The Green Shoes green shoes are ready to go.
Amy rocks.
The original plan for last night was to stay at home, do some girly stuff, arrange Personal Jesus for accordion, and enjoy the night to myself while Scott went to his gig. After the girly stuff and the accordion playing, it was still only 7:30, and I started thinking about how long it had been since I’d seen Green Shoes, AND the band isn’t playing again until September, AND Scott was excited about it, AND it would be an excuse to wear new shoes and one of the many vintage dresses that I swore I would wear this summer. So, I put on my polka dots and yellow shoes, grabbed the iPod and headed north.
Green Shoes, meet Yellow Shoes. Yellow Shoes, meet Green Shoes.
I went up for one set. Green Shoes sounded good, despite having a substitute rhythm section, and missing one vocalist. Amy was happy to have Jim Beam with her onstage, but missed her flute-playing hippie. Every time I see her it makes me want to sing, and I engage in a series of music-related delusions until I remember that I lack talent and ability. For a long time I thought the delusions were alcohol related, but after a few years of dry trips to see Scott’s band, I’ve realized that I am just as delusional while sober.
Green shoes go on for the second set.
And back off for the third set.
Amy explained the shirt to her kids this way: "See, the mom is confused because she doesn't know whether it's Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday."
On the way up, I had a hankering to listen to Revolver. It was one of my favorite albums that unfortunately was ruined by getting divorced, but it’s far enough in the past that I figured I could enjoy it again, as long as I skipped over the song we danced to at our wedding. I couldn’t remember where it was on the album, so I scrolled through the tracks to see where I would be skipping ahead. Then I scrolled through again. And again. Gone. Apparently, at some point in the past seven years, I thought ahead and deleted the track.
Still a great album, still one of my favorite Beatles albums, but not QUITE as brilliant as I thought it was seven years ago. Although, a few years of immersion in the yoga community has made all of George Harrison’s sitar business much more interesting. Sitars. Yes. Yes, I do want to play one. At some point, I need to live a life of complete leisure so I can learn to play all the instruments.
While we’re here, because I know I have readers, I’m interested in hearing about albums or bands that were ruined by breakups. Divorcing also ruined Radiohead for me (although I wasn’t crazy about them, anyway), and put me off Wilco for a long, long time. The more difficult parts of my courtship with Scott have made a couple of Elvis Costello albums a little tough to hear, but I’ll deal because it’s Elvis. Anyone else?
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