Tuesday, June 22, 2004
The big news was The Album Leaf playing an in-store performance this very evening, 7 P.M. I had a vague recognition of The Album Leaf, lumping them in with The Promise Ring, The Postal Service and The Fire Theft as crucial indie rock bands that I couldn’t get very excited about, much less tell apart. I messaged my roommate and carpool hostage Dave, facetiously suggesting it might be worth missing the gym to attend. While I see the value of the gymnasium, I loathe the idea of missing out on life to go there. But, this was just some indie rock band, a local one at that. Whatever, I didn’t really care.
Eventually the workday came to an end, and I steeled my nerve to go to the gym. I was particularly despondent, but expected the endorphins from exercise might carry me through another dreadful evening.
At this point, Dave says: Since you’re going to the in-store, I told my girlfriend I’d go with her to the gym.
I reply: Oh.
I guess my deadpan sarcasm was not evident, and Dave thought I was really excited to see The Album Leaf. No problem, I thought, bitter at myself more than anything. Realizing the miscommunication, he invites me to go to the gym with them. Can’t mess with Dave and Nicole’s together-time, I dangerously rationalize. I’ll skip the gym and just lose myself in lonely oblivion. Sure, I can handle that.
But, as it happens we pull in to the homestead at around 6:40 P.M. Without giving myself a chance to think, I lace up my boots for walking, and get my trudge on. Live music is on, and I’m there. Live life – but no way am I buying any CDs. I gotta cut down big time.
The place packs up, no foolin’. The Album Leaf are heroes, and play. They’re sitting down, and even though I am near the front, I can’t even see them! Luckily, there is a video art component being projected onto a white sheet to look at. Still, that doesn’t distract me from noticing that the band is incredibly good! It’s like the aesthetic of a slow, noodling Radiohead instrumental, carried on for entire songs. It reminded me of my secret passions for instgrumental post-rock experts Pele and Don Caballero, without the immediacy of ever rocking out. Instrumental cinematic textures, sequencer clicks with a live drummer, plus an amped up violin, meandering guitar – completely orthogonal to the mainstream. It’s rejuvenating – there are no "hits" or even near-misses to grab on to – just instrumental moodsmanship executed crisply and with sincere devotion. The performance went much longer than your typical in-store, maybe an hour. 120 people packed into the friendly confines of a tiny neighborhood record store, all dressed as if indie rock was a science and they were doctoral candidates, and they were all transfixed. It was truly a special moment in time, with me isolated in the middle of it all.
After it’s all over, I battle through the throngs to grab a drink at the local bar across the way. I drink alone at the bar, gin and tonic after gin and tonic, watching some of the baseball game and letting it all soak in. Adam Eaton is pitching a gem. I feel quite content, and soon I feel quite drunk. I even grab a bite at a local taco shop – a night on the town in my little neighborhood – before stumbling back to M-Theory, the record shop. Obviously, I buy the CD. You knew that was coming.
My trudge in reverse, I head home. I flick on the TV for two pitches of extra innings, and the Padres win on a Mark Loretta fluke nubber. It’s such perfect timing, I almost weep.
Still seriously buzzed, I throw on the new one from The Album Leaf – and fire up the word processor…
