Saturday night at Maxwells I see Bob Bert waiting for a bus to headed to Manhattan. I’ve been spending a lot more time at Maxwell’s lately, more than I have in quite a while. Perhaps it is the circle of life which if taken literally means I am about to die. I certainly hope not and the song Circle of Life is not one of Elton John’s songs that I like. But here it is, I’m inside watching Bob Bert wait for a bus outside. He must have caught the bus when I looked askance since he wasn’t there anymore when I looked again.
It was an interesting night at Maxwell’s. Someone was having a birthday gathering with about 75 of their closest friends. It was getting crowded that tables were moved into the basement to make room for the people who were standing around and drinking instead of sitting down and eating. I’m glad I was able to help out and if things go smoothly (and I don’t see why they wouldn’t) I will be helping out more and more.
Standing in the restaurant and seating people if they wanted to have some dinner. I found that standing and holding menus shows that I am working there and if I greet people without menus the people think I’m some strange geezer at the door.
And geezer at the door was a position I did hold at Maxwell’s for a few years, usually on Thursday nights though whatever night was needed I was more or less, there. I did find myself being a relic of sorts when the staff heard that I used to work there back in the day, nights when Nirvana played on a Thursday night, or Smashing Pumpkins on the same bill with Blood Oranges. Crazy lineups.
I didn’t care much for those bands then, thought Nirvana did get in my good graces. I preferred the Minutemen playing to those Sub Pop bands. Never really got into the Seattle sounds though my roommate at the time, Kevin loved all that stuff like Tad and Mudhoney. For me, the guys were gross and the music sounded like sludge. Half the staff seemed to like the Sub Pop bands and the other half thought the same as me.
I also saw something that sort of made sense the other night at Maxwell’s. At one of the tables sat a group of four bears, you know the hirsute bearded gay guys. One of them was rather flirty with me which I thought was a compliment. A few feet away stood a few patrons, hirsute bearded straight guys. I figured it out that once again, straight men taking their cues from gay men, this time bear culture which may have fed the bearded Fleet Foxes type of music these days. Guys that look like their grandfathers were in the Band.
I found that amusing. Also amusing is the fact that according to Rolling Stone magazine, Maxwell’s is the number 3 rock and roll club in the United States. With publicity like that chances are that I will be needed to help out there more often. And access to free shows as well is nice.