Excerpt from "I Sing When You Shut Up," chapter 3

("I Sing When You Shut Up" was serialized on the "Internet" in 2012 as a sequel to the "Comeback Road" novel. I'm editing it for an eBook release and will drop nuggets as I go. This is from chapter 3.)

I nodded. "So... you're doing good?"

She smiled. "Yeah. How are you?"

I'm drunk and sick in my guts from seeing you, I thought to myself, I've been missing you for two years, taking myself apart and trying to figure out how to put myself back together so that I could be the guy that a girl like you would want to be with, even though I had been the guy you wanted back at the beginning, but then when you got to the bottom of me you found me empty and decided that I wasn't what you wanted after all so I've been trying to fill in that emptiness but the more I try to fill the emptiness the more empty space appears, and I've been trying to figure out who I want to be, always with an eye over my shoulder looking toward an unseen image of you, trying to figure out if any step I take is the one you would want me to take, and it's been driving me crazy and it makes me love you and hate you and want you and resent you because I don't know who I want to be anymore except that I want to be the guy you want. But I couldn't say all that, so I said "I'm fine. I think I'm going to grab another drink."

"Cool," she said. "We'll be here."

So I smiled and backed off, went to the bathroom and then up to the bar. I checked my wallet and realized I didn't have enough money for another beer, so I left the bar and went to the ATM across Spadina and took out another forty bucks. And then, once back in the bar, with another unnecessary beer in my hand, I went to the back and found that the second band was nearly through their set, and that the members of Seam/Fault/Flaw were all gone.

I drank the beer and then another while I waited to see if they would show up again. I was completely wasted, rolling my head around and wishing I could lie down under a table. I decided it would be a good idea to head home while I was still able to walk. The night had been a wreck. A depressing, humiliating wreck, and I felt like a fool. I zipped up my coat and got the hell out of The Horseshoe.

The beer didn't like being sloshed back and forth while I walked, and vomiting was a real possibility. I pissed in an alley, and I started thinking: just make it home and then you can pass out in your warm soft bed. If you have to puke, you can puke in your bathroom. Your nice, clean bathroom.

I almost made it.

There's a tree in front of my four-story building, and I ended up leaning against it, holding myself steady while a stream of beery vomit forced itself out of me and onto the snow-flecked grass. I just remember trying to spread my legs as far as I could to avoid splattering my shoes.

I must have been making a lot of noise, because someone came out onto their second floor balcony and a female voice asked me what I was doing. If I live a thousand years I'll never know why I replied, "Goddammit, I'm a music journalist!"

Excerpt from "I Sing When You Shut Up," chapter 1

("I Sing When You Shut Up" was serialized on the "Internet" in 2012 as a sequel to the "Comeback Road" novel. I'm editing it for an eBook release and will drop nuggets as I go.)

The Horseshoe Tavern is a long, narrow club located on Queen Street West, a few doors east of Spadina Avenue in downtown Toronto. On the wide sidewalk in front of the music venue is a small patio enclosed by a black iron fence, where the drinkers from inside stand in the winter cold or the summer heat and smoke their cigarettes.

Inside is the front room, a bright, blond-wood space with a long bar on the left. The wall on the right is coated with a collage of newspaper clippings, set lists, and a generous photographic record of the bands that have graced the famous stage located in the Horseshoe's darker recesses.

Past a pool table and the bathrooms, past a displayed Triumph motorcycle and up a few steps, is the back room-- the venue itself. The light of the front room gives way to a low-ceilinged black cavern with another bar on the left, seating and a sound booth on the right, all leading up to a smallish dance floor and the stage which has hosted an endless progression of music royalty.

Country stars like Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, Charlie Pride, Loretta Lyn and Stompin' Tom Connors played The Horseshoe in the early days. Punk and new wave acts like The Police, The Ramones, The Talking Heads, and The MC-5 visited later. A who's who of Canadian rock, including The Tragically Hip, The Rheostatics, Bryan Adams, Nickelback, Billy Talent, The Constantines and Arcade Fire have passed through. Monster acts like The Rolling Stones have arrived to play secret sets, while a constant stream of acts on their way to eventual stardom like Niko Case, Franz Ferdinand, The Decemberists, Death Cab for Cutie, and The Shins have graced the stage.

If you play Canada, eventually you will play the legendary Horseshoe Tavern.

Bar prices are typically steep for a downtown Toronto bar (a bottle of Labatt 50 is a five-and-a-quarter hit, plus tip) but to the club's credit, live music from emerging artists is cheap. Monday night has three bands, free. Tuesday night has four bands, also free. I try to make it most Mondays. I don't miss a Tuesday.

Tuesday is new music night at The Horseshoe. Four bands, usually local or regional acts, show up and play. They don't get any money, but they get to play in a famous room in front of a good crowd, usually numbering a hundred or more people. It's a place for bands to gain experience and exposure, and a place for music fans to see what's being played by the newest of the new. It doesn't matter who is playing. You show up and see. Tuesday night is a mish-mash of rock, punk, country, pop, glam, or whatever else. You show up and take what The Horseshoe gives you.

Every Tuesday night I get home from work, eat, shower up, and pre-drink a few tall cans. Then I pick out a black t-shirt, grab my notebook and go. It's not a long walk from my apartment. The first band is usually on by a quarter after nine, and every week I'm there by nine o'clock sharp. I go alone. When I'm at a gig I'm taking notes, changing spots so I can isolate and focus on particular players on stage, or chasing down band members to ask questions, make contacts, exchange info... you get the idea. I collect information, and I'll write about them for a website, either my own or someone else's. I usually write up at least one band a week, sometimes two.  Since retiring from actually playing music (more on that later), I've been trying to get a career in music journalism off the ground. So while I'm there to enjoy the bands, I'm also working. It's hard to keep track of friends when you're operating like that.

Another reason I don't bring friends to gigs is that I have no friends. More or less, anyway. More on that later, too.