Emily and I hadn't seen each other in years and it had been even longer since she'd seen Andrieu. (Back in 1997 we all worked for the angriest woman in New York. I'd put her name here, but litigation's her hobby, so I'll just call her J.) We made arrangements to see Andrieu’s (also Tommy's, Meri's and Khris's) band Americans at NorthSix. She was going to meet me at my apartment at 10 to 10:15-ish.
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Of all the traits Emily and I share, foremost is our inability to make it anywhere on time, so when she called at 9:50, I was still taking my time making an omelet. Her 'I'm running late' call was expected and welcome news.
"Tom, I'm so embarrassed," she began.
"Don't sweat it."
"No — I'm hopelessly, unfashionably early. I just got off the subway and I'm a block away. I'd be happy to kill some time at a bar or..."
Unfashionable. Emily cracks me up.
"Come on over. I'll get the door."
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Emily and I grew apart a couple of years back. It happened without crisis or fanfare, we just spoke less and less and, finally, not at all. Then, back in November, she emailed from London wanting to know if I’d read the latest bestseller J. had published. I hadn’t. She urged me to suspend my embargo on J.’s products (I don’t want literacy’s blood on my hands) and pick up a copy. She swore it was good, so I agreed to get it the next day. It was good. And the transatlantic emailing after I'd finished was familiar and fun, like we’d never left off.
She posted a wide, over-the-head wave walking down the hill towards me. I had wondered what we would say at first, but we smiled at each other and it was clear that some distances require no explanation: you're just happy the person's back in your life.
With five bands on the bill (The Waylons, Night Watch, The Negatones, Right On Dynamite, Americans) NorthSix was packed. We showed up in time to hear The Negatones launch a juiced-up cover of "Savoy Truffle":
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Creme tangerine and montelimat
A ginger sling with a pineapple heart
A coffee dessert — yes you know it’s good news
But you’ll have to have them all pulled out
After the savoy truffle.
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Tommy told me Time Out New York had featured them in their Best Albums of 2005, and they were mighty talents. Dressed like science fair finalists, they were the smart kids, impressing with ease.
From science fair to talent show, Right On Dynamite came up next: Jon on drums, Nicky on bass/vocals and Dan on vocals/guitar. I had seen Jon and Nicky back when they were The Regs and really liked them.
Tonight, they were polished and on, partly owing to both Nicky and Dan having their parents in the audience. They kicked it out hard, drowning out any shouts of "That's my boy up there!"
Their moms and pops took their posses with them when they left, but those who stayed bunched right up at the front of the stage. It's like this at all Americans shows; they're warm people and they make their audiences feel wanted.
Andrieu is the voice of the band and is the most informed person I know. He's passionate about history, politics, music and more, but he's not a braggart. He wants to inform and discuss, argue and learn. Like the best sports teammates, his game elevates that of everyone around him.
We were roommates for five years. Emily and I were already working for J. when he reported for duty, and at that point I was living with two gigantic knuckleheads. It was so bad I actually considered our terrifying office a refuge. Employees made fast friends in this corporate Vietnam, and when Andrieu learned about my nightly battles against Joe Walsh jam sessions, he stepped in to lend a hand. Our rental negotiation went something like this:
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ANDRIEU
I've got an extra room in my place that I’m not really using.
Only thing is there’s a built-in desk that I don’t want to remove.
TOM
This room — it also has a floor and a ceiling?
ANDRIEU
Yeah, man — you can come by anytime to see it.
TOM
Right. So how much am I writing this check for?
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"We're Americans and we're sick of war."
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The Achilles' Heel of politically aware music is that it puts message before pleasure. Some political bands have become very popular, and deservedly so, but even the ones I like tire me out after a while. Dead Kennedys for one. Great band, wonderful songs, fascinating front man. But in the end an angry monotone. Public Enemy is another. They’re one of the greatest hip-hop bands of all time, and It Takes A Nation of Millions To Hold Us Back is one of the great albums, but they're not getting a summer radio marathon anytime soon.
This is where Americans are different. I don't want to label them 'pop,' or to call them a party band, but quoting American Bandstand on them, "It's got a great beat that you can really dance to" is pretty damn accurate.
Thefirst song started on a casual, jangly trot, but with sharp spurs for lyrics. They’re describing how we all live right now. This is our experience in plain clothes, not intellectual preening. The song acknowledges that yeah, what's going on isn't right and we all feel it — but at least we're all feeling it together. It’s validating to hear it spoken through a mic, and we give ourselves power by singing along.
Political lyrics point out social ills, persuade with anger and resentment, and then call for destruction. But Americans' great skill is that they present life as it is, ugly and unjust, but then move the focus to how it could — and can — be.
I looked at Emily next to me. Invite an old friend somewhere new and you're bound to worry if they're having a good time. At least I am. It's another thing Emily and I share, so a look was enough to ask how she was doing. She looked back with her question: Are you feeling this?
The last song came up and we had all been smiling and dancing, feeling good about who we were and glad to be together. Andrieu spoke up: "Sing along at the end of this one if you want to."
And back to sure-handed guitars and drums, group dancing and shared enthusiasm. The final chorus came and he spoke it, then sang it, and repeated it as a shout verging on a scream:
War!
Is!
Over!
War!
Is!
Over!
What relief! I wanted to feel it. I joined in. Not loud, but I was speaking. Emily couldn't hear me, but I could.
War!
Is!
Over!
I scanned the people in the room — acting it, singing it, dancing it — and saw them remember who they were back then. I watched them feel good again about their ideas, their hopes and talents, and their American lives.
Years have passed since Andrieu and I stood on that rooftop watching the buildings fall. Feelings of community prospered for a few days after, but soon fell too, poorly matched against the twin generals fear and resentment we’ve been straining under ever since.
Warmth and concern left our community when manipulation and deceit arrived. But they galloped back tonight, bringing me renewed pride for the people I know, love for the friends I have, and gratitude for the one who returned.
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