Gigantic.57

Worlds Collide

My Mom and Pat had never left the country before. Escorting them on their first trip to the UK felt significant. They were adults, of course, but I still felt responsible for them.

There was a strong tailwind, it made for a bumpy ride but a quick flight. It was effortless to guide them through immigration and customs, I could do this stuff in my sleep at this point.

They’d arranged for a flat in South Kensington. Safe and central, but small and dingy like a student apartment. Katie met us there. She brought the latest Time Out so they could see what there was to do. It also happened to have my first write-up as a solo musician. It was official.

It was late, but we all piled into Katie’s Mini like a clown car and she gave them the most fabulous nighttime tour. Piccadilly, Trafalgar, Big Ben, Westminster, St. Paul’s, Tower Bridge, Buckingham Palace. If the Mini had shock absorbers, they were not up to the task, but it was still glorious.

I didn’t feel great about leaving Mom and Pat in a rented flat, but I guessed they’d be okay. I headed with Katie back to her place in workaday Islington. She and Sean had a fold-out futon in their sitting room which suited me just fine. It was becoming my home-away-from-home.

Brighton

I was sitting in Katie and Sean’s kitchen, calling various friends to let them know I was in town. I’m not sure what station was on, they were playing a piano version of Flaming Lips’ Waiting For Superman which segued into another piano song which sounded oddly familiar.

That’s me! I shouted to the kettle, realizing it was a radio version of Tonite It Shows we’d recorded at some point.

It was weird. The guys were all back in Kingston, the tour was most definitely over. But here in the UK, Mercury Rev was still going. It’s like it had a life of its own.

I checked in with my Mom and Pat, they were off to the National Portrait Gallery and to see the tree lighting in Trafalgar Square. They’d be fine. Later in the day, Katie and I finally got on the road. Much of the drive was just trying to get out of London, then a small assortment of motorways to Brighton, which was all lit up and lived up to its name.

The Lift Club was on the second floor above a pub. When we walked in, besides the guy who ran the place, the only other person was Mark Mulcahy, crouched on the small stage fiddling with his amplifier. I was opening up for him.

I’d seen Miracle Legion play at least five times, but he and I just started talking like two musicians on the same bill. At some point I let him know I was a huge fan, but we kept talking like it was no big deal. We swapped cds and phone numbers.

“You should move to Springfield,” he said to me.

Either he’d taken an instant liking to me, or he told everyone to move to Springfield.

He asked if I wanted to join him and his friends for a drink. We headed to another place a few doors down.

“What do you drink before a show?” I asked him. Mark was a real singer, I was looking for pro-tips.

“Beer,” he said. “I only like wine with dinner.”

“Beer doesn’t make you phlegmy?”

“It really doesn’t matter what you have before. So long as it’s not a big slice of pizza.”

One of Mark’s friends came in and sat down with us, big American guy.

“You meet your opening act yet?” the guy asked Mark, sidling up conspiratorially, the words opening act almost in air quotes, like there was some inside joke in the air.

“This is Adam,” Mark said to him, then introduced me to his friend David, but I already recognized him, he was the singer from Pere Ubu.

Maybe the joke had something to do with me being in some Johnny-come-lately pop band, I’d never know. At any rate, the cringy feeling it stirred soon drifted away. If the singer from Pere Ubu was aware of my existence to the extent that he was cracking a joke about me, I was probably doing something right.

I must’ve gotten lost in the conversation, when I looked at the time I realized I was five minutes late for my own show. I ran back to the venue. I couldn’t go over because there was a strict curfew in Brighton, but everything was cool.

Mark and David and their other friends filtered in shortly after I started playing. They sat right where I could see them.

When I’d first sang 70s cover songs back in Iowa City, I felt like I needed to make people laugh in order to keep their attention. Over the years since, I’d been writing more “serious” songs, which I’d been filtering into each set, but hadn’t quite shaken that sense that if I didn’t keep a crowd laughing, I would lose them.

Knowing that Mulcahy was going to be watching me, this was the first time I’d planned an entirely “serious” set. The crowd was up for it. Pin drop situation during each song, then really gave it up in between. This was a turning point show.

Mark, of course, was amazing. I’ve always thought of him as a conjuror. He starts a show merely singing, which with a voice like his would be more than good enough, but then at some point he goes somewhere, and you just follow him. It’s otherworldly.

After the show we all went to yet another bar. David turned out to be super nice to talk with, now that he’d seen me perform it was like that joke never happened.

Mulcahy, meanwhile, in addition to being friendly, had been sizing me up. He said something about maybe I should play keyboard with him.

“Can you play?” he asked, which was cowboy talk for, yeah, we all know your band is in the charts, but can you actually play?

I can talk cowboy too.

“I can play,” I said.

Within two years I’d be playing with him.

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