Banging the Skins

I got my first guitar when I was twelve.  A friend had access to two Les Paul copies through somebody.  It was like access to explosives.  We each bought one. I think mine is still in the basement back home. I can recall his upstairs bedroom when he pulled it out of the case and showed.  He had gotten the open chords for a "The End" by the Doors down.  He was rightly thrilled and I was intimidated, as it all seemed rather magical. A year later I was jumping around like an idiot at my first concert.  Rockpile was not then, nor now a favorite band.  Nick Lowe and Dave Edmonds though do have a rather unique spot in my rock mapping.  The next concert a few months later, The Clash, in 1979, changed my life. 

My younger one had her first drum lesson today.  I'd caught her sitting at a trap set a few months ago, and actually keeping a reasonably tight beat together.  I know how bad I am and I certainly took notice. I have tried ever since to find her a teacher.  I noticed her teacher's we chat photo has him banging the skins.  He helped to find a teacher for us, a gent he knew from a band here in town.

The band, Demerit, is a hardcore punk outfit that has established a preeminent name for themselves in the Beijing punk scene.  I have only scratched the surface but they came across as tight, convincing.  They reminded me of every band I loved at the age of seventeen.  I knew he and I would have quite a bit to talk about but would it be a good fit for my twelve year-old?   She's an Amy fan, but isn't exactly pleading with me to play ever more Crass for her consumption.  Fortunately, this drummer is a wonderful guy, and a fine pedagogue. He and my daughter communicated in Chinese and immediately struck up a solid rapport. 

I offered to drive him back to the subway, after the lesson.  On autopilot I turned right into a full-on New Convention Center traffic jam.  Well this gave us time to talk bands and lyrics and what it's like to play in Copenhagen vs. Seattle but there was a problem.  The gas tank was way below empty.  I had intended to drop him off and jet straight off to the gas station but now I stared down the strong possibility of running out of gas in a traffic jam and causing infinitely more trouble for everyone, mostly myself. 

Hinting perhaps at my scrappy, hardcore roots, inching along at a few meters per hour, I kept turning the car off every time we came to a rest.  I'm not even sure if that saves fuel or wastes fuel, as you have to kick off the gas every time you start back up.  Regardless I eventually got him dropped off and then rocketed off to the gas station where I made it just in time, I think.  How different it is driving then, moments later, with a full tank of gas. 

Monday, 2/27/17