Full Moon Jam

     I don't remember walking to Full Moon Records that night.  Even though I know we did. It's a record store only a few blocks from our house, on the other side of the park.   I can just see the entire walk there, even at night, when the gardens and houses are shrouded in grey and pitch darkness. I can imagine watching the honeycomb sidewalk with all its moss and weeds peeking through, all passing beneath my feet as we round the park. But I don't remember walking that night.

   
     It was a few years ago, and we had piled into our friend Lynlee's old silver van, headed to a gastro-pub in the next town over, where a certain band was playing. Well, making a small stop on their tour, more like. It wasn't a huge band. It was a few musicians centered around a famous guy from a well known  80's band, who my boyfriend had been fully informing us about since he heard where they were stopping on tour. Which I didn't mind, I loved his musical knowledge. Even more so if it comes out enthusiastically... about a band he knew growing up.

     Well-informed and ready for music, we arrived and sat at a table near the bar. We ordered three beers, and noticed the distinct lack of crowd at this pub. I remember feeling like a gnome in a giant's house, everything felt too large for me, and my friends. Ironwork lanterns give a 'ye olde' feeling to the whole place. Big chairs. The thick heavy tables were stained to match the rest of the wood in the pub, a deep mahogany. Our sweating, golden beer glasses created puddles on the dark mirrored surface.

     The musicians were setting up and they had our attention. You could already tell who was here for the music and whose quiet drinking night just got rudely interrupted. They got all plugged in and sound checked and most of the people near the front window had their eyes on Greg.

     They began playing, somewhat quietly tucked in the corner. But in no time their echoes were ringing out to the back tables. The entire bar was at a privet concert. They flowed excellently together and I remember being impressed that despite the burden of fame trailing these musicians, they were strumming out psychedelic vibes and amazing moods. With swells and trills, we drank to their songs.

     Before too many beverages were consumed, they had finished up and were ready to go. They thanked us and bantered and packed up quietly and quickly.  Drums in cases, breaking down gear, cables, familiarity. Watching someone else do what you and your friends do, and thinking to yourself- and he's famous.

     You'd think he was a huge rock star or something the way these handful of people were clamoring around, as if this was their one lifelong chance to meet an ex-member of their teenage-favorite group. I knew he was famous, but I had to get a history lesson in order to not embarrass myself. I don't remember doing so, I think I stayed fairly quiet and observational. I could see clearly he is more musician than rock-star, since he was playing new music with new people and being himself, and maybe even downplaying any hint of his fans excitement. Cool, calm and quiet, I could dig that.

     I'm not sure when we met Ted, the owner of the record store we ended up at, but he and my boyfriend were talking to the musicians outside for a while. The two biggest fans there they couldn't shake. I think that's when they came up with a plan to meet at Full Moon the next night.

        I know we walked, but I can't remember that part. I know we brought Lynlee again, because she was my variable. I was the control who reacted well with her in this experiment. I remember the night, the record store interior, a glowing yellow over a square room filled with bins of records. I remember being led through a door in the back wall, which was shut behind us as we entered. It seemed like a nook or a hallway, but in this alcove were instruments, musicians, amps, a couch, a desk, a drumset, an organ, tambourines, posters, trinkets, and anything else the modern hobbit, Ted, could fit into his music-hole.
      They were probably already making music when we arrived, but I remember promptly finding my way to a couch through the smoky, crowded space. Greg sat next to me playing bass the whole night. When you're famous for an instrument, the other musicians let you play what you want. I sat there feeling his bass vibrate the whole couch, through my bones all night the music literally flowed through me without me ever needing to play. He thumped away for hours, puffing out smoke and nodding his head to the fingers he walked.

     His guitar player and Ted's guitar player were playing back and fourth, talking. Lynlee played small things like shakers and tambourine. My boyfriend jumped around on instruments, he was on drums (which were in a small loft above us, enhancing the underground effect), he played organ and probably other things I can't recall. We went for hours in that cramped corner, getting familiar with the sounds of each other and the rhythms and vibes and waves of the music. Ethereally etched into my memory are the sounds of a one night only ensemble. The jamming together of each others moods and styles were swirling around our heads, dancing its way past time. The energy we held stopped the outside world from existing and the sharps and flats and chords flew by spinning the clock hands like time travel. Hours were contained in one musical phrase in the blur of a second, like breathing we let the minutes pass without thought or effort.

Luckily the entire affair was recorded and saved. Later we could relive the night we spent hidden away together, slapping strings and cymbals, the organ, the guitars, the songs are spun with magic in our memories. A collective fondness grew in that session, in that room. A dimly lit couch and a small crowd of vagrant bards.
      The musical memory is so strong its overpowering the details pre- and post- jam. I don't remember walking home, either. We got word from the guitar player a few months later that they loved that jam, and that it was their favorite session of after party music-ing on their tour.
 Years later online, he sent us the recording.
No one has forgotten the night at Full Moon.