TAKING NOTICE

October 15, 2006, 12:05am: It was well past the time we were slated to play. The preceding band took almost as long to strike their set as it took them to load up.

My rig took no time at all: an old 75-watt Peavey amplifier, a Boss Guitar Distortion pedal, and an old Fender P-Bass with glitter pasted onto the scratchguard by a previous owner. The entire set-up costed me $200, which was how much I bought the amp for-- the rest was free or donated to me by friends.

The DJ turntables in the previous band cost about as much as my entire bass rig, if not more.

We would've gone on sooner, but the Cooler Lounge's sound guy was trying to mic Buddha's drums.

I stole one last gagger in the men's room before going on stage.

Rose had placed a beer next to my set-up. I'd asked her in a hurry and she complied. She was standing next to her dude, but she had a camera in her hand.

My brain pulsed as the chemical drip in the back of my throat numbed my windpipe. I snorted, gulped, and started to sweat under the searing stage lights. I took a swig of the Newcastle as I tuned up.

Then, I realized I could smoke on stage. It was OK in Nevada to smoke in clubs... anywhere, for that matter!

I put my sunglasses on and lit a cigarette. "Hello folks," I intoned into the microphone for a sound check, "We're The Missing Digits, and we're from Hollywood."

"Hollywood?" An older man in the crowd stood up and walked over to me. "Didja jess say y'all was from Holly-wood?"

"Yes sir, I did," I replied, off-mic.

"Y'all can't smoke in the clubs out there, can ya?"

"No sir." The cigarette tasted soooooo good.

"I bet you're jess in hawg haven o'er here then!"

Yes, he did really pronounce it like 'haven'.

"You bet, " I said, then added into the mic, "I'd like to take this time to thank the entire city of Las Vegas for letting me smoke anywhere I want."

The crowd cheered. They probably figured all Californians and Angelenos to be Tai-Bo-taking, vegetarian fitness freaks who disdain tobacco.

"The proceeds to this show go to my cancer surgery in the future." A laugh from the audience.

Then I said, "You know, there's a ban in Santa Monica and Calabasas... So maybe I'll just move out here."

The crowd clapped and hooted, and then I shut my mouth, for fear that people would suspect I was coked to the max.

Mack was ready. Buddha was ready. Josh was almost done tuning. I looked at Mack and nodded. I looked at Buddha and smiled.

Then JJ gave us the signal, and we started playing.


*/*


October 15, 2006, 12:25am: I could hear everything.

Normally on stage I can't hear anything except myself and the drums. Even on the best stages, the guitar is so far away from me (on the opposite side of the stage) that I can barely make out what's going on with JJ.

The three best stages we've played so far, in terms of sound fidelity, are:

--The Viper Room on the Sunset Strip
--Linda's Doll Hut in Anaheim
--Cooler Lounge in Las Vegas

All three of those venues are tiny, although the VR stage is wide and contained the best backline as well as the most thorough sound check I'd ever encountered. The other two places were small but acoustically sound.

But at the Cooler Lounge, I could also hear the crowd very well. I could hear their shouts, their yelps, I could hear their hands clapping as if they were in front of my face...

I could hear them whisper. I could hear the compliments and insults.

I could hear, after the first song, the derisive comments of the first band. But I could also tell that they were scared.

Jealous.

Pissed off and yet blown away.

Finally, their timbre changed to grudging respect. By the end of the second song, we'd brought an unholy thunder to this small club that shook them to their core.

I was tweaking so hard.

I looked over at Mack, a Jack O' Lantern grinned etched into his rugged face, his hair jumbling about and releasing streams of sweat into the mob.

I saw local girls swooning in the front row. I sensed their panties dampening.

At one point, the bass guitarist for the previous band was standing in front of me. I thought he was trying to mean-mug me. Then, I took off my shades and saw that he wasn't looking at me-- he was staring at my bass gear.

He looked at my feet, shocked that I was getting such a raucous roar from one pedal, a shitty old amp, and a bass guitar that looked like a toy instrument.

His gear, I'd noticed earlier, cost about three times as much as mine.

But he didn't impress me. His sound was like every other bass player out there. When you buy a lot of gear to sound like everyone else, you succeed in that regard.

I ignored him and smoked my cigarette while turning and lashing on stage, a man possessed.

Buddha was so precise that night. His drums boomed like marching soldiers walking on dead local bands and their know-nothing followers. We were taking the club by storm like Nazi stormtroopers, like the Gestapo, like renegade SS officers, like rogue KGB agents tearing up the Kremlin.

My energy only intesified. I hopped in the air, daring to fall backward. I pulled out every trick in the cock-rock lexicon: windmill arm flourishes; backwards bending, almost as if I was doing rock and roll yoga; pained facial expressions followed by closed-eye open-mouth tongue-lolling manifestations of bliss.

Mack has to catch me sometimes when I careen and carom so recklessly that I might actually fall into the drum kit or off the stage. But this time, Mack was in the zone like I'd never seen him before. With his mother watching and his mood elevated, he dripped confidence and danger and charisma.

The biggest surpise was JJ, normally reserved and passive. I could hear his guitar quite clearly, and there was a relaxed inflection to his playing. He commanded that guitar and strangled virtuoso solos from it, wringing its neck and making it cry in pain and agony...

We left that club-- and the people in it --in ruins by the time we were finished.


*/*


October 15, 2006, 1:15am: After the show, I was actually a bit crazed for a second. Like an animal released from a cage, I stalked around and made sure that I wasn't going to keel over dead.

First thing I noticed was that Rose and her party crew had left without saying a word.

Second thing I noticed was Carrie, telling me to retrieve her when it was time to smoke more pot.

Third thing I noticed was Down Low and the bachelor party ensemble. They were really impressed and congratulatory.

Fourth thing I noticed was the previous band jocking JJ and Buddha, kissing their asses and telling us we rocked.

Fifth thing I noticed was Mack introducing me to a girl who looked 17 but had to be at least 21-- she wore braces, but lots of adult women do that nowadays. Maybe she had a fake ID, I don't know. What I do know is that she was transfixed by me-- she held on to my hand and asked me what my name was again and thanked me for putting on such a great show and she was going to come and see us again as soon as she could...

Then I noticed that the rest of the guys were striking down their gear, so I made sure to go get mine before it got stolen, tossed, or damaged.

I thanked the girl, whose name was Michelle, and discovered that she was one of Mack's friends from neighboring AZ. I resolved to talk to her later on.

Once the pandemonium died down, I found myself outside with a pipe in my hand, smoking weed with Carrie and Low and anyone else who wanted to partake in this sacrament.

I asked Low if he still wanted to do the strip clubs. He said he'd think about it back at the hotel.

Mack secretly asked me if I still wanted to take the Exstasy. I said I'd get back to him on it. I talked with Michelle some more and asked her if she wanted to hang out with us, but she and her friends were leaving town early the next morning.

"Next time you guys play out here," she said with a smile, "I'll definitely come see you."

"It was a pleasure meeting you," I said. "Have a safe drive home."

I packed my gear up in the rental, mingled for a spell, then finished the last of my cocaine and drove over to the Palace Station.