1977 Underground, 1783 Punk Front
The small white room had a small white wall and on the small white wall was a small white painting and in the small white painting was a small white stage and the small white curtains on the small white stage rustled as if something behind them was shifting, and then the small white curtains on the small white stage in the small white painting on the small white wall of the small white room were still…
“It’s really thin here, isn’t it?” Jess asks quietly, holding her mug over her mouth so that the words barely escape. She takes another sip of warm mead, staring to the side intently, at nothing. “That’s why we chose to set up here. The bizarre atmosphere. Otherworldly, it is.”
I smile slightly, trying to figure out what she means and why I feel like I understand. I nod.
She grins over at me, and a warm red drifts before my eyes.
“Alright!” Jess drags out the word nice and long, stretching her arms over her head. I push myself up and she offers her hand to me—but it feels like she’s offering more than her hand, like her gentle smile is the smirk of the player with all the cards, like she’s already set down the deal for me with the two drinks… or maybe it was laid down when she dropped that card into my hat, and if I were to take her hand it would seal the deal in stone—and I hesitate.
Then I grab her hand, and the feeling is gone. Jess laughs, leading me to the back of the tavern. She pulls a deserted round table aside to reveal a small door hidden in shadows and dust. She opens it a crack, and through the darkness I see a steep set of stairs, sloping downward.
“No plaid, huh?” Jess glances back at me thoughtfully. “Jeans and a sweatshirt? It’s workable, but it’s sort of boring, in a safe way.”
“Well I try not to stand out, attract unwanted attention,” I explain.
“A musician who doesn’t want attention.” She grins. “Never thought I’d see the day. Well I can’t have you looking too out of place—“
“We’re in 1783! And you’re wearing a jester’s outfit!”
“Perfectly suitable for the times,” she says with a nod.
“Times? As in multiple times? I’m keen on where we’re going.”
“I thought you’d be,” she replies, holding the door open. I crouch down and step inside, Jess following behind me. I can see a faint light down the stairs and can hear, just barely, a noise coming from below… but it’s so faint that maybe I don’t hear a thing, but rather feel the noise against my ears, like a heartbeat. Or maybe it’s just the rush of blood in my head.
I hear the door close and we’re plunged even deeper into darkness. The feeble light is bright enough to let me know in which direction I should move, but it barely hits the surface of the wooden stairs. I press my hands on both sides of the narrow passage, taking the first few, careful steps. I glance over my shoulder, but Jess is entirely in shadow. Except for her smile. Go on, it seems to say.
As I walk downward, the pulse starts to grow louder, the flickering light brighter. We turn on a small landing, and my foot clanks against metal.
“These look like the stairs outside my studio…” I mutter as I continue down the fire escape flight. The flashing light grows more vivid as clunk, clunk we move down below. “Let me guess… 20th Century, huh?”
“You’re getting warmer,” Jess replies, and as soon as she says it I notice the temperature change.
“Underground?” I muse. The heartbeat pressing against my ears is so loud that the stairs are beginning to shake with its beat. “Plaid? Oh, I know where we are.”
The stairs end at a large metal door. Lights pulsing on the other side creep through the cracks. Now I can hear more than just the bass—the drums are the loudest but I can also make out the electric guitar, and the roar of a crowd.
“The punk underground.” I push open the door--
----------
He pushed open the door, and at once his eyes were filled with the brilliant, explosive light show of the punk rocker band. Bursts of red and yellow light pulsed through the air in time to the beat. Jack could see a jagged stream of scarlet light flowing from one guitar, jerking around the abandoned underground train tracks that weren’t so abandoned anymore.
The walls that arched overhead were completely coated in graffiti, as if each punk here felt the need to take a bit of the concrete in their name. A few of the punks were lounging on this side of the tracks, smoking or crammed onto a few old couches, but most of the people were packed onto the tracks below, and even though train tracks stretched on far to the left and right into darkness, this swarm of bodies was all pushed together, tight against the other platform where the band was playing. The mob rocked back and forth together, pushing and shoving each other, throwing their hands into the air like some bizarre, human wave.
“I thought it was just and urban myth,” Jack said aloud, but of course the music was too loud for Jess to hear. He said it again, to himself. He knew that the Punk Underground was alive, somewhere, hidden from persecuting shadows and the insanity of the city. He had been right to hope.
“So Sandman, don’t come near,” the front man sang, kissing the microphone. His voice was like sandpaper that made the melody smooth. “Sandman we don’t want you here!”
The crowd went wild. A small, skinny man with a spiked Mohawk jumped in front of Jess and Jack. He clapped his hands around his mouth and screamed, “HI PATH!”
“I’ve been sleeping for so long…”
“High what?!” Jack shouted in Jess’s ear, looking in shock as the young man threw himself off the platform and into the crowd, screaming. He disappeared into the fleshy waters.
“Waiting on dreamer’s song…”
Jess smiled over at Jack, winking. “I’ll explain later!”
“To come and wake me, a lullaby to take me…” The singer, slumped and sweating held out the microphone, and the crowd cried out, “Hooooome!”
The band played for a half an hour more. The crowd never seemed to rest. Jack and Jess stayed on the platform above the mosh-pit, distant surveyors detached from the experience. The music was vivid, and the venue was more alive than any Jack had seen, but Jess didn’t join the crowd below so neither did he.
On the final encore, the music faded out even as colors still drifted around the space. The singer stepped forward, and gave a look to the audience as if he were imparting a personal secret, as he sang, “Paralyzed and comatose, no cure for what I feel.”
Jess jumped town onto the tracks below, and Jack followed—it wasn’t too difficult, because she seemed to part the red sea of bodies as she walked to the other platform. “Come on!” Jess said in his ear, and he winced, blinded by a flash of bright green. For some reason, everything this girl did was incredibly colorful—her smile was subtly red, her voice was a constant rainbow of emotions, and her eyes gleamed purple with a purpose.
Above them, the band had cleared off the stage, and a few people were tending to the instruments. Jess hopped up on the platform, and motioned for Jack to follow. He pulled himself up, and they walked up to the metal door through which the band exited. Two burly men stood by the door like bodyguards. One was picking his teeth. They stepped aside once Jess approached. She opened the door--
The small white room had a small white wall and on the small white wall was a small white painting and in the small white painting was a small white stage and the small white curtains on the small white stage rustled as if something behind them was shifting, and then the small white curtains on the small white stage in the small white painting on the small white wall of the small white room were still…
“It’s really thin here, isn’t it?” Jess asks quietly, holding her mug over her mouth so that the words barely escape. She takes another sip of warm mead, staring to the side intently, at nothing. “That’s why we chose to set up here. The bizarre atmosphere. Otherworldly, it is.”
I smile slightly, trying to figure out what she means and why I feel like I understand. I nod.
She grins over at me, and a warm red drifts before my eyes.
“Alright!” Jess drags out the word nice and long, stretching her arms over her head. I push myself up and she offers her hand to me—but it feels like she’s offering more than her hand, like her gentle smile is the smirk of the player with all the cards, like she’s already set down the deal for me with the two drinks… or maybe it was laid down when she dropped that card into my hat, and if I were to take her hand it would seal the deal in stone—and I hesitate.
Then I grab her hand, and the feeling is gone. Jess laughs, leading me to the back of the tavern. She pulls a deserted round table aside to reveal a small door hidden in shadows and dust. She opens it a crack, and through the darkness I see a steep set of stairs, sloping downward.
“No plaid, huh?” Jess glances back at me thoughtfully. “Jeans and a sweatshirt? It’s workable, but it’s sort of boring, in a safe way.”
“Well I try not to stand out, attract unwanted attention,” I explain.
“A musician who doesn’t want attention.” She grins. “Never thought I’d see the day. Well I can’t have you looking too out of place—“
“We’re in 1783! And you’re wearing a jester’s outfit!”
“Perfectly suitable for the times,” she says with a nod.
“Times? As in multiple times? I’m keen on where we’re going.”
“I thought you’d be,” she replies, holding the door open. I crouch down and step inside, Jess following behind me. I can see a faint light down the stairs and can hear, just barely, a noise coming from below… but it’s so faint that maybe I don’t hear a thing, but rather feel the noise against my ears, like a heartbeat. Or maybe it’s just the rush of blood in my head.
I hear the door close and we’re plunged even deeper into darkness. The feeble light is bright enough to let me know in which direction I should move, but it barely hits the surface of the wooden stairs. I press my hands on both sides of the narrow passage, taking the first few, careful steps. I glance over my shoulder, but Jess is entirely in shadow. Except for her smile. Go on, it seems to say.
As I walk downward, the pulse starts to grow louder, the flickering light brighter. We turn on a small landing, and my foot clanks against metal.
“These look like the stairs outside my studio…” I mutter as I continue down the fire escape flight. The flashing light grows more vivid as clunk, clunk we move down below. “Let me guess… 20th Century, huh?”
“You’re getting warmer,” Jess replies, and as soon as she says it I notice the temperature change.
“Underground?” I muse. The heartbeat pressing against my ears is so loud that the stairs are beginning to shake with its beat. “Plaid? Oh, I know where we are.”
The stairs end at a large metal door. Lights pulsing on the other side creep through the cracks. Now I can hear more than just the bass—the drums are the loudest but I can also make out the electric guitar, and the roar of a crowd.
“The punk underground.” I push open the door--
----------
He pushed open the door, and at once his eyes were filled with the brilliant, explosive light show of the punk rocker band. Bursts of red and yellow light pulsed through the air in time to the beat. Jack could see a jagged stream of scarlet light flowing from one guitar, jerking around the abandoned underground train tracks that weren’t so abandoned anymore.
The walls that arched overhead were completely coated in graffiti, as if each punk here felt the need to take a bit of the concrete in their name. A few of the punks were lounging on this side of the tracks, smoking or crammed onto a few old couches, but most of the people were packed onto the tracks below, and even though train tracks stretched on far to the left and right into darkness, this swarm of bodies was all pushed together, tight against the other platform where the band was playing. The mob rocked back and forth together, pushing and shoving each other, throwing their hands into the air like some bizarre, human wave.
“I thought it was just and urban myth,” Jack said aloud, but of course the music was too loud for Jess to hear. He said it again, to himself. He knew that the Punk Underground was alive, somewhere, hidden from persecuting shadows and the insanity of the city. He had been right to hope.
“So Sandman, don’t come near,” the front man sang, kissing the microphone. His voice was like sandpaper that made the melody smooth. “Sandman we don’t want you here!”
The crowd went wild. A small, skinny man with a spiked Mohawk jumped in front of Jess and Jack. He clapped his hands around his mouth and screamed, “HI PATH!”
“I’ve been sleeping for so long…”
“High what?!” Jack shouted in Jess’s ear, looking in shock as the young man threw himself off the platform and into the crowd, screaming. He disappeared into the fleshy waters.
“Waiting on dreamer’s song…”
Jess smiled over at Jack, winking. “I’ll explain later!”
“To come and wake me, a lullaby to take me…” The singer, slumped and sweating held out the microphone, and the crowd cried out, “Hooooome!”
The band played for a half an hour more. The crowd never seemed to rest. Jack and Jess stayed on the platform above the mosh-pit, distant surveyors detached from the experience. The music was vivid, and the venue was more alive than any Jack had seen, but Jess didn’t join the crowd below so neither did he.
On the final encore, the music faded out even as colors still drifted around the space. The singer stepped forward, and gave a look to the audience as if he were imparting a personal secret, as he sang, “Paralyzed and comatose, no cure for what I feel.”
Jess jumped town onto the tracks below, and Jack followed—it wasn’t too difficult, because she seemed to part the red sea of bodies as she walked to the other platform. “Come on!” Jess said in his ear, and he winced, blinded by a flash of bright green. For some reason, everything this girl did was incredibly colorful—her smile was subtly red, her voice was a constant rainbow of emotions, and her eyes gleamed purple with a purpose.
Above them, the band had cleared off the stage, and a few people were tending to the instruments. Jess hopped up on the platform, and motioned for Jack to follow. He pulled himself up, and they walked up to the metal door through which the band exited. Two burly men stood by the door like bodyguards. One was picking his teeth. They stepped aside once Jess approached. She opened the door--