To my amazement, I鈥檓 with the band
It鈥檚 10 o鈥檆lock on a Tuesday night. Everyone sensible I know is home, either already in bed or about to be. But I鈥檓 hurrying down a quiet street, balancing a 40-pound cymbal bag on my shoulder. Aiming at the one illuminated building on an otherwise dark block, I slip down a small alley and pound on an unmarked door.
The pierced and tattooed bouncer who opens it gives me a once-over. I look more like someone going to a 鈥淒ownton Abbey鈥�-watching party than the kind of hipster patron he鈥檚 used to seeing at his bar. But he鈥檚 not surprised. He鈥檚 seen me before.
鈥淚t鈥檚 the drummer鈥檚 wife,鈥� he says with a smile, swinging the door open wide.聽
How did I get here? How did I 鈥� the daughter of two English teachers, who grew up in a household mostly excited about fat Victorian novels and Broadway show tunes 鈥� end up attached to a rock band?
Blame it on love, dear reader. I well remember the first time I met John. I knew he was a graphic designer with lots of good ideas. I鈥檇 also heard that he was a rock musician who lived with 20-plus guitars and three drum sets.
He wore op-art glasses and spiky silver jewelry. I immediately filed him under the mental heading of Way Too Cool for Me. So when he asked me out I was flattered but bemused. Total mistake on his part, I figured.聽
Turns out, I was the one who was wrong. We started smiling at each other that afternoon and somehow never stopped. A few months later, we were married.
Which leads us to tonight, to this bar in Cambridge, Mass., where my husband is setting up his drum kit and I鈥檝e got a job to do.聽
I leap onto the crowded stage and unzip the cymbal bag. I鈥檝e learned how to screw and unscrew the wing nuts that hold the large metal disks in place, how to cushion them with small rounds of black felt, and how to fit it all together just loosely enough. I know which is the crash cymbal and which is the ride, and I give each a final adjustment as I go.
I drop to the floor and they鈥檙e ready. 鈥淥ne, two, three, four,鈥� John calls out in his slightly hoarse rock-drummer-voice. And they鈥檙e off.聽
I have a fierce maternal passion for each of this band鈥檚 tunes. After all, they were all more or less born and bred in my basement (aka the band鈥檚 studio). I鈥檝e heard them rehearsed, revised, and re-rehearsed until I find myself humming them on and off throughout most of my waking hours. They have become part of the very rhythm of my life.
I鈥檓 not alone in my intense, insider passion for this band. I鈥檝e got two fellow band spouses. Billy is a researcher at a major pharmaceutical company and Lynn a history professor at a prestigious New England university. All three of us have PhDs 鈥� a first in rock history? 鈥� and we would probably make a heck of a 鈥淛eopardy!鈥� team.
But tonight such things are not significant. What matters right now is the music. It鈥檚 filling the tiny bar and we鈥檙e swaying, we鈥檙e clapping, we鈥檙e calling out between songs. I鈥檓 singing all the lyrics at the top of my lungs 鈥� only the band members know them better than I do 鈥� and fighting a powerful desire to play air guitar.聽
It鈥檚 strange because everything about this moment undermines some of the things that I think I know best about myself: I hate staying up late. I don鈥檛 like loud music. Grunge bars creep me out. And yet somehow, right here and right now, in this most wildly unlikely of settings, I am deeply and profoundly happy.
Only too soon, the set is over. I wish for an encore, but it鈥檚 not going to happen tonight. I鈥檓 back onstage again, unscrewing the wing nuts, easing all the Zildjians back into their traveling bag, helping to break down the drum kit, corralling the various mikes and cords that will come home with us.
In an incredibly short time John and I are back in our car, beginning the moonlit trip home.
As we glide through sleepy streets, we鈥檙e slowly transitioning back into a very different place 鈥� a place in which we will ask each other such questions as: 鈥淲ho鈥檚 going to walk the dog?鈥� and 鈥淗ow early must we set the alarm?鈥澛�
But I鈥檓 not quite ready for that yet. For just a few minutes more, I want to inhabit this dreamy rock 鈥檔鈥� roll adventure.
It鈥檚 been one of the best 鈥� and certainly the most unexpected 鈥� gifts of all my life.
