From "The New Yorker"
ROCK AND POP
Musicians and night-club proprietors live complicated lives; it’s advisable to check in advance to confirm engagements.
You can say that again. A poor band from New Zealand didn't make their appointed date in our living room - twice. The first time, their newly minted old van sprung an oil leak and the second, there was a catastrophic implosion between the band members. It left them all traumatized, so very far from home, and at a loss for how to move on. We're in the midst of a heatwave, and I had to urge the members with the van not to try their maiden voyage up US395.
In some way, the cancellation was a great way to have a wee gathering. I got the chance to dance with dear Karen and Betsey and some new lovely folks moving to town. The first set of songs - led by "How Soon is Now" kicked off what I affectionately call "Emo Hour."
Stephen took to calling me Yoko - because I got involved with a band, and they broke up. Hey, he's Brazillian and isn't saddled with all the PC stuff and for that, I can roll with the name.
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