An Irregular Column
by Mykel Board
To See If He Can Still Do It!
learn how to kill.” --Andrea Dworkin
The original plan: My Mexican friends have decided to put together a tribute band. The tributee? Me! Or at least my old band ARTLESS. They'll learn ARTLESS songs. I'll sing. We'll play half a dozen shows in Mexico and a couple in Arizona. The
new band, called Sin Arte, will tour with Cojoba, a Puerto Rican band based in New York. Together, we'll play with a buncha Mexican bands, many of them on the revival circuit, getting
back together just for us. Yowsah!
Gilberto assures me that I'll be playing with Mexicans, so it's okay. AND, in Southern Arizona I'll be playing FOR Mexicans, so it's even better. In the tug of war between ego and morals... morals loses. I agree to do the tour.
“Yo Beef!” I say. “Wachu doin' here? Come to see us play?”
Nurse Rached comes to the door and taps him on the shoulder. “Sorry,” she says, “but we can't allow drinking here. The police will shut us down.”
He stops... for a minute or two... then starts handing out the beer again. Aaaaaoooogah! It'll be a club full of drunken' 16 year olds. Yeah!
Slowly, more people come into the club. Another guy with a bicycle and skull make-up. Several girls in wool sweaters... torn at the sleeves. A group of youngsters: a girl with a short purple dress over bright red tights, a muscular blond boy, and the only colored guy in the place (besides Cojoba's drummer)... a good-looking skinny boy about 18.
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