Sir Garth

"Hey! Mr. Tambourine man, play a song for me, I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to."

-Bob Dylan, Mr. Tambourine man





My life downtown was becoming routine in the best way possible. I usually got off work around 10 p.m., had a drink or a smoke, and relaxed. Sometimes I went out if the mood struck me. My roommates Tony and Shooter both worked day jobs, so going out on a weekday night wasn't for them. I, on the other hand, didn't work until 5 p.m. the next day so I was feeling froggy. I called some buds to make the jump.

I met Georgina through some mutual friends. We hit it off immediately and had a lot in common; similar interests, matching senses of humor, and a love for any music performed live. She was attractive in a un-conventional sense, and this is not meant as any kind of dis. She just had "that look" about her you can't quite put your finger on. Her short auburn hair was always a pretty mess and her blazing blue eyes held my attention, no small feat for someone with severe ADD like me. She also had the ginger kid freckles thing going on that was very cute (sorry, Georgina, I know you hate the ginger comments).

I knew she was in town for the next few days before she started her final quarter of school at OU, so I gave her a shout to see what was going on.

"What's up, Boooooooooyyyyy!" her jovial voice said over the line. This was her favorite way of greeting me. "What are you doing tonight? Garth is playing a house show at his new place. Come check it out."

Garth was a guy she had been seeing for a few months, and I was a big fan. At our house warming party he played guitar late into the night with my roommate Shooter, who is also a very talented player in his own right. The show was supposed to start in an hour or so. I grabbed a Kroger bag full of PBR cans and Bud Light bottles, a home-made variety pack, and was on my way.

Georgina met me on the street, where I parked, and walked me to the house. It was very large and very old, built in the 1920's. At one point, this three story monster was probably an expensive and prestigious piece of real estate. Now, many of the rooms were in various stages of remolding. It was definitely a project house in the sense it needed work, but I loved it just the same. It certainly had character. It was also in the perfect location, on campus but with enough of a backyard to host parties. There were six to seven bedrooms, some with fresh paint, some needing the once over. They also had an area designated as "the studio" for Garth's sister, who was a painter. Her artwork adorned some of the walls. The plan was to have upwards of eight living there in the near future. It was like a hippie frat house; some were painters, some musicians like Garth, and others were just tag along squatters. It reeked of Bohemia, which I dug very much.

After the nickel tour, Sir Garth got down to business. There were maybe a dozen people lounging in the busted out, semi-gutted living room, enjoying frosty brews, while he tuned and prepared to play. It was an interesting mix of people. Most were wearing the rock sub-culture ensemble (skinny jean cut-offs and flannel), which has bubbled up into the main stream. Personally, you couldn't pay me $500 to wear skinny jeans, but I've never been a trend setter.

"This song is called 'Mine-itis,'" Garth said after he was ready to start. He got his inspiration for the song from Oscar the Grouch. Apparently in one of the episodes the residents of Sesame Street were catching "mine-itis," meaning anything they touched immediately fell under the toucher's possession. There was probably a lesson about sharing hidden in there somewhere but that was irrelevant to the song. At one point he forgot the lyrics and someone shouted out "real professional" to a few laughs, but this only added to the over all feel of spontaneity.

He was playing an acoustic Fender that had a beautiful sheen. A friend of his was playing percussion behind him, just a simple snare drum. Sometimes he clapped or snapped out the beat. Two large and friendly dogs wondered from person to person looking for pets. Their lazy expressions brought a smile to my face. The ambiance was infectious. It felt like a scene from the Beat Movement of the late 50's and early 60's. I watched as moths flew in and out freely through the open or missing windows. The only people I knew were my host and Georgina, but everyone was like one big family, gathered round for the music hour. We enjoyed the tunes over casual conversations and a few more adult beverages.

Later, he played my favorite song of the night, Wicked Love. After the song, I asked what he meant by the chorus, "toss out your wicked love." My interpretation was that the figurative "you" needs to toss out the wicked love one has with another person; a boyfriend or girlfriend who is "wicked" because they did you wrong. The love isn't real. Someone is using the other for sex, emotional support, etc. Garth explained that this is not the intent of the song at all, but rather the "wicked love" is the evil things in your life that you love for the wrong reasons; money, lust, earthly possessions, misguided ambition and so on. You need to toss out these wicked things, which you love. Deep shit.

I thoroughly enjoyed this aspect of the house show, being able to talk to an artist about his song's exact intentions. It was unique and very enlightening. I couldn't help but wonder how many other songs in my past I had misinterpreted and what new misunderstandings awaited me in the future. Probably more then I would care to shed light on. If I was able to sit down with each artist and discuss them, the songs would have totally different meanings and context. maybe further explanations would help me appreciate the songs more or maybe it would ruin them for me altogether. Who's to say, but it's certainly interesting to think about.

After the show wound down and most of the guests left, Georgina, Garth, some guy named Steve, and I all sat in the living room, passing a pint of Jose Cuervo around. I hate tequila. But I didn't want to be rude (or turn down a free drink), so I was chasing it with some orange juice I found in the bare bones fridge. While the two love birds chatted, I found myself unwillingly being drawn into a conversation with Steve.

To say Steve was hot under the collar would be doing the man an injustice. He was angry at the world. At one point he was a student at a directional college in Colorado. He and Garth were friends from high school. I used the past tense on his college career because apparently he flunked out and was now back home in Columbus, living with his mother. This only added fuel to his fire.

"I hate it here," he informed me. "Colorado is so much cooler."

I tried to crack a joke about how Colorado was, no doubt, much "cooler" then Columbus since it was nestled in the heart of the Rocky Mountains. He didn't get it and just continued to rant.

"You like Shaun White?" he asked me.

"Like the snowboarder," I asked. "Sure, he's ok."

"He's a fucking asshole," he told me through gritted teeth. He then proceeded to explain why Shaun White was, in fact, an asshole. Apparently Mr. White once came to a bar that Steve frequented in Colorado. Steve tried to approach him and say hi or whatever but he wouldn't acknowledge him.

"I mean he comes into MY bar and wouldn't even give me the time of day? Fuck that guy." Any rational person would realize that EVERYONE and their brother probably tries to talk to Shaun White when he's out and about, especially in a snowboard crazy state like Colorado. He simply doesn't have the time to stop and talk to everyone but there was no getting this through to Steve. He had been wronged and only squashing the Flying Tomato would make things right. He continued to hate on everything he could think of Shaun White related.

This went on for a good twenty minutes while I fiddled with one of Garth's guitars, trying not to make eye contact. Even when I attempted to interject or add insight he would just cut me off and continue to spout vast disapproval. His aggression seemed to increase with each swig of tequila. This is not the type of person who should drink; EVER. He made me very uncomfortable to say the least. He was obviously not stable.

Garth and Georgina seemed to sense this and diverted his attention and conversation. I grew tired of him suckling the star snowboarder's teat. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was obsessing over the kid and no matter how much he said he hated him, part of me felt he was just another jealous fan. I heard him say he was "in the mood to fight," as I said good night to my friends and took off. Once I was safely home, I listened to Miles Davis' Kind of Blue two times through just to level me out before my heavy eyelids closed for the evening.

-J.R.