tuesday (gameday)
Last night I performed with my ensemble. This is what I do on the day of a concert.
I get out of bed around nine after shutting off all of my alarms: the alarm at 8, the alarm at 8:15, and the alarm at 8:33. I remember that the cleaning lady, Adriana, is coming at ten. I take my dog out so he can pee on things and think about how he will spend the night at a doggie hotel because I can’t take care of him in the afternoon.
Actually what I think about is that I could take care of him in the afternoon, but I would have to run back from the concert, and I want to go out after the concert. Well, I want to force myself to sit or stand near a merch table and try to sell things, then go out. And if I leave him at 3pm to get to soundcheck on time and don’t get back til 9 or 10, that’s not only a long time to leave him alone but also means he misses his afternoon outing and gets dinner really late. The last time I did this was also the last time he messed up the house. I don’t see this as a coincidence.
The last time I did this I was getting late lunch/early dinner with a coworker. She is Mexican but from the rich hills to the west. Her father had given her a ride into one of the most gentrified neighborhoods of the city because he didn’t want something — something — to happen to her. We went to Rosetta, a restaurant famous for workplace harassment, tip stealing, wage theft, the whole nine yards. The food is pretty good but now you can go to Vacaciones instead, where the food is better and they don’t have a reputation for treating everyone like trash. One of the chefs is really hot too but unfortunately (for me) heterosexual.
I don’t remember what we ate, I remember how she knew the waiter’s name and how the waiter played along even though he clearly didn’t remember who she was. I think this is part of the job of a waiter is to pretend to know your clients so that they can perform their importance for their guests, dates, and companions. It is a service they provide. I remember she was disgusted by the children trying to sell us candies and that she invited me to Christmas in a way that suggested that having Christmas dinner with her family would be an absolute nightmare. Some other work friends took her up on it and confirmed that it was indeed an absolute nightmare.
Anyway I booked Nacho a night at the dog hotel and didn’t feel that guilty about it, not like I might have in the past. But I still felt a little guilty, a little sad that he wouldn’t be there to greet me when I got home, so I spent some time looking at him while I made coffee and ate fruit. He was extremely excited to see Adriana, who is one of his favorite people. She likes seeing him too, she always says he’s better behaved than her children.
I wanted to make sure everything was ready for the concert before we went on a walk. I went through the parts I had, made some extra copies, made a post on Instagram, maybe two. I tried on the pants my friend made for me and realized that there was a more than 0% chance of them falling down and thought about how I was going to tell him, I love all this and I think you’re very talented but I can’t wear this. In the end I told him that, pretty much exactly those words. I thought about what I was going to wear and decided on my current uniform of black mesh shirt with black balloon pants and a black jacket/kimono thing.
After I made copies I sent a bunch of emails. I uploaded assets to folders for the publicist I’m working with for my quartet release in September and batted away the voices of guilt and ridicule that berate me for not hiring a publicist for the last quartet record, or the last two ensemble records. I sat down for a while and listened to these voices and also the voices that tell me I’ll never be able to make money again in my life. Then I stood up and grabbed copies as they flew out of my printer/copy machine, which is perched high in the closet in the room I use as my office. As I did this I felt a sharp pain in my back, which had been mostly quiet since I stretched it out on Monday. Oops, I thought.
Around 3 I took Nacho to the dog hotel. It was raining, which felt appropriate. There’s a bag I usually take Nacho’s things in when he goes to pension or to the dog hotel and he knows which one it is. He likes the idea of seeing his friends so when we get in the hall he is already barking and whining with excitement. When we get around he’s looking for Cesar’s car, which he recognizes now. For a year and some I dated a guy who drove a Suzuki Ignis and Nacho would check every single Suzuki Ignis we came across to check if his friend was stuck in there. Anyway Cesar wasn’t there so we went to the dog hotel where a guy with a neck tattoo received him. He’s cute to be honest, his neck tattoo is of a spider or a bursting star.
I stopped by the store to buy water and plastic cups. A while ago I bought a bottle of lechugilla, which as far as I understand is a sotol variant, or it’s an agave from the north, or it’s a kind of sotol, what do I know? I bought it thinking I would open it when someone paid me to do something. I decided I would just bring it to the show instead. I got home, which always feels so empty without him, texted my neighbors who play in my ensemble to see if they wanted to share an uber. I took a shower, put on perfume, packed:
8 sets of scores
1 trumpet, including valve oil & mouthpiece
10 each of my quartet CD and the first ensemble CD
1 liter bottle of water
About 10 plastic cups
1 music stand
I put on the shirt, thought I looked fat, took it off, paced around, put it back on, thinking of Paco telling me it was very me. Hopefully I’ll see him soon.
There was traffic on the way down, which was not surprising. It’s faster to take the train to the Fonoteca but I didn’t want to wreck my back again carrying all that shit. On the way we talked about Xenakis because CEPROMusic, a state-sponsored contemporary music ensemble that my neighbor plays in, is going to present a piece by him on Friday at the Biblioteca Vasconcelos. The three of us sat in the back seat, knees touching.
When we got there I warmed up, Xavier laid down, Ramón went out to smoke. As I warmed up Xavier realized he forgot his mouthpiece and got on the train back. This wasn’t stressful, I figured he’d be gone for an hour and that it would take a least an hour before we were actually ready to soundcheck. Over the next hour everyone else arrived and started setup. Once most of us were there the sound crew started setting up mics and cameras. The crew referred to everyone as maestro or maestra, which I don’t like but decided not to mention. I imagined myself saying, call me Jacob I’m the master of no one, then I thought of the Netflix series that has a similar name, then I thought, nah. It’s kind of nice to be maestro for the afternoon.
For a while Ramón and Alina and Sofi were practicing something. I stood by Alina and tried to remember why I wrote what I wrote and finally remembered, it’s the fourth part of the set where a group plays a twelve-tone row that gets interrupted by itself more and more frequently. I think it’s the inverted retrograde version of itself but I can’t remember exactly. While they’re doing this the drummer and bassist are playing a line that gets slower and slower and I’m reading an essay, basically. A blog post, basically. I don’t think I’ve ever seen people rehearse my music so I took a video.
Before the concert Xavier said, I’m feeling kind of dizzy so if I go off stage that’s why, don’t worry about me, keep going. Before the concert I said, I want to play for an hour so let’s really try to sink into the material, the space, and so on. We drank most of the bottle of lechugilla between the eight of us.
During the concert Xavier left the stage to vomit in the bathroom. He spent the rest of the show in the green room. The concert felt good, like we were sinking into it. I could feel the room breathing together by the third part, where we do a version of “A Flower is a Lovesome Thing” by Billy Strayhorn. On the recording, which will come out someday, I speak-sing it. Now I sing sing it, which feels better. Or feels heavier, I don’t know. That’s when I started to cry.
The few songs I’ve written have references to a lot of people. I’ve never really written a song for someone, except in high school when I wrote a song for my prom date. My songs are about a more generalized someone that can fluctuate. But a lot of the set is about a former friend who I have been feeling very angry at lately and about my most recent ex, who I still think about often. I imagine us meeting someday by accident and:
HIM: Por qué me bloqueaste?
ME: Porque pensé que me iba a ayudar a superarte.
Anyway save it for Netflix. The show felt good, a guy with a very strange accent bought a CD and we went to celebrate at El Colmo in Coyoacan. Someone asked me if I knew what El Colmo meant and I said yes, it’s like la cima, right? Like the peak, the highest point? I looked it up on WordReference to back myself up.
Noooooo, my friend said. No. It’s like…
I took a guess. Is it like, you’re totally fed up with something? Like you’re, ughhhhh. I made a sound, uggghhh.
Yes! my friend said.