there's no jumping in the town square a.k.a sonic youth
I can't remember what year it was. 199_ or 200_ or 200_. i walked into Mystery Train Records on a sludge-sweat, atrophied august(?) afternoon and the loveable snark behind the counter started yelling, "what the fuck are you doing in here? go to the commom! Thurston Moore is playing on the fucking grass on the fucking common and I..."
I didn't say hello or goodbye. i walked as fast as i could (without looking deranged. i think.) across the block to the town common.
Sure enough, setting up on the damp grass was thurston moore (vox/guitar); chris...something. who also greeted a friend and i for our appointment at Ecstatic Yod, a record store partially owned by thurston. he let us mill and didn't scoff when we took away our meager purchases. at some point later on he would explain the joys of teenage jesus and the jerks to me at an otherwise horrible party. (drums); two older guys who i didn't and still don't have the encyclopedic musical knowledge to identify (horns and bass?); and what appeared to be an 11-year-old boy (saxaphone).
Luckily, someone had the sense to bring a big piece of plastic sheeting for the damp grass. after looking around for other completely shocked and fucking delighted faces (4) among the thin crowd, I took a seat on the clear plastic next to a 7,8 maybe 9-year-old girl (she was tall).
The hummed, crackling, spastic sounds that filled amherst's main street that day were fit for the cloud cover that hovered above them. not the kind that makes you feel as if you're trudging through mud all day. the kind that's a nap after a long stretch of sunny summer days when even a layer of sunscreen feels like a wool sweater and the thunderstorms never seem to come over the hills.
Halfway through the set, while i was rhythmically bopping my head on the clear tarp, the twiggy little girl at my side got onto her knees, clasped her hands together to form a purse-winning prize fighter's champion-fist, shaking it forward and swaying dramatically, like a lost catholic, and chanting "whYY whYY whYY" along with the band's droning vocals.
That little girl may or may not have been coco hayley gordon moore. but i like to think it was and if a therapist ever asked me to find a 'happy place' it would be watching that little girl do exactly what i felt but didn't have the guts to do.
In other words...she's rad.
I didn't say hello or goodbye. i walked as fast as i could (without looking deranged. i think.) across the block to the town common.
Sure enough, setting up on the damp grass was thurston moore (vox/guitar); chris...something. who also greeted a friend and i for our appointment at Ecstatic Yod, a record store partially owned by thurston. he let us mill and didn't scoff when we took away our meager purchases. at some point later on he would explain the joys of teenage jesus and the jerks to me at an otherwise horrible party. (drums); two older guys who i didn't and still don't have the encyclopedic musical knowledge to identify (horns and bass?); and what appeared to be an 11-year-old boy (saxaphone).
Luckily, someone had the sense to bring a big piece of plastic sheeting for the damp grass. after looking around for other completely shocked and fucking delighted faces (4) among the thin crowd, I took a seat on the clear plastic next to a 7,8 maybe 9-year-old girl (she was tall).
The hummed, crackling, spastic sounds that filled amherst's main street that day were fit for the cloud cover that hovered above them. not the kind that makes you feel as if you're trudging through mud all day. the kind that's a nap after a long stretch of sunny summer days when even a layer of sunscreen feels like a wool sweater and the thunderstorms never seem to come over the hills.
Halfway through the set, while i was rhythmically bopping my head on the clear tarp, the twiggy little girl at my side got onto her knees, clasped her hands together to form a purse-winning prize fighter's champion-fist, shaking it forward and swaying dramatically, like a lost catholic, and chanting "whYY whYY whYY" along with the band's droning vocals.
That little girl may or may not have been coco hayley gordon moore. but i like to think it was and if a therapist ever asked me to find a 'happy place' it would be watching that little girl do exactly what i felt but didn't have the guts to do.In other words...she's rad.
posted by Carla at 3:15 AM
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