?!) Juliana has already changed my life, anyway, and now when I go to see her play, it's mostly because I'm a glutton for punishment, or maybe I'm just feeling nostalgic.

Juliana came out wearing a sheer grey blouse and some dirty old jeans, and Evan came out wearing, I swear, the exact same shirt he used to wear for publicity shots in the 90s. Juliana loves awkwardness, like I do, and several of the love songs she sang were meant, I believe, to leave the audience wondering if she was singing about Evan. I thought it was the height of awkwardness that she sang "Waiting for Heaven," with its plaintive chorus: "Heeeeaaaaaven ... where are youuuuuu?" Of course, just drop the "h" in "heaven," and there you go. But she topped herself in awkwardness later in the show, by playing a song literally called "Evan."

I remember the first time I saw Juliana play, in 1993, at Irving Plaza. She wore a pair of pastel chinos, and a pastel polo, and I thought it was funny that she was trying to embody the term "college rock" with her outfit. More than ten years later, she released a record titled "Juliana's Pony," and I went to see her play a gig where she wore a black silk blouse and a silver necklace with a pony on it. At that point in my life, I was about to play some shows myself, and I went out and bought myself a silver necklace with a bird on it, because I was writing a song called "Jesus loves me like a bird." I remember telling some craggy old Weezer-jack (a lumberjack who liked Weezer) this story, and he looked at me like, "you tool. You had to buy the accessory before you played the gig."

I love Juliana Hatfield, no matter how cold she has been to me when I've met her in person, no matter what people say, no matter the quality of her output. When you fall in love with a singer, it doesn't matter to you if it's cool or not, and there's nothing you can do about your love. It's matter-of-fact, like a birth defect that can't be operated upon. I left the Mercury Lounge that night with her new cd in my pocket, although I knew it would unlock no doors for me. It burns a hole, still, on my table at home.

Burns!