Getting out

I don’t remember the last time some small segment of us had decided, on a whim, to grab food together. Practice had wrapped, but it was clear the conversation wasn’t done. So Jess & I sneaked away for an hour to join Randy and Victoria at the local bar for fried snacks and a couple rounds.

This used to be the rule, not the exception. When we were younger, band practice or a local show was precursor to an after-party that materialized despite protestations of an early shift or a touch of influenza. Pizzas were ordered, sweaty bodies in black hoodies poured through the front door of the apartment Josh & I shared, and we crowded around a small porch and punctuated our conversations with cigarettes we’d extinguish in the empty bottles at our feet.

The party ended by necessity - all of it was foolish, much of it was dangerous, and some of it was illegal. When the band regrouped in 2020, we did so with focus and clarity, and an ambition that took us beyond those musty porch sessions. 

That focus - combined with the added pressures of middle age - has kept our time together remarkably businesslike. We rehearse, we plot out our set lists, we write songs and kick around t-shirt designs, we book shows. And then we’ve got to get back to the kids, to the unanswered email, to the parent who needs help getting up the stairs. 

But after practice this week, we made time to simply be together. We went over all we’ve done in the past few weeks and months and years, and how all of that has added to the people we are outside of Jersey Calling. In so doing, I got the chance to remind myself why I’m in this band, with these people.