Arctic Monkeys

"You can't always get what ya want ... but if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need."

-The Rolling Stones, You Can't Always Get What You Want





To start the first half of Monday Sept. 28th, I would be hard pressed to find any difference between it and Wednesday Sept. 23rd. I awoke at 8 a.m. to open the cafe. Days blend together there. Time loses all meaning. I portion out my shift to help pass the time. I get two 15 minute paid breaks and half an hour for lunch. The periods in-between I tend to zone out; I'm there, but my mind is always somewhere, anywhere else but behind the counter of this shitty little bookstore coffee shop.

"Here's your double, tall, soy, peppermint white mocha with whip, have a great day!" Did I mention I fucking hate that job?

However, this is where the two days' similarities ended because on that fine day, after getting off at 4, I found the fridge stragglers to be Miller Light (no Heineken?). ML is definitely not my first, second, or third choice. As a matter of fact, I would never choose that piss water unless it was free. I've grown to love the Pale Ales. Sierra Nevada comes to mind. But any beer left in our fridge, unclaimed for 24-hours is officially house beer, and therefore, free to inhabitant of said house. I cracked a long neck and made the most of it. Beggars can't be choosers.

Over the weekend I had talked Georgina into accompanying me to Arctic Monkeys. Abby was working, as were the roommates, so I needed someone to go with is all. After the Kings, I knew the days Abby and I were together would be numbered anyway, so I shouldn't have felt guilty. As far as Georgina goes, we are just friends. Her self proclaimed weakness was concerts, and I knew this when I asked her to go. She would have been down no matter who was playing, within reason (Wu-Tang? Probably not), but just the same I was really hoping she would come. To be honest, I'd had a thing for her since the day I met her. You could call it a crush, maybe ... but more on that later.

A Monday wasn't the most convenient time for her to come to Columbus. She was still in school an hour and half away, and she had classes the day of and the day following the concert. None the less, she said she would come, and then head straight back after the show. It seemed a bit much to me, but she insisted she had done it many times before, and it was no big thing. I was just glad to have her keeping me company. We always seemed to have a good time together, and she was in need of good times lately. She had recently ended a semi-serious relationship, and I was one of the people she had gone to when it was all said and done.

One night when she was in town, we crossed paths at the Short North Tavern. We had some drinks, took some pics, chatted, and hung out with friends. She was still seeing her guy at that point. She had even left the bar early to watch him play somewhere else. As far as I knew, they were all smooth sailing. Apparently this was not the case. The next morning I got a text from her saying "It's done." I found it a bit odd. Why would she make it a point to tell me as soon as it happened? I figured our mutual friend Janis (who introduced us) would be the one she would want to speak with. Maybe she tried her first and hadn't gotten a response.

I asked how it went down, and she said they had talked and decided to call it off. She was finishing school and her family had moved out west, so she had no idea what she would be doing, or where she would be living over the next six months. One thing was for sure, after our previous conversations, she would probably not be staying in Ohio. He was contemplating a move to Chicago, to purse his music. Either way, life was taking the two down different paths.

Upon getting this news, feelings I had for her initially, which I was forced to bury, because she was seeing someone, burst to the surface. Technically I was seeing someone at the time, and I'm no scum sucker, reaching for an easy rebound (usually), so I wasn't trying to hook up with her. I just wanted to be her friend and help raise her spirits. Whatever happened next was up to fate. Of course, deep in my subconscious I'm sure I knew how I wanted things to turn out.

We talked fairly often via text for the next week or so. I figured going to see Arctic Monkeys would be good for her; to get her mind off things ... and a good chance for me to see if there was any kind of connection between us other than platonic. This was the first time we were going to hang out one-on-one. I didn't have anything drastic planned. Just to go in with the intention of feeling her out (not feeling her up) looking for that spark, that may or may not be there.

Newport Music Hall would be opening its doors at 7. We had planned on getting there around 8, including the walk from my apartment, which wasn't bad at all, about six blocks tops. I was about five MLs deep when she got there, around 6:45. She wore her short hair down. Its auburn color reminded me of the fall. Along with the hue, it's general look of organized disarray always made me think of piled leaves scattering themselves on the wind before they could be raked into bags. She had on a cream tank, lacey sheer blouse with a purple flower print, jeans, and brown calf high moccasins. Her familiar, mischievous grin brought out her freckles. She looked great as she always did, without seeming to make any effort whatsoever. I cursed and praised her for this talent in my mind many times. We smoked the little pot we had combined, she had a beer while I finished the rest and filled my flask with the last of my bourbon. We hit the road with time to spare.

Security was lax, to say the least, in comparison to the Shott. All we had to do was show our ticket, and we were in. No geriatric pat down. After walking up the entrance ramp you are greeted by a large marble entryway with connected twin stair cases. The thing that always strikes me the most about the building is the sense of history one gets when walking in. It was built in 1923, originally as a movie house/cabaret theater with a second story balcony. It now has the honor of being the "Longest Continually Running Rock Club" in the country; at least according to the website ... http://www.promowestlive.com/. It is also in great need of renovations. The Marble looked dingy and aged; it smelled musty and most of the walls were painted black to hide wear and tear, but I was still crazy about the place. It had been awhile, but I was glad to be back.

The first floor area is very intimate; bigger then a dive bar but definitely not an arena. A tweener sized venue. All around the hall, which is also painted black, Gold Leaf adorns the trim and crumbling moldings. An ancient and massive gas chandelier, which has since been changed to electric, hangs from the ceiling. The place really wasn't in great shape but beautiful just the same; like a classic car that has seen better days but still runs good.

After discarding half of a purchased bottled Coke into a plastic cup, I poured in the Beam to taste. My game face was now on. The buzz had crept up on me because the weed we smoked wasn't the greatest, but like most mid level cannabis, the high hits you much later. Four puffs and you feel nothing, thanks in part to tolerance. You frantically think about making some calls. Maybe you can find more before it's too late, because dammit, you're not high and Arctic Monkeys beckon! You realize there's no time; you'll never make it if you go on a weed run now. Sometime later, when you're sipping your alcohol laced beverage, you feel a tingling sensation. Well ... what's that now? It's my old friend THC creeping through my bloodstream and into my brain. Guess I was wrong about the pot. Wrong indeed.

We weaved our way through the growing crowd on the lover level until we found room by a pillar. I offered her some of my drink but she politely refused, since she would be driving back to school that night. Understandable but I secretly wished she would just blow off her class and rage the night away with me. This would not be the case. The warm-up band was from L.A. and called themselves The Like. They were all female and had that pop rock/60's psychedelic thing going on with a slightly bubbly vocal. It was Josie and the Pussycats on a permanent acid trip, minus the lame costumes. The lead singer and lead guitar player were pretty, especially the former. She was petites, brunette, and possibly Italian but it was hard to tell under her oversized beret. The gal on the keys was tall and pool cue thin with cropped carrot red hair. She was wearing a throw back black tube dress with tassels. Really, they were all attractive, except for the drummer who I felt wasn't all 'she' appeared to be.

"They're pretty good," I said to Georgina. "I thought they were all women but I think the drummer is actually a man in drag." I pointed it out: facial structure, apparent Adam's apple, lack of or very small breasts, possible five o'clock shadow; a man or the ugliest woman I had ever seen. Maybe it was just bad lighting or me being drunk, but after thinking about it, I couldn't name one kick ass female drummer (Karen Carpenter, Debbie Peterson of the Bangles, Meg White of White stripes? ... because I'm not totally prepared to say they are all 'gifted').

"No way," she said, standing on her tippy toes in effort to see over the crowd. We sifted through until we got a better view. "Could be, it's hard to tell."

During the break, before the boys took the stage, we made our way up to the balcony to get a better spot. On this level they had seating roped off for the VIPs and people who must have paid more then me. We weaseled our way up to the rail and since Georgina was a good head shorter than me seeing over her was no problem. Cocktail number one finished, I dumped the rest of my bourbon into another half full plastic Coke bottle. I took a sip and almost choked; bit strong.

With their tune ups completed and the crowd beginning to shimmer, the grade school friends from Sheffielf England came out swinging: Alex Turner on lead vocal/guitar, Jamie Cook lead guitar, Matt Helders on Drums, Nick O'Malley bass. The strobe lights pulsed, and they kicked it off with Brainstorm, a fast paced, breakneck romp that had everyone in a tizzy. Faster and faster they strummed until it seemed their guitars might catch fire ... amazing tempo start to finish. Their set up was very simple; a few lights, large speakers that were adequate and unobtrusive, a couple guitars and an impressive drum kit. Most noticeable was the amount of space they had. They seemed less cluttered in comparison to the previous band. That and the sound! They changed pace from song to song effortlessly and the skinny lead singer's thick British accent was perfect on the mike.

In-between songs, however, I couldn't understand a word that was coming out of his mouth. A few 'thank yous' and 'how's everyone doing' I imagine but it was very hard to tell. He looked like a youthful cross between Robert Plant and John Lennon. His long, tussled chestnut hair was perfectly styled and he had beatles-esque, round lensed shades on. He completed the look with a leather jacket. They all had long hair, except the drummer. It was much longer then the photos I saw online, no doubt because I'd only seen old pictures. This made me realize I was definitely a rookie when it came to Arctic Monkeys. I had a lot to learn and that night was a crash course. They blazed into song after song with little or no to-do. I regret no doing more homework. All the songs off the new album Humbug were as foreign to me as the dudes playing them, but both were intriguing none the less. On one newer track Jamie pulled out a tuxedo inspired axe and played a trippy solo with a finger slide.

"Oh, well lookit tha," Alex said afterward, as he pointed out into the crowd. "It's a Union Jack. Cheers."

While he guitar freestyled on the intro to Florescent Adolescent I noticed that Georgina was thoroughly enjoying herself. Periodically she would reach over the balcony with her camera to take pics, and her trademark grin was sported constantly. Pretty cute, not gonna lie. Although smaller, the crowd seemed to have equal or greater energy compared to KOL. The fans also seemed to be more cohesive as a group. Everyone was equally hyped for each song as opposed to some being more into it than others. There were scattered hipsters of course, but for the most part everyone looked the same, nondescript; a tribute to their ability to appeal to the common man/woman. On The View from the Afternoon I couldn't help but feel a situational connection to the lyrics. They warned listeners about the downfalls of anticipation, and how it often sets you up for disappointment ... I'll come back to that later.

Often waxing poetic, it really felt like they were telling you a story, as an individual, like you were just sitting down at the bar with them. Even the occasionally lengthy song titles seemed appropriate to their style. They were rock 'n' roll conversationalists. The crowd's energy continued to grow and grow. Multiple crowd surfers sailed the treacherous seas of Newport's first floor. Our view was stupendous for catching glimpses of harsh wipe outs. At one point two of the girls from the warm up band ran from off stage and leaped out onto the crowd to catch a wave for themselves.

Everyone went shithouse nuts for I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor and they followed it up with Still Take You Home. After the customary theatrics, they came out for an encore and played an excellent cover I didn't recognize but by this point I was pretty much wasted. In retrospect, too drunk to be hanging out with someone who wasn't drinking, but Georgina didn't seem phased at all.

Mission completed, we hoofed it back to her car. She gave me the cash for her ticket, lent me both Phoenix cds (which we discussed on the walk back), and took off. That was that. I can't lie. I was a little disappointed, but she pretty much had no choice with an early class looming. I'm not sure I really know what I wanted to happen or expected to happen but I couldn't help but play the 'what if' game. What if she had decided to come out to the bar for a bit? Probably nothing much; some laughs and good conversation, but it was fun to let my mind wander, doing my best to steer it clear of the gutter.

I didn't have time to dwell on it for long. I soon realized I had forgotten my keys and was locked out until Tony got off work at 11. Sweeeeeeet. I had a missed call from my buddy Cliff during the show and was lucky enough to catch him on the first try. He picked me up outside my place and we cruised, smoking out of an apple high school style. We talked about his band's up coming show, opening for Talib Kweli, which was very exciting. He had tickets for some friends and me to get in free. We also talked a little about Georgina, and how I was pretty sure the spark I've mentioned before was not there for her.

How appropriate; Abby wanted me, I wanted Georgina. That Karma, she really is a bitch. Being stuck in the friendship zone isn't the worst thing in the world though. Assuming we are good as is and it was a bad time for her anyway (graduation coming up, a possible long distance move) was good enough for me. At least telling myself these things helps nurse my bruised ego back to health. Of course, I don't hold grudges. I've liked plenty of girls who didn't like me and vice versa. It's all in the nature of this game we call life. The most important thing to me is her friendship, not matter what happens next.

Saying goodnight to Cliff, I picked up the DP Dough I ordered while driving (Bacon, Chicken, Ranch ... you know this man!), and made my way upstairs, feeling less drunk, but very high now. I couldn't sleep, so I began hammering out this piece even though in the back of my mind I knew it would be more difficult to write than most. Talking or writing about your feelings is tough, unless your drunk of course. After one page I realized I wasn't getting anywhere and crawled into bed, figuring I would be better off waiting until I was sober and I had more time to think.

-J.R.