According to my writing partner, the new, revised ending works much better. I tend to agree, but it was nice to have a little outside validation. I’m setting my sights on the end of April to have the entirety ready for submission to the first round of agents.
I spent the weekend in Philly again. I went to go see Type-O-Negative with S. Not a good show. First, a band called Carfax Abbey opened. I’m a fan of most of Dancing Ferret’s promotions, and I love Dracula’s Ball. But (big, hairy but), I was not in the least impressed with the lead singer of Carfax Abbey. The dude came out with fake blood streaming from his eyes. He proceeded to alternately screech and yell his lyrics while looking like he was so messed up on drugs that he didn’t know where the hell he was. Could’ve been part of the act, but not likely. Those six songs took an eternity. I’ve never before stood at a show and stared at the ceiling for twenty minutes. It was that bad.
Then, another, better band whose name I can’t recall came on. Their same six-song set moved quickly. Then, it was Type O Negative’s turn. For those of you unfamiliar with the band, Peter Steele is the lead singer (see above photo). He has this bass voice that literally shakes your bones. He’s massive — must be seven feet — with long, shaggy hair and deep-set eyes that he historically keeps rolled back in his head while singing. He was at one time known to hang an upright bass around his neck by a chain and play it like a guitar. So, with the knowledge of this Legend in my expectant little mind, I got a little excited when the lights dimmed and the intro began, a recorded track of the Leave it to Beaver song. Funny.
Something, however, wasn’t right. The roadies hadn’t left the stage. The Leave it to Beaver song replayed again. And again. And again. It was on an incessant loop as the roadies swarmed the stage. It was the second night of the tour after a three-year hiatus. There were bound to be some snags. They crossed off songs on the play list, added new ones and then reprogrammed the entire mess. One grizzled veteran of the stage was kind enough to show us his wrinkled butt. People initially shouted, “You suck!” which is the appropriate greeting for Type O Negative. Then, the shouts became more irritated, more ominous. The Leave it to Beaver song was, surprisingly, grating on everyone’s last nerve.
Finally, they got everything set and the show began. Peter came out with a normal bass. I’d heard he’d stopped carting around the upright, so, that was okay. Everyone’s getting old, I guess. He played two songs, and then motioned to a roadie. The roadie brought out a chair, and Peter parked himself behind a music stand, never to be seen again. We were maybe fifteen feet from him, yet couldn’t see anything but the occasional bob of his massive head. He apologized, of course, and said he had a back problem. Having back issues, I have to give him credit for even showing up. Still, it didn’t lessen my disappointment at not seeing the Legend on stage, but just a dude.
The sets went by fast, and they didn’t come out for an encore. It was an anticlimactic ending to a mediocre day. People milled about the floor of the Trocadero as if confused. Some wondered if it was a test to see who the most loyal fans were — those worthy of an encore. But, then the staff told everyone to beat it, and that was that.
It reminded me of the Rob Zombie concert we went to last fall. Rob — who used to have mangled, makeup caked dreads, a fully made-up face and tons of badass costumes — came out with regular rocker-guy clothes and plain, mouse-brown (albeit long) hair. He didn’t hop around the stage like he used to, but did, on occasion, stand on one of the low amps.
That’s one thing I can say about the lead singer of Carfax Abbey, the dork climbed all the way up on one of the big amps. He was right above us and looked as if he wanted to stage dive. S. and I looked at one another, and — in one of those moments that happens with married couples — said simultaneously, “I’m not catching him.”
But, there was no moshing, and I again avoided getting a boot to the head. As I said before, that tilts the odds in favor of it being an overall winning night. I did, however bring back a cold, which I’ll blame on the dude coughing next to me the entire time. I can’t stand being in a public place when someone coughs. Anyone who’s seen the beginning of Outbreak knows why.
So, S. and I messed around Philly for a couple of days and then carted ourselves back to the eastern shore Saturday night. Today, it’s back to work. I’ve got to implement the minor changes suggested by my writing cohort and then finish working my way through the entirety of the text, making a few changes here and there and ensuring my spelling and grammar is as good as it’s going to get. I also have an idea for another short story, so maybe I’ll bang it out by the end of the week.