My sister, who’s always been a good drinking buddy, was in town a few weeks before Thanksgiving and on a Monday we decided to go exploring. Wandering the Over-The-Rhine neighborhood of downtown Cincinnati, we hit a couple different bars before settling in at Motr Pub around midnight. Being a Monday, the place had maybe ten or twenty patrons sitting at the bar or wandering the floor, listening to the band. Motr (sounds like “motor”) has live music seven nights a week with no cover charge so it’s a good place to go if one is cheap and does not want to make a financial commitment to a band which could, in the end, be a lousy auditory experience.
After claiming bar stools we ordered drinks and settled in as a band consisting of a female guitarist/vocalist and a male drummer came on stage. They were good, or at least I thought so, because by then I had donned my beer buds, the aural version of beer goggles. It’s possible they sucked, but beer buds are not as powerful as beer goggles so it’s more than probable I would have enjoyed them sober as well. We listened and drank while the soulful duo entertained the sparse crowd, clapping at the appropriate times and occasionally letting out yelps of approval so the band members wouldn’t feel so alone. It was the least we could do considering we paid nothing for the entertainment.
During a get-to-know-me moment in the first set the guitarist let the audience know that she (Helen) wrote all the songs and that the drummer (Seth) was a friend but also sort of stand in for this part of her tour. Helen sang mostly of love and loss, often in up tempo, which led me to believe she gave herself time to reflect on life’s disappointments before actually sitting down to document them in song, and at times the tiny band was augmented by musicians from the band that had preceded them on stage. That band was twice as big as Helen’s band, also had a girl, and was fronted by a very large man with a beard who should have been a lumberjack but was instead the lead singer and guitarist.
As my sister and I are gregarious creatures, especially when under the influence, we initiated a relationship with Helen and Seth sometime during their second set. It was an easy-going affair, largely consisting of us (my sister and I) buying them (Helen and Seth) drinks and talking to one another across the expanse of empty dance floor that under normal circumstances would have provided sufficient separation to keep people like us at bay. During one of our little tete a’ tete’s Helen asked me, from on stage, what I was drinking. I told her scotch, which by then was the truth. She seemed pleased, and let me know she liked scotch too. I, having reached the level of “sailor drunk,” now understood that I was in love with her. And with each subsequent round of golden social lubricant the relationship deepened and the cross-bar conversation became increasingly jovial.
At some point the members of the band we had missed earlier (the one with the lumberjack) came over and gently inserted themselves into our musical adventure and through them I found out that both bands were from Brooklyn and had been touring with one another. This was also the point at which my sister and I started buying drinks for that band as well. As the clock hurtled toward 2 AM a good time was being had by all and my credit card burned with exultation.
Things went on like this for some time and in the end the combined bands finished off the evening with three or four encores. The encores had been demanded of them by the animated but depleted crowd, my sister and I the loudest among them. Until the encore(s) Helen, my new love, hadn’t really taken part in the barside discussion group but after setting her guitar in its stand she walked over, clinked my scotch glass with hers and fell in with the group. The varying topics the band(s) and we covered in our undoubtedly deep discussions are lost to antiquity, but at one point I remember being told I had said something “profound.” As this almost never happens I stored it in the least drunk section of my brain and tried to keep up.
Eventually, sometime around 3, the musicians decided to break down their equipment and load it into their van, an exercise in which my sister and were allowed to take part. It was an unpaid position but gratifying nonetheless. They couldn’t afford roadies. Indeed, I happened to be standing behind Helen when she and the gargantuan leader of the other band went to the bar to get paid. Each band received a paltry $200 for their labors which, if combined with other gigs, probably translated to around $1000 a week per band, a sum from which they had to pay all their expenses. I learned also that, in order to stretch the paychecks, the band members arranged to stay overnight with friends as often as they could. This was the case that night. Friends in Newport, Kentucky had offered to put them up. They were to leave for Nashville in eight hours or so.
“You should come with us.” Helen said, waving her arm in the direction of what I imagine she assumed was Northern Kentucky, but was actually more like Indiana. I didn’t mention it.
“Come with you? Do you mean to breakfast or to Nashville?” I really wasn’t sure what she meant.
“Both.”
While flattered and somewhat tempted (in a drunk, throw-caution-to-the-wind kind of way), I politely declined both offers. As drunk and in love as I was, I still doubted my fiance’ (the woman I loved even when I was sober) would be willing to stay my fiance’ if I ran off to Nashville with a Brooklyn based band, even if I could convince her of their talent. I also suspected the invitation had more to do with my ability and willingness to buy drinks than it did about any personality trait I might possess that made me attractive as a travel companion. Besides all that, I had lost track of my sister, who apparently had run off with Seth the drummer to a quieter section of the bar.
Right before Helen walked out of my life forever my sister serendipitously reappeared with Seth. Both were smirking and seemed a tad overheated but otherwise were none the worse for wear. We said our goodbyes on the street by the van and went our separate ways as the cold set in and the excitement waned. It was a quiet trip home and I vowed, to myself, not to stalk Helen on Facebook. Although unstated, I assumed my sister had made the same pledge regarding her new friend.
It only took two days to recover.