By R. Loren (Sailors With Wax Wings)
Wake up. Email. Feed, dress, entertain daughter. Take daughter to daycare. Go to work. Scramble to prepare lesson plan on Mary Shelley and the Gothic Novel while listening to Xasthur’s Portal Of Sorrow. Respond to emails on my phone from Derek at Solid PR regarding press for Sailors With Wax Wings and White Moth. Tutor student on analytical response to Dante’s Inferno. Make copies. Respond to more emails from Derek. Email Burton and Meghan at Blue Collar about pre order for aforementioned projects. The bell rings; class starts. Wait, Mary Shelley isn’t until second period. First period is discussing feminism via Virginia Woolf’s “A Society.” Shift gears; Socratic seminar. Next bell. Students enter with Horseback’s The Invisible Mountain playing overhead, puzzled by what they hear. Go to bathroom. Email Wendy at Angel Oven for status of shipment to Blue Collar Distro.
Walk back daydreaming about why Planesmistakenforstars were never fully appreciated. Mary Shelley. Lunch. Call bank about the strange notice in yesterday’s mail. Check email for updates from Derek, Wendy, Burton. Review record label site for band page feedback before official launch. Bell. Last class. Mary Shelley again. Frankenstein is an epistolary novel framed in letters with three, arguably four, circles of narration. The closer one moves to the center of the novel, the more intimate the circle of narration, and the closer the reader is to the core of the monster. And who is the monster? Bell. Tutoring. Text to find out if I need to pick up daughter. Call Derek while walking to car to pick up daughter. Listen to Celestiial at full blast to get my fix before I pick up my daughter and the selection turns to the choo-choo train CD. Pick up. Go home. Check mail to find my double disc of the new Killing Joke album. Feed daughter. Walk around the block. Dora. Diego. Update Tumblr, Facebook, Twitter. Backyardigans. Bath. Book. Bed. Shower.
Drive downtown to see Wovenhand. The opening band is Serena Maneesh – never heard of them, but being on 4AD is enough to pique my interest. They completely melt my face. I feel as if I just witnessed The Warlocks play with the density of My Bloody Valentine and the attitude of Iggy Pop. Wovenhand comes on. There are no more than 60 people in the place, and that is being generous. I feel like I am witnessing the stuff of legends. The skill, sound, and aesthetic all rival the live experience of Swans, Nick Cave, and any other goth-tinged, beard smattered, industro-soul-punk iconic act that has ever graced the stage. I wonder again why there aren’t more people watching this amazing band, and again revel in the fact that I am watching. I am bummed that I only have ten dollars, and shirts are fifteen.
I go home, exhausted, and wonder if I will wake up to hit the gym in the morning, then if I will have the stamina to be nostalgic with The Appleseed Cast next week when they pull off a similar intimate and underappreciated performance at the very same venue. Zone out thinking about starting a small record label despite the economic climate. Stare at the Stephen King, Jonathan Franzen, and Nick Cave novels sitting in a stack awaiting a reader. Sincerely attempt to figure out when I might have time to read. Drink Hawaiian Punch.
Sleep. Wake up. Check email…
** Sailors With Wax Wings’s self-titled debut album is out now on Angel Oven Records. Order it here.
