We play another decent set, but as Jocelyn drawls “thank you, Huntington Grounds” over the last rise of our distortion, I was worried what Thomas was going to say. He had been faithfully attending each of our shows in the city, being a transplanted Brooklynite, and wasn’t convinced of my investment in Piercing. The band had yet to develop the pacing needed over the course of a night when you are playing third on a four band bill, and tonight- we were a bit exposed. Jocelyn, in the biggest live show of her life, had one too many by the last song. That part, I could understand, as the concept of “all eyes are upon you” began to truly sink in over the previous six weeks. Thomas was skeptical.

“She’s just not embracing the role. The voice is great, although it sounded like she ran out of gas by the last tune. She looks the part. It’s about confidence, and I’m not sure what else you can do to instill it.”

“We’re going to keep pushing as hard as we can, and keep getting shows so we can hone in on the exactness needed. I think we can do it. I know we can do it. And thanks for coming out, again. It’s always good to see you.”

We caught the first four songs of Lunar Calendar, who were spectacular, with driving guitars over precise synth programs.

But, my ears were getting a bit tired, and I wanted to catch up more with Thomas, so we decided to step out onto the narrow, elevated porch.

The cool spring air of the city was a refreshing change from the humidity of the club. Even though we did not exactly knock one out of the park in our biggest show to date- we had made it there, played well, acted like humble professionals, and would be back in Mystic  in plenty of time for everyone’s work schedule. I sensed a certain moment of relaxation I had yet to find in this band. Being with Thomas, being slightly tired and sweaty, being in the club- these were the foundations of who I had been since 1985. And I was still in the game. And that is when I first met Maurice face to face.

There was no way I could have been prepared for what happened next. As Lunar Calendar wound down their final song, The Constitution crew began setting up a huge, wide screen TV, and started dialing in satellite dish images. Meanwhile, the sound crew for the club was busy getting the audio signal into the main house PA. A crowd of fifty of their closest friends had started to position themselves around the screen, so each person could see at the closest possible angle. Maurice leaned over to me, and said-

“We’re on Letterman in ten minutes. We filmed it yesterday, and they are showing it tonight.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, The Constitution.”

It reminded me of a night the extended Mystic kids decamped to Thomas’ house to watch the best indie band from Connecticut make their live television debut on Letterman, 24 years earlier. Miracle Legion was our single biggest influence; a band from our land that almost made it over the top toward a wider acceptance. And yet, I’m not sure any of us would sign up for the trials and tribulations that they went through along the way. Like all the local musical pioneers before us, we had to minimize mistakes to realize the ultimate value of what Miracle Legion had carved out. And then, The Constitution were on the screen; the volume was as loud for the broadcast as it had been for the previous four live acts of the night. It was an interesting peek into a new world, watching the Constitution community, and the extended Huntington Grounds community, together in their self-made space; experiencing the highest expression of their art on a national stage. We were watching them watch themselves. I couldn’t stop thinking about that moment on the ride home. Of all the shows and nights at the Grounds, Piercing was there when the musicians who made it all possible were watching themselves on Letterman. After their song had been completed, I went up and gave Maurice a hug, which he genuinely reciprocated.

“Congrats man, it was unbelievable to be here- of all nights!”

“Surreal…. But you know what made the whole trip worth it? Paul Shaffer. Coolest guy I’ve met playing music.”

“Well, that isn’t a surprise. Glad you got to experience it. We have to hit the road, thanks again for all you’ve done for us, we would love to come back.”

“Oh, most definitely! I’ll send you Lora’s email address tomorrow; she’s taking over the booking for the next four months while we go out on the road.”

“Thanks again, stay in touch from the road, ok?”

“Ok, man!”

That would be Piercing’s only appearance at the Grounds.

Tabitha returned to Mystic with the rest of us following the Grounds show; we were scheduled to scout video locations for “Decisive” two days later on that Saturday. We had been trying to come up with location ideas for weeks, to no avail, sitting on a concept with no way to execute Saturday, and the two hour window I had to drive everyone around to possible locations during an “extended lunch break” would be our only opportunity to find the large scale construct Tabitha and I had spent so many hours dissecting. Cult of Piercing. There would be no stop in New Haven for Todd on this trip home, but after getting back on the highway after dropping Jocelyn off, I was worried I would have to drive Tabitha to her mother’s house in Rhode Island. Rudy was far closer, and his car was parked at my house. But, did I even dare to ask Rudy at this late hour to drive Tabitha home? Someone had to do it. Rudy was off on Saturday, so I took a stab at it.

“Hey man, can you take Tabitha home for the final leg of the journey…?  So I don’t have to drive all the way back home?”

“Sure, little buddy. You got it.”

Rudy was a strange dude. There when you needed him the most, there when you needed him the least.

We met at 3pm on that Saturday at the Palace: me, Jocelyn, Tabitha, and Todd. An early lead we had stumbled across was the multiple building property at Town’s End, a sprawling 1800’s complex that was just now in the process of being subdivided. The owner was a fifth generation Burows that occupied the main dwelling, but after the slight economic recovery, decided to take a chance and sell it all off. There existed a remote possibility that one of the outbuildings could be used free of charge for the video shoot.  We grooked onto the far side of the property, to get an unadulterated look at the open barn doors.

“Not enough light” muttered Tabitha.

One down.

Our next stop was an abandoned school for the blind, on the high, western side of the river valley. You could see the modern structures that were added to the campus in the 1960’s from the highway and certain roads in town. But that view belied the actual condition of the property, which had been vacated years earlier. The original structures from the 1920’s- dilapidated, were left to the ruins of budgetary concern.  Todd grew up in a neighborhood built after WWII to accommodate returning GI’s, which happened to be within walking distance of the abandoned school. It was on his suggestion that we climbed up there to scout.

“Supposedly, it’s haunted, and that there was some ritual killing down the valley side toward the river, in the woods. A 1980’s fable.” Todd explained.

I found that incredibly strange, having lived in the valley my entire life, to have never caught wind of this tale. The bedeviling lore that encased my childhood was that of The Pafford Close, a looping route that encircled the local reservoir, which was supposedly haunted. A handful of period restaurants and businesses in town had exhibited haunted tendencies, as well. But I had never heard of this murder parable near the river in the 1980’s. Each generation perpetuates their own myth, more than likely devaluing them. This was one of the collisions of my own cultural experience and the kids. We shared the same mythology, without knowing the entirety of the others. I was still completely confident I could make these elements coexist.

For the most part, the school was abandoned. The State of Connecticut was the owner at this juncture, and the signs touting its potential for sale littered the property. We went to the front door of  what appeared to be the main office, and found it unlocked.  Tabitha just walked in. We followed her down the corridor, past administrative offices, and a few classrooms. Every inch of paint was peeling as if they were unclipped fingernails, curling into themselves. Dead desks littered the rooms, the detritus of decades. Around the first corner, we came across what seemed to be a  performance area, not big enough to be a hall, but it had a proper stage , and room for an audience of at least a hundred people.

“This is it.” Tabitha stated, with confident authority.  Each syllable given the same, exact enunciation.

I always found it fascinating to work with an artist convinced, and Tabitha exuded every element of such a creator. In the near distance, we could hear footsteps coming down the hallway. A timid look between the four of us conveyed the sensation that certainly we couldn’t be in any danger? And yet, no one spoke. The steps grew louder until it was apparent a person was entering the performance area.

“Hey, what are you guys doing in here?”

Tabitha took seven brisk steps toward him with her right hand outstretched.

“Hi, I’m Tabitha Williams. I’m a film maker from New York City and we’re scouting locations for a music video. These guys are part of the band.”

He blurted out a “Hi”, startled that she had taken such initiative.

“This room is perfect for what we’re trying to do. Do you think there is any way we could get in here, say, in two weeks for about six hours?”

She had the confidence of a political donor negotiating a date to stay in the Lincoln bedroom. I was impressed.

“Well, ummm….. you could maybe sneak in here for about an hour during a Saturday afternoon, right about this time of day. I would be here and I could cover for you, but I might be risking my job.”

This was getting a bit far-fetched. Did Tabitha and Todd arrange this “chance” meeting? This guy was really going to go out on a limb for a music video with some local kids from town?

“Thanks for the offer, but that sounds a bit risky, don’t you think? I’d need more than an hour to maximize the space, so how about we make a deal? I know a state senator that may be able to get us in here with clearance. But if that fails, would you still give us an hour to shoot?”

“Yeah. I can do that. My name’s Ty. I’m here every weekend.”

“Nice to meet you Ty, I’m Tabitha, and this is Piercing.”

“Cool band name, what kind of music do you play?”

“Post-punk; a modern minimal take on rock- with a healthy dose of pop.” I offer. “Go to this music site, Earcandy, and search for “Piercing.” You can hear what we’ve recorded.”

“I’ll check it out”

Tabitha adds a final word: “Thanks. We’ll be in touch”

“I really want to make an R rated video.” offered Tabitha as we were riding to a local diner after the scout.

I was just dropping them off, as I had to return to the Palace. I slowly turned to her, and rolled my eyes.

“C’mon now, haven’t we been over this? What makes you think that is sequential to forward our current image?” I coolly responded.

“I think the song is so dirgey during the intro, and it goes on for a bit…. I thought we could have Joss and a male lead in undies and skivvies, to enhance the slow grind.”

“Really…..”

“Yeah, really. I think we can get a tasteful blend of lovers on the edge and the band doing interiors at the school.” said Tabitha, in the coaxing voice of a film director.

“Twining, you need to totally lighten up. I’d be up for that kind of a shoot Tabitha.” Jocelyn said, campaigning for the R rated video.

I said nothing, trying to hide any outward emotion; but I was livid. I accompanied everyone into the diner to continue the conversation with Tabitha. The issue was continuity. Todd was just ahead of me, and Joss made a bee line for the rest room. As we waited at the velvet rope cordon, and Joss was out of earshot, I couldn’t contain myself:

“Lighten up? Lighten up?!?!?!?! Let her buy a fucking van if she wants me to lighten up.”

We decided to take the entire week off from any kind of band activity. The five of us been in such close proximity to each other over the past six weeks, I thought we needed a break before the video shoot for “Decisive” which was to begin ten days later. Rudy also had another Geneva Holiday gig in the middle of that stretch. It wouldn’t be a week off for me though; there was more than enough PR to be addressed, and it was multiplying regularly (which of course was the goal). A new NYC blog had done a photo spread from the Grounds show, and I had to talk with them to get permission to use the photos within our own media. There were several online radio stations that were accepting uploaded tracks, and those had to uploaded. One New England website had even nominated us as one of their “Bands of the Month” to be voted on by readers. Malthus needed final proofs on the business cards and a rough idea for the new single. I had begun to submit to the regional music festivals that week, and had to coalesce each bit of our online presence into a coherent platform, so none of our outlets were out of date, out of synch. That element of the band was the treadmill, but what I would’ve given for the social platforms that existed today during the Thames time.

Tabitha emailed me Tuesday morning, and told me that none of her connections could procure the school for the shoot.  I had tried to find a few places in town, restaurants or stores that I had worked at over the years; but no one would touch the project. It was somewhat disappointing, as I was really hoping the fact we were doing something beyond the local scene would turn the tide, but that carried no credence with the businesses.

“I think my mom might let us use her house.”

“Really, where is it?” I replied, intrigued by a last minute reprieve.

“She lives on an island, just off the coast in Rhode Island. There is an apartment over the garage, and I think we could repurpose the main bedroom into a performance area.”

”Interesting. What is the concept? Or are we looking at a mood piece.”

“Oh, definitely a mood piece.”

The shoots had been scheduled for Friday night, Saturday morning, and Sunday afternoon. Jocelyn and Sean Murphy, a local kid Tabitha picked out of thirty Facebook profiles I had sent her for the male lead, were shooting Friday; the rest of Piercing practiced at Centraal that night. Adrian had a new song, and we wrestled with it for about a half an hour, before giving into some classic rock; half played jams of tunes Todd, Rudy, and Adrian knew, loved, or sort of remembered. I thought these digressions into their adolescence were endearing; they truly loved the music they came of age with, regardless of how “cool” the perception of it was. Todd was an unabashed lover of seventies soft and slow rock. His palette was quite varied, but this was more than a niche experience for him. It reminded me of the innocence I had about music listening to the AM radio in my mom’s ‘70’s VW bug; the reception maxed out at five stations of varying programming, but I didn’t care, I just wanted those sounds coming out of the tiny speaker below the handrail on the dashboard. Rudy cared not one iota what people thought of his music taste, and Adrian was a true folk outsider- a superior technical musician who need not define his tastes when his hands could easily explain. And that is not to depress the musicianship of Todd or Rudy, they were both exceptional within the framework they had decided to focus on. It was inarguable, however, that Adrian was an outsider. Not only within the construct of the band, but in America. And that’s how he liked it.

I woke up early, about 8.30 am on the Saturday, the second day of shooting. We were due to arrive at Tabitha’s moms house by noon, and I was going to have to load the entire set of gear into the van, including the practice PA, and a CD player which would allow us a soundtrack to synch to. I had spent a few hours late Friday night burning CDR’s of the song so that we would be completely prepared if I accidentally didn’t finalize a single disc. The phone rang at 9am. It was Tabitha.

“We’re getting a goddamn rainstorm today, around 2-3 o’clock. It’s going to be hard to get any of the exterior shots today unless you can get here sooner. Any way you can get a hold of everyone and bump it up to 11?”

She was cool about it. I had become accustomed to that.

“Suppose we can’t shoot outside today at all; can you get all of the interiors today?”

“Totally, but I still want to try and get outside today. Can you make it happen?”

“Yes, I can make it happen.”

I get on the phone and keep dialing and keep leaving messages until I have all five of us on the same page- get to my house as soon as possible; all of the gear will be packed up and we just have to get in the van and go. Rudy can meet us there.  And that’s what happened. I make a kettle of tea for everyone, and we piled into the van, headed east toward the island, crossing the causeway to Tabitha’s mom’s house at exactly 11:11AM. After unloading all of the gear into the apartment, the skies turned a violent black, almost instantly. There was at least a hundred yard walk out onto the lawn to set up where she wanted to get the exterior shots, and by my calculation, in the hour and a half it will take for us to set up, the rain would have come.

“Ok, we’ll just set up in here, and get the exteriors on Sunday. Has anyone checked tomorrow’s weather?”

“I’ll do it right now” said Rudy in his most casual voice. “Sunny and clear, high of 71…”

“Hey Joss, how about you and I set the room, and while we’re doing that, you guys get all of the gear set up in the kitchen? We’ll move everything into place the second we have it ready.”

The view from the room was stunning. A sheer black sky, tinted at the far edge of the horizon with a brilliant blue. The tide was coming in, and the wind had picked up. You could sense the fescue sizzling like a static carpet across the grounds. Even though the island was twenty minutes from my house, I was still infused with the sense of being far away. Perhaps it was the absence of noise from the highway, and the rails, and Route 1. We set up for our second video shoot in four months while the storm was brewing. I mistakenly took that as a good sign.

An hour later, we had all of the equipment set up, staged to maximize each shot. As I began to assemble the PA and CD player, I realized I had brought the wrong connector cords for the CD to the PA. I had done exactly the same thing when we filmed “Massive/Spirit” at the motel. I remembered driving back to Mystic from the Rhode Island border that cold January day; salt sand mixture bonded to the windshield which diffused the low afternoon sun. I was repeating that same mistake, how stupid could I be? When I came back from checking to see if I happened to have the right cords in the van, I noticed Jocelyn and Tabitha had strewn about two dozen vinyl LP’s around the room as décor. Something caught my eye about one of the covers as I went to exit the room, which made me turn back and take a closer look- these records had been in the basement or a wet corner of the garage for years- mildew laden, stained covers littered the room. There was no way I could film a video with $1 records. Benno at The Palace would hound me for the rest of my life if I filmed such an important piece with trashed records. Since I had to go back to my house, I could rifle through my “dj resources” collection of LP’s- things like “How to Speak Italian”, the soundtrack to “Liquid Sky” or FCC control tower calls. I had dozens of weird, offbeat LP’s like that, and they would make a more scintillating visual than a moldy Monkees LP.

Tabitha had arranged each outfit for Jocelyn on the back of a low sofa in the main living area. Leopard print top with denim shorts. Tiny, white collar top over tight wool sweater with mini. Black tights with short shorts, and a loose fitting, sleeveless white tee.  I couldn’t help but think of Jeremy’s second hand message from Jocelyn after the Tabitha “R rated” conversation.

“You gotta chill out, man. She doesn’t want you to keep dressing her up like a doll in period costumes. Let her create her own look.” Jeremy chided me.

I wasn’t making these decisions with a dictatorial outlook, but out of necessity. Jocelyn was great at a mood, a concept, but not so much the phone calls and emails and communication it takes to put these details into place. But I found it encouraging that I had no role in the wardrobe for this shoot, only being responsible for my own very simple look. I told Tabitha during our conversations about content to not even have me appear in the video at all. She would use that against me in the final cut, in a cute, “gotcha” kind of way.

Jocelyn loved the camera, and it was a consensual relationship. One of the patterns I had noticed over the previous year was that she could look like a different person in each setting. Perhaps not that drastic, but she appeared to be channeling several female members of the same family- a group of sisters who shared similar traits but exhibited subtle differences. That was Joss on film, moving or still. A multiplicity that made me believe even more that she had the star quality that could put us into the game.

We quickly locked in to the pre-recorded version of “Decisive”, giving Tabitha a convincing performance of a real rock band cranking it out while we faked it. When I was a kid, and MTV in its nascent form began to infiltrate the cable systems of small valley towns like Mystic, I thought it was difficult to enjoy the rigid re-creation of the performance for the small screen. But now, “lip synching” had become an interesting art form onto itself; something to be considered as an integral element. As Tabitha asked us to do the song over and over, you could sense a certain elevation of each of the Piercing members attitude of being told what to do. – “You want us to do it again, but better? No problem.” It was an encouraging sign for me. That was the singular precept of creating art and maintaining focus that could catapult us to the next level.  It seemed to me that each of us were totally buying into the concept.

We returned Sunday at noon, under beautiful spring skies. The first order of business was to reassemble the gear at the far lip of the property; a slight rise to a glacial outcropping.  Jocelyn spent the entire hour getting into her outfit; Rudy, Todd, and Adrian began hauling gear, and I took the PA apart for its eventual use outside. I had brought one hundred feet of extension cords, but once Tabitha had defined the exact spot, I was short a good two hundred feet. I began to scour the open garage and came across three extension cords that were jangled in a bunch around a sump pump- certainly the last time it had been used was after Hurricane Sandy, as many appliances were thrown in a heap following those weeks of repair. It took me twenty minutes to untangle the cords, and get them stretched out in a line, plugged into an exterior outlet and making it just far enough. Jocelyn appeared from the garage in the leopard and denim outfit. She posed for stills with Tabitha on the rocks at the other edge of the yard, while we adjusted the volume so we could hear the song through the slight spring breeze. I kept coming back to a singular train of thought; about how lucky we were, and how we had to embrace this time. During the weekend, there wasn’t a wasted moment; each minute was carefully crafted to maximize our artistic output, whether it was  the sound, or the vision of who we were becoming. This was a defining detail, and that truly was what the commitment was about- building a life out of nothing, of your own effort. We were living. We were creating the moment.

We tried to practice as much as possible with the four Piercing members who lived in town. Two nights after the New Haven show, the four of us, sans Adrian, were due to get together at 7.30 pm. Rudy arrived first, carrying somewhat of an attitude, I assumed in response to the chastising in the van.

“Hey, are you mad at me for getting on you guys at the gig Tuesday?”

“Nah, you were right. We should’ve been in there by the time you came out to get us. I’m just fucking pissed at my ex-girlfriend, she came by the apartment again today.”

Rudy had a contentious relationship with his ex-girlfriend. They had broken up months earlier after living together for two years, and every three weeks like clockwork she would show up at his apartment claiming she had left something behind during her move and wanted to look for it. Oftentimes, she would leave with a spoon from the drawer, or an unused sponge from the bathroom, but she always left with something. I wondered if she was secretly planting these items just to get inside his head.

Todd arrived a few minutes later.

“Hey sorry I’m late guys.”

“No worries, man. Joss isn’t here yet, yr fine.” I replied.

The three of us began to address some of the finer details of our involvement. And then the phone rang. It was Jocelyn.

“I’m not going to make it tonight, I think Marcus is breaking up with me……….”

She was softly sobbing, in such a refined way that I almost questioned her about it- as it seemed that she was acting like a grade school kid pretending to be sick to miss the days classes. But the two of them had been living in her mother’s house for months, and as she continued, I started to discern a different tone in her tears. She was petrified to be alone with her mom in the house; that much I was sure of. Not that she didn’t adore her mother, but that the situation represented failure. I could also sense a loyalty she never revealed to me. She had found a relationship in which she could be comfortable, where she could be herself and not what was expected of her. And she was perilously close to losing that.

“Hey- don’t worry about it. Rudy, Todd, and I can get some work in- take the night to try and make things right between you and Marcus.”

“Ok, thanks….” she said between sniffles.  “I gotta go…..”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

I hung up the landline. I still refused to buy a cell phone, always stating that Thames had no trouble navigating tours without them.  I opened the door to the studio and Todd and Rudy had the exact same look on their face. They knew what was happening. They were far closer socially to Jocelyn and Marcus than I would ever be.

“Joss isn’t going to make it, she’s fighting with Marcus and is seriously worried they might be breaking up.” I told the two of them.

“What, does her pussy hurt?” was Rudy’s retort.

I was stunned. Being raised by women, I could have never imagined making such a remark. Was Rudy being serious? His misplaced misogyny always appeared to be part of a larger construct, where he was actually doing a parody of his worst thoughts, but this time it seemed , for the lack of a better word, genuine. Was he questioning whether Joss was cancelling her arrival due to a menstrual moment? Or was he correlating her fight with Marcus in the most masculine way, that she had just experienced a kick to a set of balls that she did not possess? Rudy had been a long time vinyl customer at the Palace; it was the foundation of the delicate relationship we had before he became the bassist for Piercing. I knew of his caustic ways, and yet, I couldn’t help but think that he really was way out on a limb here, and that he must have a specific disdain for women.

“Does her what hurt? Oh, come on man, I don’t want to hear shit like that…..” I replied to Rudy

“Yeah, that’s harsh man…” added Todd

“Well what, we’re all here, and it’s ok for her to just bail out at the last minute all the time? My job is ten times harder than the four of you combined, and I’m always at practice, always on time for the gigs. Fuck that shit.”

I understood where he was coming from as far as defending himself- he was always on time and was always ready. And his job of forging high end metals was at least four times as hard as working at a school, or going to college, or working at a record store, or painting backdrops for photo shoots. But this attitude could not stand; it was against the very creative principle that we had worked so hard to establish, and that we were reaping the benefits of. I wasn’t going to let his leaking misogynistic behavior derail us.

“Man, I can understand where you are coming from, and I don’t want to all of the sudden start laying out everything I do for the band just to prove a point. But this is no place for hating on people, we have no space and I have no patience for it. Don’t take out your frustrations about the ex-girlfriend on us. “

“That’s easy for you to say, living with Anne….”

“She’s had to put up with much more bullshit from me that the other way around. So, that angle won’t get you off the hook. Just ease up a bit on the Joss criticism, and I’ll talk to her about not missing practices at the last minute. Do we have a deal?”

“Yeah….”

“Remember what I said a few weeks ago about success? And how the immediate members of the band are the people who can create doubt about holding onto it? Because you might question their future performance? This is what I was talking about. We can’t be suspicious of each other, it will lead us nowhere.”

I suggested we start working on Todd’s new song, a lilting pop number that built in intensity to a subtle roar. This was new territory for us, trying to expand the set with a slow song.  Our entire show up to that point was something of a rock and roll sprint- barreling, banging numbers competing for space. Now, we we’re prepared to hone in on a depth that was desperately needed. I found a slinky beat built off of simple eighth notes on the ride cymbal, alternating snare and tom hits on the two and four downbeat. It gave the verses a stuttering, floating edge that Rudy punctuated with broad whole notes, filling the room with a sonic scripture. Todd sat on top, gently articulating the main melody, which existed comfortably between the rolling drums, and the steady, deep bass.

“Let’s do that change from the verse into the bridge on repeat for a few passes.” I asked, trying to coerce a final arrangement to salvage the night.

“Yeah, sure. Just give me a look when you want to stop.” Todd was on top of his game this night, and I wanted to push him to finish.

Two hours later, we had a working arrangement. But, more importantly than that, Todd had nailed his guitar solo over the final build, and it was exquisite. As the arrangement took on more depth, and the beat and bass became somewhat epic, he tastefully executed a delicate picking riff, one that climbed up the frets in a calculated manner akin to the anticipation of waiting for the drugs to kick in. The final note from his guitar sat at the height of the frequency range, while everything else dissolved into near silence. It was as if Everett True was in our room, telling us to play QUIETER! – instead of his famous request of Galaxie 500, twenty three years earlier in a London nightclub. As we turned a specific corner musically, even as a displaced three piece, it became much more obvious that the “supergroup” element had unanticipated baggage of its own. As well as unanticipated success. It would be something we would have to corral in the foreseeable future.

As we made it through March, another complexity developed. Geneva Holiday had begun working on a new album, and were in the process of writing forty new songs. They were also playing every gig they were offered- bars, all ages shows, backyards. I was sensing a struggle within Rudy when he would call me to see if Piercing had a show on a night Geneva had an opportunity to play. In addition to their accelerated live schedule, they were recording in New Haven over the course of three consecutive Tuesdays in April. Continuing our well established routine wasn’t particularly difficult at that point, as we had gigs booked into May. But being in two very active bands certainly had to take its toll on Rudy.

During one five day stretch in early April, Rudy had a Geneva recording session in New Haven at 9pm, a Piercing gig in Manhattan two days later, a Geneva show in New London the next night, and finally, an all-ages show in Mystic the final night of the five. Three of those mornings were 6am alarm clock arrivals so he could get to the foundry by 7am. It seemed highly unlikely he could keep up that pace indefinitely.

One of the music bloggers who wrote about the first single came out to see us that Thursday night at the Water Co. in NYC. I immediately recognized her when she entered the room, and we mutually walked toward each other.

“Hello Ellery, nice to meet you in the real world.”

“Nice to meet you, Eden.”

“I love the single; so fresh, so unabashedly rocking- in a good way!”

I loved to hear people say we were rocking without being “rock”. That was the initial idea and it seemed as if we had honed in on it within ten months. I kept hearing the voice in my head say the same thing over and over- ‘give me another ten months, give me another ten months…..’ I noticed some people enter the club that she was trying to get the attention of.

“Hey, some friends of mine just showed up, I’m going to get a drink, but I want to talk to you after the show.”

“Of course.”

I had been exchanging emails with Tabitha each day discussing the video for a few weeks before the Water Co. show. One day, when she suggested the audience members should be in all white, I went through the area thrift stores buying anything white that looked appropriate. I would then send her photos of the garments, hoping that our preparation would allow us to film the entire video in the three days she had carved out for us- exactly one month from tomorrow. This constant back and forth caught the attention of Anne in a way I had not anticipated. She declared on Wednesday night that she was going to the gig in New York the next night. That was fine with me; Anne had seen every facet of my musical ambition, and this would be the first time she watched me play in NYC with Piercing. And yet, as Tabitha approached the two of us, I was pleading for her to not give me the courtesy hug, which we had exchanged the first time we met at Cabinets. I reached out with my right hand, curled into the cone that initiated the secret handshake amongst the Palace regulars- “The Beak”, where two people can reach out toward the others hand, and quickly open the clasped fingers into a full hand.  Jocelyn and I had introduced her to “The Beak” at the Cabinets show, and I was hoping she would redeem our reconnection here.  Tabitha reached out, and then proceeded to give me the courtesy hug in front of Anne. It was innocuous enough, but Anne and I had a compact about other people and their immediate intimacy. We had been together for twenty-two years at that point, so we had faith in our subtle social controls. I could sense Anne shift as Tabitha said to her- “hello, nice to meet you.” They were both photographers, and I sincerely believed they could find common ground, as Anne and I had with so many artists we had  worked with over the years. And yet, there was an intuitive change. Was it that Anne could sense what the band might become? And that I was headed down a road where she would be left home alone for weeks at a time while I toured? The intrinsic element about Borealis within our relationship was that there was no threat of touring; but with Piercing, it was becoming all too apparent.

We played a decent set, had a good response from the crowd, and noticed a handful of people that were not Anne or Tabitha taking photos of us. We packed all of our gear and proceeded to bring everything out to the van, so we could leave when we were ready to hit the road. After getting myself a beer, Eden came over.

“Hey, nice set, you guys could really be onto something.”

“Thank you very much. It’s been hard to refine the songs as much as we’d like to, having Adrian living in Brooklyn and the other four of us in Connecticut.”

“I don’t think it’s the songs themselves you need to refine, it’s your presence. How you sell the songs to the audience.”

“Do you mean everybody? I mean, not the crowd, but the band?”

I was a bit taken aback, did I not just witness Rudy dazzle with his histrionics while holding down a perfect bottom end? Adrian played a fantastic set, Todd was his usual timid self, but sang with a convincing emotion. Joss sounded scintillating from where I was sitting. After a pause, Eden continued.

“She’s not very confident, is she?”

“I think she is too aware that everyone’s eyes are on her. “ I replied.

Midnight. Sprinting up the FDR. The Willis Avenue Bridge.  Bruckner. Hutchinson.  I-95. New Haven. Groton. Mystic. 3AM. I grab a beer, turn on the computer, and check the band email. Show offers for June. Quotes from printers for merchandise. And a request for an interview with a Dutch music magazine.

After getting out of work on Saturday, I had one objective: to Dropbox the new single to the mastering lab in Brooklyn. For “Massive/Spirit”, I had felt that I needed to be in the room as the mastering process took place. But that turned out to be a very long twelve hour day, a round trip NYC jaunt when I had just driven that route four days prior, to watch Frank Wayne effortlessly transfer the studio masters into a finished product. We both agreed I could simply send the files, and he would send the mastering back.

My first attempt to load the files went horribly wrong, as I attached the wrong mixes by mistake.

He emailed me back with cute sarcasm “maybe you should have come down to Brooklyn! jk get me the .wav files.” I was temporarily mortified. With the proper files sent, and the download complete on his end, I heaved a sigh of relief. I closed out the programs, and shut off the machine for the night. The next morning, after tea, I fired up the computer, to be greeted with a black screen, with text in a font that brought me back to my eighth grade mathematics class. Our ancient teacher was enthralled with the possibility of computers, and part of his curriculum was having his students learn the rudimentary vagaries of programming. Malthus was his star student. I had trouble not being blinded by the blinking cursor, which is what I was staring at this Sunday afternoon. I had barely gotten out the new single for mastering before my ten year old computer swallowed its tail.

Malthus was able to save the contents of the C drive on the blown machine, and custom built us a new computer, loading our files into it four days later. This was crucial for Piercing because the biggest show of our young career was coming up in two weeks, at Huntington Grounds, the all-ages space in Brooklyn.  The Grounds were the epicenter of the second wave of Brooklyn DIY alternative venues, and we were playing third of four on a bill with a national touring headliner, a local Brooklyn group, and Phoebe Kahn’s new outfit Finito. As much time as I had been spending doing PR for the band, this was our most crucial week up to this point.

brooklyn / grounds PR

twitter blast

call cabinets / 22 may

call joss/rudy video

check for water co. photos

LLC *

email angela at TONY

check nyc listings

email caron / lineup switch?

finito at dr. watson / boston?

adrian / boston?

EPK / CMJ submission

check new haven shows

call cort about video location

register live in studio

call adrian about string gauge / practice

call joss todd rudy / departure time for HG

Jeremy and his partner Tricia Brown, who was also a multi-instrumentalist in Boyfriend, met us on the street outside of Huntington as I eased the van into a parallel spot. I prided myself with my ability to always know which direction we might be heading toward in the van, but Brooklyn continued to stymy I was totally lost with ten minutes until load in time at the club, and was begging Rudy to find the club on his cell as we wandered around the industrial section of Brooklyn that housed much of the burgeoning art scene. The moment I started to panic about the “out of town band” rolling in on their own schedule, Jeremy called Todd and talked us through three swift turns that put us in front of the Grounds.

“Hey man, thanks, I always lose my frame of reference in Brooklyn.” I told Jeremy.

“Yeah, of course. I figured since you weren’t here yet you must be lost. You never show up late to gigs.”

We hauled the gear up the two flights of industrial stairs, greeted by a twentysomething doorman who looked as if he was recruited from the opposite of central casting. A slight, gracious figure, but certainly miles away from the typical Manhattan doorman, whose intimidating presence was all the security that was needed on the LES. But this was just some kid, who maybe practiced at the Grounds during the day- there was nothing intimidating about him. His role was to collect the door cash and to create the initial impression that everything was underground, and if you simply played it cool, this could all continue to exist underground. I had only once before felt that vibration, when I was in Amsterdam and the locals all advised me to “leave Amsterdam in Amsterdam”  and don’t take some hash with you on the plane. It wasn’t worth it. The people at the Grounds knew they were getting away with something because they didn’t flaunt their success. They were operating on a very Post point of view, and it’s attraction was indelible. I wanted to get to know these people and find out how they were pulling it off.

Maurice Lyon had grown up in Ledyard, just to the north of Mystic. We had never met until he booked Piercing for this gig, but he was quite excited to help a band from TGSECAZ get footing in Brooklyn.

“I had never heard of you guys until I saw the Earcandy review. When I read that you were from Connecticut, I definitely wanted to book you at the Grounds.”

He had attended school in Brooklyn, and by the time he graduated, had become involved with a group of artists and musicians that were life-long city residents.  Having been a guitar player the bulk of his life, Maurice found himself playing guitar in a long standing borough outfit known as The Constitution, whose confrontational lyrical content harnessed all of the great ‘80’s outsider music, without being derivative. The Constituition was made up of three neighborhood friends who had yet to spend more than four months apart since the time they entered kindergarten. Huntington Grounds was their baby; their contribution to the culture they had cut their teeth on. The room was one large, open space, with a handmade stage along the long, back wall. A soundbooth provided perfect isolation within its windowed walls, and a mural of the ancient Grounds from which they had procured the name ran the length of the corridor to the bathrooms and backstage area. There was enough room backstage to house each of the band’s gear for the night, and once we had loaded everything we had in there, we set out to see what was going on here firsthand, and not some recap from Jeremy two weeks later about how “you guys missed the best night ever!”

Finito opened the night. I had listened to their songs online, but that was not nearly enough preparation for the live experience. They existed within a wall of sound, but not the clichéd banging out max volume within each frequency. They were subtle, and daring; the dexterous guitar of lead singer Matthew Barbour sat on top of Phoebe’s throbbing bass and the slack fluidity of James’ drum stylings. And instead of the traditional Fresnel light can show, films were projected over the band that they themselves had shot and edited from the streets of New York. I wasn’t having a rapture moment thinking I was in the new Factory, but it was scintillating rock and roll; which was in desperately short supply. Bonaparte, a local Brooklyn band, played next, and they were a traditional tight, guitar based band, similar to the one The Infectious Reality had opened for in New Haven a few years back. But their bassist/lead vocalist was wearing a custom cut tank top that revealed his nipples with every turn of his torso. I was petrified as the Piercing members entered the van for a show in NYC- whether their clothing would betray us as outsiders from the hinterland. I myself had decided on a strict uniform that was best for me, after our very first show at the Wishing Well. When I saw photos of that show online, with my paisley button down and over-dyed magenta jeans, I looked like someone definitively not of the kids generation. I needed to be anonymous. It was black jeans and a black tee after that night. And yet, seeing his outfit was a relief. And in an interesting unconscious nod to the past, Jocelyn was shining in a maroon regality that evening, much as she was that specific night in New Haven, years earlier.

We hurriedly set up our gear so that we wouldn’t be responsible for dragging the timing of the night. This aspect of playing live was crucial at this point, and we were beginning to enact an exact choreography that enabled us to be in the best position to play the songs, and minimize what the staff was responsible for. That was a key; and each of us knew it. The songs themselves were the strength of our band, what we had to do was rise up musically to convey their inherent power. And on this stage, we would have to. Our aspirations depended upon it. I was slightly worried that Rudy had decided to play his hot pink 1980’s bass, I was praying that Joss and Todd would Listen for each other, but I was enthralled with Adrian’s look and his visceral attitude. Growing up in the punk scene gave him an edge the other four of us were not in possession of. And then Jocelyn introduced the band.

“hey, we’re Piercing. We’re from Connecticut, and ummm, Rhode Island, and uhhhh, Brooklyn.”

“yr from MYSTIC!” shouted Jeremy from his place in the front row, amongst a crowd of eighty people waiting for us to do something special.

“we’re from Myyyystic!” Jocelyn replied with a flourish.