Alone, but not lonely
The Poet wasn’t always known as the Poet. In fact he still wasn’t outside of his own close circle of friends and among certain hangers on. He had always considered himself to be something of a wannabe poet, and decided at some point to use this moniker whenever he referred to himself in writing. Neither poetry nor writing was on his mind at this time though, when Jimmy Buxton, as he was known to his late mother, stood in the rain outside the Gopher Hole in SoHo unsure of whether to enter the club or not.
The Gopher Hole was an alternative rock venue owned by his former band mate Gopher Matt. Gopher Matt, or Matt Johansen, used to play drums in the Post Moderns back in the late 90s, a band formed by Jimmy in a vain attempt to put some style back in to rock’n’roll. The band broke up after a couple of singles (no hits) and one album (straight to the bargain bins) and only Jimmy continued writing and playing after that.
Jimmy was alone in the big city, just as he had been alone most of his life. “I’m alone but I’m not lonely” he said to no one in particular. Ever since the breakup of Burning Desire his immensely successful post- the Post Moderns band, Jimmy has tried to get a solo career going, but nothing ever came of it. Nothing wrong with the songs, it was just that whomever he played with they lacked the edge and the commitment and the passion, nay, the obsession to be on the same level as him. And a little bit of laziness on Jimmy’s part. Then he tried forming bands and the same pattern ensued. He even went as far as playing covers for a living, and that seemed to go OK, probably because anyone he played with had a strict formula to follow. The design had already been made, you just had to copy. No creativity, no originality, a bit like jazz really unless you were Miles, Coltrane or someone like that. And he hated it with a vengeance when he stopped to think about it, but not when he actually played. Then it was almost great. The feeling of playing music with other people, performing on stage, travelling from gig to gig, he loved all that. But he needed to play his own songs again, or at least songs he had been a part of writing.
So, should he get the Post Moderns back together? Burning Desire was truly a burnt-out desire as two of its three members were dead. Maggi and the Rooster were both on board a plane that crashed in Mammoth Lake, CA. Only Jimmy still walked this earth as a has-been, a beautiful loser. So revive the Post Moderns? What’s the point? They broke up for a reason, right? A reason Jimmy had forgotten by now. All he knew was that it was unfinished business. But still, there was one big problem: Terry Olivieri, the bands second guitarist and Jimmy’s co-writing partner was missing. He had gone AWOL about a year earlier, and left his wife (middle of a divorce) and two toddlers behind. Not at all like Terry! Always in control, always on top of things, and with a career in advertising to boost. And now, disappeared off the face of the earth! He had emptied one of two shared bank accounts, but left his passport behind. Strange, weird and curious! Back in the day it had always been Jimmy who had had the short fuse, the temper, who had exploded without warning, whereas Terry, in spite of his Latin American heritage, had been the calm, cool and collected one. And now he had apparently up and left in the middle of a divorce? To get the Post Moderns back together Jimmy actually only needed Terry. Gopher Matt and Pixie, the female bass, player were expendable. In fact, he hadn’t even heard from Pixie in over 10 years, since the break up. So what to do?
He entered the Gopher Hole with the intention of drinking less than four beers (bottles, never tap - lager, never ale) a little red wine and feeding off the stares from anyone who recognized him from his glory days with Burning Desire. And to get hold off Matt, whom he knew had been in close contact with Terry up until the day he disappeared.
