Saturday, April 12, 2008

Calling in my Muscle

“Hi,” I called, smiling innocently as I approached the group of college-aged rockers lounging on their front porch. They grinned back curiously and twitched their cigarettes in a lazy but friendly simulation of a wave. It was Thursday night, practice night for Troubadour Dali, the band that insists on cranking out concert level rock music at ungodly hours of the night, the band that routinely wakes Norah from her sleep, the band that had worked its way through all the good will I had tried for the last year to show to anyone following their rock and roll dream.

Nice kids when they weren’t lost in their rock star haze.

I had long since stopped knocking on their door to complain about their 2 am sound shows, the noise level high enough to hide anything so quite as a pounding fist. And while I had, at one time, waiting patiently on this very front porch for them to reach the end of a song so that my knocking might be heard, these days I just throw open the door and stomp my blurry-eyed way into their set. And they always look appropriately embarrassed. “Too loud?” they ask with genuine concern as if there were any other reason I would be standing in their living room in my bath robe and slippers.

But this time, my lovely wife had devised and even more direct approach and I was more than happy to implement it.

“I just wanted to come over,” I began, shifting my daughter’s weight in my arm, “to introduce you all to my daughter, Norah…the little girl you guys make cry every Thursday.” I smile and laugh to make the accusation as friendly as possible. Norah hears the word “cry” and responds by pantomiming the word, balled fists rubbing at her sad eyes as if she had been practicing for this encounter. The band responds with appropriate “awwwws”, especially the female bass player. It’s stereotypical, I know, but the girl’s presence on that porch was exactly what had kicked this plan into motion in Moonshot’s mind. And judging from the response she was giving my daughter…it was looking like Moonshot’s instincts where right. Even if everyone else on that porch got stoned and forgot about the volume, the bass player was our trump card.

We chatted there, the band and I…friendly like. I asked about their new cd and truthfully let them know how much I was looking forward to hearing it. I like their music, I explained, it’s just hard to appreciate it through the seething rage after it’s roused my family from slumber. They laughed uncomfortably.

Moonshot, Norah and I departed with neighborly good wishes. We smiled to each other once we were out of eyesight of the band, curious how the guilt trip would work.

Not a single bass rift or drumbeat invaded our sleep that night. Even rock and roll could not withstand the combined efforts of we Grens.

7 comments:

Mark said...

I'm glad you guys took your stroll, and after seeing that house and hearing that band the night I visited you in St. Louis, reading this put me right there with you Grens. Killin' 'em with kindness, so to speak.

Tune in next time, Gren fans... will the band find another place to practice? Will the other band members wear down the female bass player, making the Grens' respite be short-lived? Will the local news stations feature coverage of the Grens' being carried on their neighbors' shoulders to celebrate the ridding of the rock scourge?

I was in two rock bands in high school -- one with my brother and then one with some friends. We were fortunate to live in a house far enough from our nearest neighbors that we bothered nobody. Our official rehearsal location for the first one was our drummer's dad's church (his dad was the preacher), and the other was in the back of a men's store (after business hours, of course).

John Haney said...

Congratulations! I now expect some sort of chart indicating the restorative nature now that you regained 14+% of your full-sleep nights... :-)

Simon said...

I have seen and heard evidence of both the Moksha and the Gren aspects of your personality. Both are equally impressive when brought out in force. But this, my friend -- this was the first time I have seen the two sides brought together in what I can describe only as a beautifully symbiotic collaboration of the two parts of your whole. Stunning, really. I'm highly impressed.

And I've had to explain for the past two minutes to my elder son why I was laughing. I pointed out Norah (the bit player in this post, but really the most important) to Declan, showing her in the post below this one, and he was content with that. He thinks she's pretty cute.

Here's hoping your Thursday nights are more peaceful from now on.

émilie b said...

Good for you, standing up for yourself!

Moksha Gren said...

Mark - I had forgotten that you were here on a Thursday. So yeah, you know all about the Troubadours next door.

My only experience as a noise-making punk comes from my time in N'Awlins. The folks below us continually complained about the noise level while we recorded...but come one, we were half a blcok off Bourbon. What, you need us to quiet down so you can hear the drunken idiots and loud music outside better? They moved out.

Mr. Funny - While I have no such chart, perhaps the recent run of blog posts will serve as evidence of the restorative nature of sleep. I leave it to you to graph the improvement (if indeed extra chatter from the Gren can be counted as improvement)

Simon - Typically, I meander back and forth between Moksha and the Gren like some drunkard trying desparately to walk a straight line. But occasionally my two halves work in perfect harmony. It is a force to be reconned with.

I shall pass on Dex's complement to Little Lutine. I look forward to getting all of our wee ones together at some point. Maybe for the next Blogfather Geekout that Amy is scheduling in Edmonton we can make it a family affair.

Emilie - Oh, I've never shied away from going over there and complaining. All I've done this time is change the tactics of the war. I've now stooped to dirty tricks. If this doesn't work, I'm toying with recording Norah's crying and then playing it ultra loud on their porch at 6 am Friday morning.

Anonymous said...

You have a much greater store of patience than me, Mr. Moksha. The cops would have been called to deal with those kids long, long ago had Mrs. Mouse been living on your street.
Yes, I am a mean old lady who callously crushes the dreams of the youth of our nation! I am unrepentant! And stay off my lawn!

Robert said...

I came for Project Yellow pictures but read this first. Your patience is incredible. After so many trips over, I was expecting you to bring a shotgun rather than your daughter. And you remained calm and polite throughout. Quite impressive. I hope they respond accordingly in the future.