Midnight Tracks, Chapter 16

The Afternoon Slobberbone Saved Me

SXSW, Austin, TX, 1999

It’s 3am and the walls are closing in

-Slobberbone

I thought that getting my own hotel room might help. I certainly couldn’t afford it, but I couldn’t bear another night in that room. My first South By Southwest. Sharing a hotel room with 10 or so people. Just the sight of everyone else sleeping deepened the darkness swirling in my head. Once I saw the morning light creep through the curtains, my stomach lurched. It would be hours before anyone moved. By the time they did get up, I was long gone.

My eyes were burning as I gathered up my suitcase and left the room. I’d drank about 20 beers the night before, even smoked some pot at around 3am to ease the anxiety, but there was nothing to silence this unknown, yet fierce combination of nerves and depression that enveloped me. My personality was gone. The music that would fill almost every hour of the next four days meant nothing to me. The timing really couldn’t have been worse.

I surveyed my empty hotel room and said a prayer. I needed sleep. It’s all I wanted. Some rest. I couldn’t imagine making it to Sunday without sleep. I heard every noise from outside and the halls outside the room door. I dropped onto the bed. It was 1045am. I didn’t get up until 230pm. I hadn’t slept. Every so often a feeling of heat would swirl inside my head, a sensation that was dreadful. I felt a million miles away from everything. I knew I shouldn’t have booked this trip. As much as music was becoming the core of my life, five days in Austin, Texas while wading through a mental debilitation that made no sense to me, was terrifying. I couldn’t predict how this would end, but something had to change, and it had to change fast. The medication was no longer working and the booze wasn’t dulling the hell.

I had to get up. I couldn’t bear another minute of trying to force sleep. I grabbed my schedule and saw that the New West Records party was underway. I knew that Slobberbone were playing, and having seen them put on a great set in New York once, I figured it was where I should be. As I made my way across town, I wondered if people would notice. Aside from feeling nothing, this was often the only emotion that would rise above the line that was nothing: Fear that my state-of-mind would be revealed. I wanted to be an afterthought. I wanted to go unnoticed. Carry on.

I could hear the music from blocks away. The streets were crowded with industry folks, music fans, hipsters, band members and spirits were high throughout the town. As I passed through the gate at the entrance of Club de Ville, I could see my friend and short-lived hotel-mate, Jason, talking to some folks we knew from Philly. “Dude, where’d you go? I figured you’d just gone out to a show, but your bag was gone.” “I decided to get my own room; it was just too crowded in there.” “Cool, man.” I’d passed through that one fairly unscathed. Over a joint the previous night, I’d opened up to Jason just a bit about my state of mind. He’d apparently been there as well, but I couldn’t imagine anyone having suffered through this. I was no one. There was absolutely no emotion in me. I felt not a thing. “Want a beer? They’re free,” Jason asked. I nodded and he handed me a full cup. It was gone before the band onstage’s song concluded. I crept over to the keg and filled up again. One beer after another and no relief. At the very least, the prospect of being drunk gave me the smallest slice of hope. But it rarely paid dividends. I just couldn’t get there. Not like this. In retrospect, it’s surprising that I didn’t move on to stronger substances. Coke, maybe. Crack. But I didn’t. I would never allow myself to be *worse* than my father. Never.

Slobberbone took the stage right as the sky started to cloud up. They were playing on the outdoor patio and the venue was about half full. Jason, Maggie, Frank and I stood near the back listening to the band. Well, they conversed and showed enthusiasm for the band while I drank and desperately tried to scratch myself free of the horrors in my head. After about five songs, I decided to move closer to the stage. I did so not to get a better glimpse of the band, but rather to have some time without the pressures of adding to a conversation or seeming interested in anything. As I stood side stage, I was able to let my guard down. I turned to Jason and he shot me a smile. He seemed to know what I was going through, and was possibly acknowledging my move for a little peace of mind. “Why you gotta go and sell your soul, why you gotta talk about Engine Joe,” Slobberbone lead singer Brent Best hollered as the rest of the band fell in behind. Midway through the song, as Brent casually uttered, “guitar,” took a step back from the mic, and guitar lead Jess Barr blasted through a loud solo, a crack broke through in my head. I could literally feel something opening. “There comes a time when nothing seems clear,” Brent screamed on the full-throttle “Front Porch.” I took a gulp from my beer. I could feel it.

And then the rains came. Downpour. And for some reason, it was perfect. As everyone ran for cover, Slobberbone didn’t skip a beat. And something inside of me did skip a beat. I was feeling something. It had been well over six months. I felt on the verge of tears. The rain, the power of this rock n’ roll and this escape from prison, even if it was only brief, was overpowering. As I saw a sliver of hope, the band just got louder, stronger, and, though I suspected that it would only be temporary, they slammed shut the demons that had plagued me for months.

I looked back at Jason and he shot me a huge smile. Maybe he could sense my transformation. I smiled and moved to the stage. From all four corners, the wood stage was soaked. Amps and chords were inches deep in water but the band continued to ignore everything but the music. And then came the moment I will never forget. As their set appeared to be complete, and the band seemed ready to move towards the stage steps, Brent bent his knee and with every line of emotion in his face belted out, “Look out mama, there’s a white boat coming up the river…” Neil Young’s “Powderfinger.” I was absolutely overtaken. I screamed, “It’s less than a mile away, I hope they didn’t come to stay. It’s got numbers on the side and a gun and it’s making me wait,” as Jess nailed the guitar parts. I had never felt this sensation in my life. Maybe I had, but the drastic shift from utter helplessness to joy made the latter all that much more explosive. I was screaming the words. I couldn’t tell if the moisture streaming and nearly covering my entire face over was rain or tears, and it didn’t matter. The skies above were grey and rumbling but the skies inside of me were finally opening, and it was rock n’ roll that was the catalyst.

When the show ended I was euphoric. I hugged Jason. I was soaked from head to toe. For the first time, I saw that outside factors could move me so much that they could actually quell a darkness that seemed never-ending and impossible to shake. But it wasn’t. I would get out of it. That hour with Slobberbone in the pouring Austin rain was only temporary, but it provided the hope that I so desperately needed. I stepped onto the gravel that led to the road outside the venue and knew that the next four days in Austin didn’t really matter. I would do my best. If I felt nothing again, that would be alright. Because I’d just felt everything. I would feel life again. I felt it right then.

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