Eh, Eh

Writing about this scene (whether you believe it exists or not) has made the magic die just a little for me. I see the same kinds of things every night and at times I'll admit I struggle to see the allurement that I once was so taken by. In converting from blogs to reviews I have found the need to write in unfringed truths and this has forced me to realize some of these bands just aren't that mind blowing. It is for this reason that I am taking this paragraph to formally announce my resignation from scene (yes, I said it again) writing.

Yeah right.
Like I'd give some of you that kind of satisfaction. Nah, instead I'd just like to thank all my readers who have been getting in touch with me lately.

My readers are stellar! I've been finding that getting to know you guys is a whole new level of dynamic in the Streetlight endeavor. Let's see, mostly you like to tell me stories of band boys you've met (it totally IS cool that John O. took a walk with you!) and ask me questions about my hair (yes, I did razor blade it), my wardrobe choices (never function over 'fashion'), and who is single in the Long Island music bunch. (I always say anybody's got a shot!)

Still, what I like most about my readers specifically is your confidence and insight. It's so impressive and inspiring to me. I like that you come talk to me, wanna tell me what your favorite blog is and why. I ADORE that you make suggestions and wanna toss ideas around with me. It gets me out of the gutter a lot of us are feeling in these days. Right now I'm talking to AnthonyInColor about how none of us can afford gas to get to each other, to Rob24 about having too much time to think, and to NewKidChris about unbearable between-show boredom. Keep sending those messages, making those comments and stating your presence. You guys make this shit feel okay.


"Life's like a ballroom, if you'll pardon the metaphor. If you hear something you like, don't analyze it, just dance to it."




...Ricky.
Lady Gaga stuff. lol.

on golden pond, on golden pond- how!

I wish today was Mother's Day so that I could give my mama flowers and say I'm sorry for being so fricken weird.

I'm sorry for the time I ran over the pear tree with the go-cart. I'm sorry for the time I ran over Bobby with the go-cart. I'm sorry for when I climbed on the roof and broke into the house cuz I forgot my key. Why, you nearly had a heart attack when you saw the window screen out. I'm sorry for always wanting to be in Madison and never wanting to be in for dinner. I'm sorry for making you glue rhinestones in my hair and falsies on my eyes. I'm sorry for that time I faked you out and pretended to sprain my ankle. I thought it was funny. I'm sorry for laughing at things when they go wrong, I know you hate that. I'm sorry for trying to hide having a hard time from you, for going to school soo far away and for staying there after I was graduated. I'm sorry for dying my hair a bunch of different colors and for piercing my nose twice. I'm sorry for the black nail polish and loud My Chemical Romance. Sorry for the attitude. I wish it was Grandma's Day so she could be here to slap me around for ya. "Erica Ann, don't you ever tell your mother to shut up! ...oh for god sakes Kelly, SHUT UP!"


Tomorrow I'm goin to see my mama. To listen to her cackle at her own jokes and gossip about the family. To hear her say, "Oh god Erica...your hair..." I'm going home to have my mama yell at me for calling her mama and to hear her probably talk about Nate Cyphert all day.


Good god, I am just like my mother.






...Ricky.
"On Golden Pond anthem" by: Katherine Hepburn and Jane Fonda

Forethought.

He closed his eyes as if keeping them open would be too much for the moment to bear. He was young, and perfect. I was dressed up, and inexplicably damned. It could have been the way the old songs hit my ears or the way he pronounced his "baby"s. It was most likely the pants he was wearing. Unsure as to whether he was for the better or worse this time, I realized I had lost myself months ago and it didn't really matter anyways. I smiled. He sang. She sighed.

Oh I am home.
Radio commented with me at Angels&Kings about the set of songs that made us feel we were so much younger. It made us feel like we were at a show after spending the day at that playground; me making fun of Kev's hair, Kev hitting on Radio, Radio being weirder than Andrebaby, Andrebaby defending Jaybird, Jaybird laughing at Rob's golf swing, Rob calming Matt down, Matt being sarcastically nasty to Lo, and Lo silently freaking out to me via text while sitting right next to all of us on those swings we loved so much. He pushed. I floated. She shook her head. I could tell a thousand stories about those days before Stereo hit the skyline. But I didn't have to tonight. Kevin sang them. In 6 syllables or less to the outro of Uptown Get Around, a song we used to know by another more drama-filled title. I am glad for the distinction. Those are times glazed by change and protected by cigarette smoke. Days when I lived on instinct lit up only by the streetlights that line Front Street on the way home from East Meadow. Yes, this blog is named for then.



...I had this drafted before the last blog went up. I thought it fair to post since it was a real record of my reactions and since it is so wildly different from my opinion of the Vibe show. I hope if you don't understand you at least enjoy, either in starry amusement or tasteful disgust. Love.





Ricky.

the broken promises that you were meant to tell

I'm sitting here eating cold macaroni and cheese hearing the dance teachers of my past scold me in my head. Never eat cheese. Never eat carbs more than once a day. Never eat. Go, jump again.

What are you willing to sacrifice to do what you love to do? Where will you draw the line on what you give up?

I had an interview to teach dance today that was...more typical than I had hoped it would be. Basically I'm perfect for the job if I change everything about myself now. If I go back to being the obedient, and might I add restricted, little star I used to be. But I'll never go back.

What are you willing to become to do what you love to do? Who will you draw a line across in order to surpass them?

I saw a show last night that was...too close to home for me. It started off very awkwardly, like no one knew what to do or how to act around the declared hometown heroes Stereo Skyline. I looked around at the lowered faces of my local band boys who'd come out to see the show and wondered whose heroes Stereo are, exactly. These are band boys I know each week to be brazen and cocky, to be full of life and scandal. Yet they were still last night, sitting tentatively on amps that would've been theirs and standing silently on the side of a stage this still is. It made me uneasy that they were relinquishing rights to this stage for even one night. It made me uneasy to see them uneasy. I linked eyes with the lead In Color constantly all evening. I like him knowing what I'm saying when I'm 20 feet away and not saying anything at all. We were in that place at the end of Front Street together once, we don't need words. "Talk later?" he laughs. "Always." I smirk. There's no reason not to enjoy this set, what's done is done and no one can change any of it. Then it's time.

The rest of the bands on the show you can read about in my review and at TheSceneLife.com. That's the honest, constructively critical version. This blog is the unplugged ep.

Girls are clutching posters of my former best friends. They're holding them to their chests like babies in a fire. I start to feel like I don't understand where I am or what's going on so my eyes search for something I know. Something I think I'll know.

I settle on watching 3 Stereos in the heavenly-lit hallway of Vibe Lounge. They move intangibly in time, time that my mind is slowing down on purpose with faulty admiration for the drummer, the bassist, and yes, that singer. But something's wrong here. They're just standing there. Why do they have time to act dreamy right now? Because they don't do a damn thing for themselves. Would they even know how to set up if they had to? Cal has been busting his ass since Mercy Mercedes said thank you and goodnight. Meanwhile, someone brings Brian his bass and Kevin his guitar. The straps are labeled "Bri" and "Kev" since someone else handles them. Rob only has 2 drumsticks to hold and yet, his shirt needs to be adjusted so he shoves the apparently cumbersome items at Andre, who has just walked in to watch the show as a friend. Perhaps the accessory-free box really is the ideal instrument for this glam guy. I walk away shaking my head and again tossing glances with Mr. In Color.

We stand in the dark and wait for somebody else to get our friends ready to play. There is too much pre-show. Too much hype. It makes me start to feel uncomfortable. We never get boys ready on the other side of a barrier and then rush them through to the stage while girls scream their heads off. We never do that. I realize I'm okay with moving on, with time progressing as long as it does it a million miles away from here. All of a sudden I want Stereo Skyline back on tour and gone from this place. I don't care when I'll see them next as long as they're happy and they're gone. There's too many cameras flashing right now. Too much hype.

The set begins and the screaming continues. Kevin's voice sounds...well, like he didn't get it out before it swallowed him. He throws his pick into the crowd and there's a very small brawl over it. My jaw drops and I just start laughing as a last resort, turning back to my band boys who are laughing as well. I calm down for the new song because its cute, it's a Kevin song, and I don't know the words or the context. I am grateful not to know cuz another old song and now it's me who's clutching my book. Holding it to my chest like a teddy bear during a nightmare. How can this be a nightmare? It is though. My face is contorted and there is hurt in my eyes as they fight to hold back the works. No longer is time slow in my mind, but rather it speeds around and around visions of every laugh and every smile and every night there ever was with this song before this. I pull my feet in underneath me and fade into the group of black and gray band boys, faces still and egos lowered.

There were moments of the set that soared. Goofs we laughed at, giggles we shared, glances I used to kill for. Choruses that no one could ever contract away from me. A song lives. It lives through heartbreaks and homecomings. It can survive record deals and management contracts. It can even see through bright lights and camera flashes. You can dress it up and fill it out but in the end, a year later, it's still a song. I can't say the same for the people who play it.

Afterwards, after all the pictures and autographs, after Andre stole a million things and stored them in my purse, I catch a glimpse of Kevin sitting on a roadcase outside. I try to slow time with my mind again. I concentrate. The air starts to haze but then- I can't. These stars are restricted. There was a time when they weren't, but now they have gone. A million miles away.



So is this what you really want? Because if it is, then I am happy for you. I am proud to call you my friend and even prouder to understand why you did what you did. Or what you're about to do. But if it isn't, if that pit in your stomach is not from cold macaroni and cheese, then what then hell are you doing? Go, jump again.






...Ricky.
"Better Beginnings Lead To Short-Handed Disasters" by: Stereo Skyline

just that little rush.

I used to love waking up on weekend mornings and listening to my mother muffle her phone conversations. She'd be shuffling around silently starting her day and kicking ass all before the sun rose. It was the same in the many hotels I found myself waking up in over the years; silent shuffles. She didn't want to wake her sleeping babe. But I used to lay there faking sleep, usually only 4 or 5 hours out of sequins and kohl, listening and wondering if she was telling secrets or not. Secrets are silent shuffles. Things that go on before the lights shine. In my experience there are 2 kinds of secrets: those that end up with 20 friends hiding behind sofas in a darkened apartments clutching balloons and wine glasses, and those that end up in broken hearts. Malice. Greed. Boredom.

A secret may be defined as that which is kept from the knowledge of any but the initiated or privileged. Haha. The precision of Webster makes me grin. It is decently known that my scene status operates highly around such secrets. I am often privileged to happenings before they hit the gossip waves or headlines. I guess that's because I write the headlines. Well...here's today's:

Secrets save the sellouts, sicken the scene.

Half of you are rolling your eyes because you think the Long Island music scene is dead and the other half is because you believe you are above it. I can assure you neither are true. In a darkened and cramped Broadway venue last night, a mob of revved up Patent Pending fans moshed my last lingering doubts away. Between confetti and crowd surfing, they shoved non-believers' faces into seeing the one thing that they control; their presence. We Are Here. Unfortunately, it was in this same setting that I learned of the next big bomb to hit my beloved scene. Yes, this information is recorded in the Book, but no it will not be posted here. Not yet. I have my sources, good and bad in their own respects. Negotiable and stubborn as well. Some of them have hearts, which gives me a gap to bargain with. The conditions of my knowledge were; I get told the secret as long as I swear not to do anything to stop it. If I do, the culprits get a Book. I flinched and agreed to it like an alcoholic shaking hands with the Captain. What I heard wore me out instantly. Not him, them, not again.

The other day I could have sworn I was waking up in Phoenix. Something about the way I was laying when I woke up, the way the air was cool around my face but I could sense the humidity outside. That's what knowing a scene secret is like. Being safe at the moment but knowing the heat you're about to enter. It's complicated for me to know what to do. To protect my friends and the 'home' I love so dearly, or to just let it happen and write my headline. This Condition says stay out of it. Set In Color wants me as their partner. Score 24 is like a snow globe that people just love to shake. When I was little and wanted to go out and ride in the winter, my dad always told me to sleep on new fallen snow. If it's still there in the morning, you'll know what to do with it.

This morning I feel like I'm in Clarion. Chandler's whispering on the phone and it feels like it's ok to go back to sleep; someone else has things under control right now. There's time before the headlines have to go to press. There's a few more hours before I have to laden my lies with kohl and aerosol hairspray. In the meantime, I'm listening and trying to make the right calls right here beside you. No matter what I say I'll stay for a while.






....Ricky.
"We All Roll Along" by: The Maine

now i'm hungover...

"Only promise me one thing; don't take me home till I'm drunk. Till I'm very drunk indeed."

Lovedrunk.

So yes, perhaps the new BoysLikeGirls does sound like Jon Bon Jovi in his "Have A Nice Day" days, but who's to say that this was any kind of dilemma or ordeal in the first place. And I do say..."oh shit." I just fell for another song I swore that I wouldn't. Boys, Erica, you're supposed to fall for real boys! Yet basically, I just think non-red fire engines are silly. You feel me?

If you can make any sense of this, then pull up a stool and I'll fix you a mix cuz this is what my head sounds like to me currently. What the hell am I talking about...I took myself on a ride to figure out just that.

I drove to a place that would make me acknowledge how far I've come. It was a place that took exactly an 1/8 of a tank to get to and a place I couldn't find back in the day to save the life of me. I'd never been so apprehensive and clueless before. It's a place next to something now familiar and far from being something I want to remember forever. Why is it, that I know so well how to get to the bad places? I am thrown when In Brooklyn and can be misplaced in East Meadow in a Heartbeat. The places of truer faith are harder to revisit.

Nothing has changed in the place I went to, I realized that almost instantly as I made the left hand turn. In the next instant I realized that neither would I have if I'd stayed still. I stayed still for long enough as it was. It set me on edge when a band from back in this day came on the stereo and I changed it quickly only to hear another one. I ducked behind the air freshener when I thought I saw the house dog and thought, geez, this is too close of an encounter with an infamously undemiseable past.

But because I'd been there I knew where the turn around was. And I left playing the Cab, Miley Cyrus, Hyland, and Mr. Drew. I knew by the sounds of the choruses that things had changed and I had progressed. While back then I jittered to find my way home at a disgusting hour in the morning, I can now hold that ice cream and steer with one hand at an anonymous mile per hour, leaving the other hand to dial duty and diva diction pointing. I actually sound just like Alex Gaskarth...y'all are just never around to hear it! Helena's my main squeeze. That's not changed.


A watched pot never boils. Well, maybe a conspired love never spills over with truth. Maybe it takes two to tango but only one fuck the whole thing up. Maybe there's a reason fire engines are most recognizably red. Maybe there isn't. Maybe there's a song for the confusing bullshit coming out of my head and through my fingers. Maybe Martin and the Boys aren't so "omg, are they serious?" after all. They are serious. These eyes are the exact opposite.

"She's a phony. But! She's a real phony."

We have all done things we don't want to do, we have all been people we don't want to be. But in this case, yes I do in fact think it reputable enough to go with a more dancey feel. I mean why the hell not.







...Ricky.
"Lovedrunk" by: BoysLikeGirls
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UQUi5vWfRoY