Love Stories (Pennsylvania Trip Pt. 3)

A short summary for those who haven’t read this blog's parts 1 and 2: sam Hell and I arrived in Harrisburg, PA at Glen and Wanda’s, had awesome sloppy joes for dinner, and are now heading to the demonstration at a bar called Tara Station. Oh, and I enjoy zombie movies.

Currently…

I was at the venue, Tara Station, but then I had to run a quick errand...so I didn’t get to see her arrive. Sure enough when I returned, there stood Sneezy. With her stood Mr. Sneezy, her husband. How I met Sneezy is rather complicated and not necessary for the story at hand. It's a whole other blog.

Going out on the road is tough, especially playing new areas; you don’t always have the friendly support and love of your fans and friends in the crowd so you gotta work hard at earning it. That’s not a bad thing, as a rock band should have to work at converting every person in the room from civilian to fan but still, we all get tender and sometimes just having some lovin’ out in the crowd helps. Turns out tonight we have lotsa lovin’ in the crowd.

With some time to go on before sam Hell plays I duck out of the Tara Station and head to a hotel bar with Sneezy. And Mr. Sneezy.

Mr. Sneezy is stoic, wise and economical in his word choice, and there is more going on then he lets on, a raging river benath his calm exterior. Sneezy is bubbly warm with more stories than Stephen King. And actually her stories are just as scary as King’s (this woman attracts and debunks ghosts). Still, listening to her talk so soon after I’d just been with another couple—Glen and Wanda—hearing some of her American experiences, it just starts to weave such an abstract image of America.

Like a woman or physics or even Love, America is complex and not easily understood. It can be appreciated, misjudged and accessed but not always as simple as I’d like. It’s dynamic, bigger than I think it is, and I take its presence in my life for granted. I hope sam Hell continues to come here and play. So far research proves that sam Hell does well in America. Maybe it’s the music he plays. Maybe it’s his stage presence. Personally I think it’s because he asks one of the sweetest phrases in the English language. “So…tell me your story.”

I wonder if sam’s songs should not be called “songs”, but instead called what they truly are…stories. That by getting up on stage he shares his stories about strange people, about the time you didn’t smile and these strange devils that persistently tempt him and when he’s done, it’s your turn to share and talk, hopefully as openly and as honestly. “So…tell me your story.”

Yet no sooner did I get a tiny fragment of Sneezy’s story then it was time to finish our drinks, leave the hotel bar and head back to the Tara Station. I never did find out why she was nicknamed Sneezy and not any of the other 7 dwarfs, she never sneezed once the whole time I was with her. The most fascinating people invite you to swim in their strange mysteries and obvious contradictions.

Back at the gig Samuel and Rebekah were added to the party mix; sam’s friends from New York City. In the grandest of all rock and roll gestures they spontaneously hopped a train and came to rock out with us in Harrisburg. Granted they didn’t hop into boxcars loaded with hobos holding a rugged guitar case with “this machine kills fascists” scrawled on the front (apologies to Bob Dylan), but still it’s a grand rock n' roll gesture that sam and I totally appreciated. Hugs and drinks all around: cheers!

Well, not for too long. After all, sam has to play.

Happily the rock congregation enjoyed sam Hell’s music. The Beatles triple threat—covers of Back In The USSR, Lady Madonna and Everybody's Got Something To Hide Except Me and My Monkey—proved to be a successful crowd hit and the rest of his songs, excuse me stories, went over real well despite the cramped and small stage.

That night sam Hell shared his stories with the bar crowd, focusing on the couples he'd met:
Glen and Wanda.
Sneezy and Mr. Sneezy.
Samuel and Rebekah.

Makes sense that the easiest way to ensure there is lovin’ in the room is to invite couples happily in love. The best couples, the ones that get it are inclusive not exclusive. They make you want to be around them and not like you’re a third wheel. Sadly—and these are just my experiences, if yours are different by all means say so in the comments below—inclusive couples doesn’t happen that often. Kinda makes sense now when you think of the economics of love…huge demand, small supply.

Man, I am rambling like Grandpa Simpson..

And when it was all over? It was time for the happening: to share old stories while more importantly being a part of new stories. In the rock n roll business the professional term for that is…The After-Party!

(to be continued…of course!)

Sammy