Page 35 of The Librarian and the Rock Star

I don’t believe in signs. Omens and coincidences are just random chance that we assign meaning to because it conveniently fills in blanks for us. But if I did believe, I’d say that he was meant to be. The catalyst I need to begin a new phase of my existence before I get crotchety and bitter before my time.

When I got home, I cleaned my apartment from top to bottom. Channeling distracted energy into productivity makes me calm. Also, the little voice in the back of my head pointed out that if Jack had come in the other night, I may have been mortified that I hadn’t swept this week, and the laundry piles were big enough to have their own area code.

Three hours later when I finally plopped myself on the couch with my laptop, my apartment was neat as a pin. Come to think of it, even my pins were neat, stuck into a little tomato cushion on top of my sewing box.

I skimmed this week’s photos again. Someday I’d treat myself to a decorating splurge, and get some giant prints made and framed. Then Lizzie wouldn’t be the only one with a change of scenery. Do I really treat my lizard better than I treat myself? I’m sure a psychiatrist would have something to say about that.

When I found the photos from my graffiti alley shoot, I still couldn’t believe the photo of Jack with a halo of light. I almost felt embarrassed now that I didn’t know who this guy was. But now that I think about it, how big was the band, really?

Opening my laptop and a browser window, I searched for the most recent posts about the band. There were many, many photos of him with fans from about a year ago, and seeing the desperation in the eyes of all of those girls as they looked up at him adoringly was odd. The feelings they evoked were muddy. It wasn’t jealousy, it was more like deep insecurity. With all of those girls around, why on earth would he be interested in me?

I narrowed the search to items less than a week old, and dug up some reviews of Vegas Mud Disco’s secret show. They were overwhelmingly positive. But then I searched for reviews of the much bigger show at Kuedler Hall. Holy squid. The hardcore snotty music reviewers were raving. One of them claimed to have almost wet themselves in delight.

One post from Tim Larker, the longtime music reviewer at the biggest Toronto indie site, was especially enthusiastic.

Vegas Mud Disco finally scrapes the dirt off.

I’ve been following this band for years, and they’ve always been on the verge of greatness. Then suddenly they were transplanted to Vancouver, for no reason that anyone could fathom, and to the destruction of the energy of the band itself.

They’ve been puttering along, doing well, then plateauing, then gaining a little ground for a few years now, but as my grandma always said, “If it ain’t happened by now, honey, it ain’t gonna.”

Then I caught their show at Kuedler Hall last night.

There is a moment that sometimes happens when music lovers go out to see bands they enjoy. They’re transported to another realm. The energy of live music is undeniable – it’s risky, free, intense, and should always be on the edge.

When a band is good, it’s a good time, and restores your faith in the band, in the music. When a band is great and you weren’t expecting it, when you lose yourself in each song as if sacrificing your air for the song itself to breathe, when you fall absolutely in love with every lyric, every chord all over again... It is MAGIC.

I’m not going to be the tough guy here. You know I’m always straight up with my readers. I completely teared up at least three times. I grabbed my friend to hug him. I jumped up and down screaming like a teenage girl. I fell in love with rock and roll all over again. The drum was my heartbeat, the guitar riffs were my body, and the sound of Jack Vegas belting his soul into the night was my religion.

It was a revelation. A wonder. An awakening.

For a band this incredible to have been languishing in the ‘almost big’ category for so long is an absolute sin. For their musical style, they need to be based in Toronto or Montreal. For their power and energy, they must be playing larger venues. And for their talent and songwriting prowess, they should be on every radio station and podcast across North America.

I just don’t understand what the problem is.

Sometimes the stress of touring can cause a band to stop behaving as buddies, and turn into brothers who can’t stand each other anymore. This was certainly not the case last night, as the love and admiration each band member had for each other was apparent. The lads were playing their hearts out while having the time of their lives, and it was clear as day that they didn’t ever want to stop.

Occasionally times change and a band’s songs no longer fit the headspace of the moment. Society is fickle, and the next shiny thing can divert their attention. That could not possibly have been the case here, as the audience sang along with the older songs with reverent gusto, and absorbed the new material with stars in their eyes as if it were gospel.

Jack has grown steadily as a lyricist, and either he is reading the pulse of today’s rockers to see what makes them tick, or his personal journey always seems to be in the right place at the right time.

So what’s the problem here? A great band who performs so well live, produces brilliant recordings, and are eager to play every live show they’re given. (Yes, I’m sorry to say that I missed the last minute secret show at The Junk Club but I heard it was just as brilliant.)

The culprit must be something out of the band’s hands. Either their promotion team is dropping the ball, the record label isn’t putting enough energy behind them, or they’re let

ting a monkey do the booking. I’m actually going to look into this further because after the transformative experience I had last night, I’m actually rather pissed off at the music industry for not paying more attention to this ridiculously amazing band.

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This article hit me like a ton of bricks. It touched on some of the questions that I’d been having since the secret show. If this band had been around for five years and their fans absolutely adored them to the degree that they do, why were they not at a much higher level of success?

I would be the first to admit that I’m not an expert on the music industry, and whatever I think I know is likely tinted by the rose-colored glasses of movies and television shows, or the more sinister tones of sensationalist tell-all books.

Any industry this huge would have protocols and standard methods of operation, except that this is a creative field. People supposedly got signed for reasons as varied as the record company president had a crush on the bass player, to other people standing up for them and demanding a deal on their behalf.

Over the past hour in research mode, I learned many fascinating things about the music industry in general.

Ella Fitzgerald wasn’t allowed to sing in many of the best blues clubs simply because she was black. Marilyn Monroe called up the owner of Hollywood’s popular club Mocambo and demanded that he book Ella. Marilyn said she would sit at the front table at every show to support her. Through the power of positive PR, Ella became a sensation, and helped break down some walls.

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