11. At the Comet: 'The Mortals' Final Show

(Continued from Chronicle 10. ‘On Land’ (Part II): Serendipities)

It was Friday, September 8, and summer was stubbornly refusing to leave. It had been one of the most scorching seasons on Earth in its entire climate record. I was wrapping up my third week of work, and at least inside the school the cool air made everything easier and more bearable. The morning had been calm except for the constant hand-to-hand dialectical battles I kept waging with a few insurgent students. It was my daily bread and my most personal challenge: getting used to them. I never knew with which group things would blow up. It was a matter of luck and a whole lot of tact.

During my planning time, I stepped out of my classroom for a moment to make some photocopies when I ran into Miss Jane, the physical education teacher, in the hallway: –What are you planning for this weekend?– the respectable teacher blurted at me. –Stay at home. Nothing special!– I replied, more than convinced.

As a precedent, I had had a blast the previous Saturday with the musical performance of my friend Nick, the music teacher, in a thoroughly festive atmosphere with all kinds of food, drinks, and performances all over Covington, his local district. For more than two hours, to his neighbors’ delight, he performed all sorts of very American-flavored covers, aided by different instruments like the acoustic guitar, the harmonica, the sax, and of course his vocal arrangements. He even improvised to perfection the sound of a nostalgic trumpet in this heartfelt version of Wayfaring Stranger, by Johnny Cash. Later on, he surprised me with his skillful handling of the looper, over which he reinterpreted a curious Respect, by Aretha Franklin; with different layers of saxes, guitars, and percussive vocal sounds that he himself recorded and triggered through the magical sequencer, sounding more like an orchestra than a single guy with his guitar. But if there was one song that left me especially ‘electrified,’ it was his take on Puple Haze, by the eternal Jimy Hendrix. All in all, it was a thrilling Saturday, musical, family-friendly, with new friends, meeting very kind people.

So it was understandable that on that very Friday when Miss Jane asked me about my plans for the next two days, my spirits wilted a little, as I couldn’t see many chances of repeating anything like what I had lived through at the show with Nick. So with no plans, no new friends, no concerts, and above all no Lexi, I resigned myself to the stillness of the looming weekend. Her dancing, her presence, her voice hadn’t stopped visiting and rattling my head since that serendipitous night in August when I met her (see the previous chronicle 10. ‘On Land’ (Part II): Serendipities). When would I see her again, or hear from her? It seemed as daunting as finding a needle in a haystack. So everything pointed to the typical grandpa weekend of sudokus and crossword puzzles, writing and reading, errands and strolls. And yet, who would have told me I’d be completely wrong.

It must have been around 3:30 p.m. when I finished entering the behavior grades and shut down my computer. I left the school and immediately felt the sting of the sun lashing my sensitive skin, unfit for beaches and deserts. I quickly pulled my bucket hat out of my backpack and kept walking the seven minutes that separated me from my apartment. Sometimes I think I may be one of the very few visiting teachers who lives so close to the school where he works, so in a way I should feel privileged, considering how vast the distances are around here.

It so happened that just as I was reaching the gate of my apartment, my phone started ringing. It must be my mother, I thought, since her calls often landed around that time. But no, it was Seth!, one of the two friends I had made weeks earlier on that fortuitous visit to the Southgate House Revival (see chronicle 9. ‘On Land’ (Part I): Serendipities). Seth, at that hour?! I picked up, and his lively voice was unmistakable: –Hi buddy, what are you doing? I’m with some friends who have come from another state and you have to come with us. We are waiting for you at my house. Take an Uber. You fancy?– Seth, his house, new friends. It took me no time at all to think it over. The answer was more than obvious. Still, what would I find there? A party full of people dying to meet a little Spaniard? The typical American barbecue with me being a pescatarian? Or, on the contrary, bored people ignoring a foreigner? Anything and everything could happen. The good part was that maybe later that night we would go out ‘hunting‘ for the best concert. And so the weekend began!

Not even two hours had passed when a car, that of my friend Christine, a teacher at the Newport Primary School, dropped me off in Dayton, the district where Seth lived. The moment I stepped out, the door of his house opened and behind him appeared a dark, furry silhouette staring me straight in the eyes. It was the guardian Douglas, a beautiful German shepherd with glossy black fur, and for the sake of my survival, the best thing I could do was let him sniff me before stepping inside if I didn’t want to end up torn to pieces. Once I had been introduced in friendly fashion, I began to feel like one more member of the pack. From that day on, that black wolf with the piercing gaze became a new friend, protective and playful.

– HOHR-heeeeeh- How’s it going?– Seth cheered. Honestly, as if we had known each other all our lives.

Right past the door, the kitchen. There they all were. I was introduced to Katelyn, Seth’s girlfriend; to Alyssa and Hunter, the two friends who had come from Pennsylvania; and to Darren and Sheila, friends of the group. And of course, Jeff was there too, the other great comrade I had met along with Seth.

That did not look like just any afternoon, far from it. The fact that we all coincided there was once again as serendipitous as it was fascinating and inspiring. They welcomed me with cheers and praise, for I had gone from being the Spanish teacher they met one summer night to being a new member of the ‘crew‘, the concert-hunting crew. On the kitchen table I enjoyed a simple little ‘tapas spread‘ of cheeses and crackers, the kind where once you try one you’re done for, because you want to wolf down the whole package, but it was hardly the moment to play the glutton there, especially being a newly arrived guest. As for the drinks, I tried an American IPA that left my untrained palate with a whole explosion of flavors.

We immortalized the moment and got ready to head out all together to the bohemian Northside of Cincinnati.

From left to right: Jorge, Elyssa, Katelyn, Hunter, and Jeff. The photographer was Seth.

We went straight to the Comet bar, in the Northside of Cincinnati, right where a month earlier, on one and the same night, I had met Lexi and the band A Former Friend. At first I had no idea where we were headed, partly because they talked in a mixture of jargon and slang that would still take me a while to understand, and besides they spoke quite fast and with an accent I hadn’t yet gotten the ‘hang‘ of.

Seth drove the Jeep, Jeff rode shotgun, and I sat, like in a can of sardines, with the three girls I had just met, in the back of the Jeep. As you can see in the video, I started to take a liking to the feeling of crossing avenues and bridges with the windows down, the wind tousling me all the way up to my eyebrows and the music blasting out of some speakers I had right above my head, so the surround effect was quite real. However, during the ride something very curious happened that left me speechless. It turns out that with the Shazam app I caught a post punk track by a band that hooked me the moment it started: The Mortals. I was captivated by that garage sound, frantic and free of frills, where an introductory ‘palm mute‘, as catchy as it was crushing, opened the song. Then a melodic ‘hey‘ joined the percussive strumming, soon backed by a beautiful, brief guitar riff that would round out the focus of this simple, sensational composition. Its name: The Black Hand. But the real surprise came when, upon arriving at the aforementioned bar, I found them right there, and on top of that they were the very ones playing that night. Chance chose to be even more capricious still, for it was their farewell concert, a ‘Final Show‘ they would gift us not only with their musical testimony but also with the free giveaway of their last stock of merchandising: t-shirts, CDs, and coasters with the band’s logo. I remember grabbing one of each, but I lost them later in the confusion and commotion of the night.

Another of the admirable coincidences that occurred moments before the event began was meeting Brian Rowe, the recording engineer in charge of making sure everything got properly captured. What happened was that Seth struck up a conversation with him and ended up introducing us. When I told him I came from Menorca he was even more surprised, because, as he told me next, he too had lived for a while in Mahón, so our bonds of friendship began to tighten faster than I could ever have imagined. We had a brief chat in Spanish about the island and about the multitrack console he was using to record all the instruments. As he told me, he would only help with the recording, while Matt, the bassist and a really funny guy, would take care of the mixing and mastering to finally publish it on soundcloud. We ended up exchanging phone numbers for a later get-together where he would introduce me to his nephew, both of them lovers of Spain, of its cuisine, and of the soccer of Athletic Club de Bilbao. The truth is he was an exceedingly kind guy, as I was able to confirm weeks later.

Brian Rowe, toasting with a Spanish Rioja.

We took one of the first tables right in front of the stage, and Seth wouldn’t stop bringing beers. I missed some ‘chips‘ or the typical ‘Granada-style tapa‘ that takes the edge off your ‘cravings‘ and even makes you drink more. I would have settled even for some sunflower seeds or pickled olives, but no such luck, so I kept drinking whatever they brought me, with my mind set very clearly on mixing nothing but beer with beer, no liquor or any other inventions.

And so the gang of six friends took our places there, front row, expectant and brimming with excitement. An excitement that overflowed in me at the very moment a few girls came to join our same table, and among them was one who looked a lot like Lexi. Of course, it had been little more than a month since I had last seen her, and the conditions under which I met her didn’t help much either, but in a split second I felt the pang that it was her, and sure enough, I was not mistaken: it was Lexi! Alarms started going off on every side of me. I no longer understood anything. My insides began to explode with jubilation and dread, only nobody noticed the superhuman effort I had to make not to jump for joy and go bouncing all over the bar announcing that I had found the needle in the haystack. I wouldn’t do it, among other reasons, because they would brand me a madman and the concert was seconds away from starting. Nor was it wise to lose points with her, though my sanity was by then well beyond misplaced. Even so, I stoically tried to ‘play dumb‘, sitting there in silence, holding back a euphoria that was leaking out even through my eye sockets. It rather seemed I was about to implode like a submarine nosediving into an abyssal trench. I felt like a mug of beer overflowing and in constant boil. Nerves and emotion made me drink more, celebrate more. My enthusiasm grew as my blushing faded. I was beginning to transform, to feel once again as fortunate as the day I met her. The beers helped, of course they did, but one circumstance after another led me to live that moment as a supreme summum of friendship, music and celebration. It was a feeling as adrenaline-charged as what one might feel stepping onto a stage before thousands of people.

it seemed I was about to implode like a submarine nosediving into an abyssal trench. I felt like a mug of beer overflowing and in constant boil.

Apparently, as I found out later, Lexi belonged to the group of friends of the redheaded Katelyn, who introduced her to me without knowing we had already danced together, though under conditions where, paradoxically, alcohol played the ally, stripping me of the shyness and restraints that reason always ties down.

under conditions where, paradoxically, alcohol played the ally, stripping me of the shyness and restraints that reason always ties down.

How were so many coincidences possible, so many strokes of luck that not even by imagining them could I have made them come true? Was that chance, karma, or that thing some call ‘destiny‘? Or was it once again the Cartesian ‘evil genius‘, bored again and back to playing his tricks on me? My thinking no longer let me believe in such hogwash and inventions of the human mind. By then I simply let myself flow through this long journey that is life, where being aware of the present moment was the only thing that truly mattered, and that matters.

Suddenly the ‘Mortals‘ took their positions, thanked the audience for being there for what was their very last time, and without further ado William Grapes’s guitar opened the concert. They kicked off with a powerful Turn Away, a full declaration of intent where from the first chord they had the audience in their pocket. Next came the hit through which I had discovered them on the way to the Comet, The Black Hand. Then came 999, I Found That Essence Rare and I Want More, another of their great songs, during which they cracked the joke that everyone should please take away all the t-shirts and CDs they had brought. Its catchy chorus, I want more, I want more, I want more than you can give me, made me long to be closer to Lexi, for she happened to be at the other corner of the table, leaning against the backrest her seat had along the wall, enjoying the event as we all were, hooked, with the anticipation in continuous crescendo. At least the two of us coincided in attending, almost together, the final concert of those ‘mortals‘.

Its catchy chorus, I want more, I want more, I want more than you can give me, made me long to be closer to Lexi,

They went on with DOA, So Suggestive, Wasting My Time, This Human Race. At this point the Pennsylvania girls stood up and began pushing aside the chairs and tables all around. We all got to our feet to dance and cheer on the show, for in the face of such a farewell, staying seated would have meant condemning our whole generation. They carried on with another of the cuts I liked best, Empty, as catchy as it was lively, complete with an original guitar solo that could not be missed. Then came Everybody Else, 1992, Desintegration and Long Gone, with which they closed their energetic and unforgettable performance. I remember that by then we were all moving wildly and without brakes, as witnessed by this short video in which we burned the last cartridges of that Friday, September 8, 2023.

Months later, the fourteen songs of this concert were released, the one where I crossed paths with Lexi again, rekindling the embers of my thousand fires. She left quickly, and I stayed once more with my gang and with the longing to see her again. We ended up immortalizing the moment with The Mortals. The last photo of their final concert?

What happened after the concert with The Mortals ended? (To be continued in the next chronicle)

– Continued in the next chronicle (Saturday, February 17, 2024). 12. ‘In the Water’ (Part I): An Unexpected Journey