| | from The Novel (Cleaning Out Dellwood's Closet), Version 2.0. If you've read Chapter Four, you'll notice it's completely different. I'm curious if, by writing this, I'm spouting more crap than Allen, but I think he (and I) deserve a little slack:
“The D.C. area has a very colorful music history,”
Allen said, leaning back and cracking his knuckles, trying to look as casual as
possible. “In the Twenties, we had Duke Ellington, Ella Fitzgerald, U
Street as Black
Broadway. Sound familiar?” I knew about Duke Ellington because Allen listened
to a lot of jazz, and from hanging out with him, I listened to a lot of jazz.
Tom, though, shook his head. Stephen gave Allen a very strange look, which
caused him to lose his train of thought.
“Oh, okay.
Well . . . Marvin Gaye is from D.C., and we had Chuck
Brown in the Seventies, and go-go . . .” Stephen sighed loudly, tapping his
fingers on the table impatiently. Allen was making us all feel kind of stupid.
I’ll admit I felt guilty because he was talking about black music, and I didn’t
know anything about that. “And in the Eighties, D.C. had its hardcore punk
scene. The 9:30 Club, Minor Threat, and all of
that . . . Ian MacKaye, and Fugazi . . .” Now Allen was feeling a little
uncomfortable. He started flipping through pages of his binder, even though it
had nothing to do with what he was talking about. He was starting to mumble.
“Emo . . . Woodrow Wilson High . . . straight-edge, so forth
and so on. Am I getting through to you guys?”
Stephen slowly unbuttoned his jacket, revealing a Minor Threat T-shirt. Eyebrow arched, he stared at Allen,
as if to rub it in he was in over his head. Allen tried to smile and shifted in
his chair nervously. He cleared his throat and propped his head on the table
with his arm, a giant hand covering his mouth. “Wait a second,” he said, his
voice higher and softer than I would have expected. “Why are you here? Are you
sure this is . . . what you should be doing?”
“What are you saying?” Allen asked.
“Well, I’ve been listening to your little speech
for a while now, and I really have no idea what you’re trying to do. Do you play
guitar?”
“Actually, I play the clarinet. The way I see it,
if you want people to pay attention to – pardon my saying this – just another garage band, you’ll need a
clarinetist.” |
| | Posted 1/19/2006 9:23 PM - 1 view - 0 comments
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