Over croissants we bid farewell to John, who would embark on a nausea-filled hell ride back home. Mike wasn’t feeling too great either. He had spent the wee hours trying to retrieve his lost sweater, weaving through a myriad of drunken, disco douche bags. I think he slept somewhere weird again but couldn’t sleep.
The morning started with a lovely drive through The Alps. In the crisp, healthy air everything looked like a model train set. Alan snapped photos while Greg regaled us in old job anecdotes. Mike put on a sleeping bag, a neck cushion, and sunglasses before slipping into a Joan Crawford coma.
The drive to Rome took thirteen hours. We stopped for gas and rest stop food, which in Italy means fresh mozzarella, prosciutto, crudo, and arugula(!) We also saw vineyards, almost-castles, more mountains, tunnels, road signs with cappuccinos, the inside of the van, each other, yawning, Scrabble, and an hour of standstill traffic due to a bridge aspiring for ruin status.
Sinister Noise is in the part of Rome with all the graffiti. Har har. The backstage spread featured tuna mostaccioli, fresh mozzarella, tomato, arugula, plus beer and wine. Onstage a hairdresser was styling the first band’s hairdoos.
The Litchous (pronouced "leeches") opened the evening in a big way. Four women, all dressed in black evening wear, playing tight, playful, theatrical rock. The singer would stare into the eye of the guitarist, who would stare back in awe like a Catholic statue in a Vixen video. With textbook rock moves, spaghetti noodle bass lines, slinky uninhibited dancing, perfect hair, and an ambidextrous drummer, The Litchous put a big smile on my face.
Unfortunately they didn’t have any records for sale, but they were selling hair accessories. Afterward the singer let Greg and I sample some of her pizza-in-a-bag. Verdict: Delicioso!
Viva Santa Claus followed. Before the first note, the dating guitarists kissed each other affectionately before stepping to their separate spots on stage. They ripped through a song called “I Fuck At The First Date.” Anotherule was next and soon the fashion-savvy Italians were making out wherever there was a stairwell or door to block.
Alan, Mike and Greg corralled the Romans with brass fanfare to the basement. Our first full show with Esther was a return to the grimy familiar.
They were a great crowd, cheering the cymbal washes on “Grieving,” counting along with our count-ins, and forming an actual conga line for the chorus of “The Companion” (which is the word “hate” shouted at full volume for four measures). Taking a cue from Viva Santa Claus, Greg and Esther kissed between songs. Our first day without the warm security blanket of Mom (Magnolia Electric Co.) and Dad (John) proved that we would be okay out there in the big, bad world. Though they are indeed missed!
After the oddly refreshing exercise of load out, Paolo the soundman drove us past the Colosseum to an apartment where we each had somewhere soft to sleep.
Thank you, Rome!
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