Late July 2007, my band had a gig at AS220, one of the longest-tenured music clubs/art collectives in Providence. We opened in support of Del’s Brain Freeze and their seventh 7-inch record. They were a local band named after the region’s favorite frozen lemonade purveyors. Think Rocket from the Crypt and Fishbone with punchy choruses of thick Rhode Island accents; an everyone-is-in-on-the-joke kind of band. I’d been in plenty of bands where no one was in on the joke.

My band Antigone was a four-piece; pronounced “anti-gone.” I know, believe me, not my doing, and I’d argued long and hard for a hyphen or space (Anti Gone), which would’ve made for better band logo opportunities. Victor (bass) and Kenny (lead guitar) were our vocalists and an off-and-on-and-off-again couple; their moodiness and interpersonal conflict translated well onstage. If they weren’t the most talented musicians, they made up for it as songwriters, their willingness to experiment, and authentic (if unearned) air of disdain. Walter (or Waltah) our unflappable, friendly-as-a-puppy drummer, recruited me into the band in the spring of ’07. I’d met him a decade before while bartending at Club Babyhead (now Club Hell). He played in almost as many bands as I had, and despite being a lifelong New Englander who’d never been south of DC, he’d been threatening to move to North Carolina for as long as I’d known him.

You and your band logos.

Prior to that night’s gig, I was bullish on the prospects of Antigone. We’d been getting some good press and were in the mix to open for larger acts at Lupo’s/The Strand. I’d been part of the local scene for going on fifteen years, which might as well have been fifty years for how often and quickly trends, tastes, and players changed. So, at age thirty-six I was the Socratic grandpa of Providence indie rock. Or to be less generous to myself, maybe I was better described as the Susan Lucci of the scene. Respected (I think?) as the ultimate dues-paying grinder but viewed as a cursed object (the gondola incident didn’t help my reputation in that regard), as I was unable to stick with any one band for long nor did any of my bands achieve even momentary success, however that success might be defined.

[An intrusion note from the hell year of 2017: I am cursed and have been so for as long as I can remember, and yeah, fine, most of it is self-inflicted, and maybe you should stop reading this book, as you touristing my life might lead to your own cursing, as it were. A book is a vampire after all. And if that bit makes you think of a Smashing Pumpkins lyric, might I suggest engaging in a juice cleansing, the kind that leaves you rooted to the toilet for a protracted length of time.]