Stormy Woman

A long time ago I played in a band with a woman whose emotional condition could wreak havoc on electrical systems and electronic devices of all sort. This is not such a good trait for a player of electric music to possess, but by the time I figured that out it was too late. I was in love.

I think of her because I recently found a tape she made for me of some bands we played in. It's 19 years old, dated 11/1987.
I haven't seen her in at least ten years.
Lots of stuff on that tape...

I played lead guitar in most of those projects and I used to employ a great number of stomp boxes and foot-pedal effects in order to get really bizarre sounds- but they would often malfunction at the worst times- I'd lose all sound during a solo , or , worse, my amplifier would just blast feedback at an unholy volume and drown out whatever else happened to be in the room with it, such as the rest of the band. Really bad for gigs.

Sometimes this continued even after unplugging the amp.

She didn't always have a negative effect on the equipment, at times my guitar did tricks around her- stuff it would never do in her absence- there was a certain ethereal tone- more of a place than a sound, as if I was hearing something from a great distance, something urgent and immediate, yet wholly discrete from all things tangible. It was like closing your eyes at night and listening to the stars -and finding them very loud indeed.

Something else would take take control of my fingers at these moments. I was only along for the ride. Part of the audience. Ecstatic.
My guitar would start speaking in tongues.

It's a feeling I once took for granted but now recognize as rare and precious.

I didn't know that this woman was responsible for these sounds until after we started sleeping together. The sexual tension had been building for months and she had just broken up with her boyfriend (who was my ex-drummer-complicated-whew!) and we found ourselves together. We both knew what was going to happen- it was, if you'll pardon me, electric.

I opened my eyes after that first, exquisitely anticipated kiss - oh, that was one for the ages, it really was- and found that her apartment had gone dark. We made our own light and didn't care.

The next morning I found that all four lamps in her tiny flat had burned out. I hate spending our beer money on lightbulbs, that's what I thought at the time. It didn't strike me as odd that they were all blown- shit happens, right?

That afternoon -or one very much like it- my amp would not make a sound. No light, no hum
nothing. I took the damned thing nearly to pieces looking for a blown tube or a frayed cord, a fuse, something.
I ran a signal from her amp to my speakers and the speakers worked fine- the electronics however, would not power up at all.

She came home and found me quite upset with all this. Pacing and fuming- why the hell won't it work?
Nevermind all that right now, she said. Be with me.

Later , my amp worked great. I didn't think twice. Part of the audience.

We never really dated, but we did argue. I think it was the booze and drugs, as we got along famously most of the time, but we sure had some screaming drag-outs. I'm glad we spent our time at her place, because during every fight a different appliance would die.

If we fought about work (we both worked in the same restaraunt) something in her kitchen would catch fire- a toaster, coffee grinder or clock- didn't matter.
Something had to burn.
Burn so bad that even sex couldn't fix it.

When we fought about music my guitar rig would refuse to behave. It never exploded or caught fire but it sure sounded like it was going to.
Guitar bio-feedback with an angry whammy.
Awful. Scary.

I'd not thought about her for a long time, but suddenly I've got this tape. I thought it long-lost, but it was with me the whole time. I suppose part of me will be with her forever, though I'd almost forgotten her. I think I really loved her then, witha passion so intense it was nearly blinding , at least to memory's eye, but it's hard for me to believe that I did. I'm not sure I'm still capable of that feeling.
My recall is poor. I don't know now what I was feeling then, but I know it's all in the music.
The music on this tape.

I'm afraid to listen to this tape, yet I know that I will.