I just came to see your band/the greatest in the land
But I stayed for a beer/the purpose perfectly clear

It's been one of those weeks where a lot of things go right.

This was the week of our first CD release party. Old Beans doesn't have its own CD, but we've got a single on a huge local compilation: Rock Outside the Box, Vol. 2. A double CD of local bands (mostly from Albuquerque, but a few Santa Fe-ans as well). We recorded it in April at Stepbridge studios in Santa Fe. On tax day. April 15th.

Recording is different than playing live. Whereas live you get one shot per song, the studio gives you about as much time as you've paid for. We had five hours to get the song right. Three or four takes with all of us playing (but not singing) got most of the song recorded. I could feel, by the last take, the energy leaving. Without a crowd screaming, applauding, urging us on, energy drops. I impressed myself by not having to play with a click track (a metronome popping the beat in my ear as I played). I unimpressed myself with my almost absolute inability to sing correctly. Luckily the other guys were able to step up to the plate in that area.

But as the beer dwindled, the producer took an occasional hit off the studio bong, and he and his engineers crafted a beautiful piece of work. We learned some lessons. The producer wants Beck's beer. He wants a few bowls of high grade. He wants to be paid in cash.

These things we will remember when the band records a whole CD in the next year.

The long awaited release of our song came to fruition this week. We opened the night at our most familiar of live haunts: the Atomic Cantina. The original plan had us playing at 8, but the cancellation of one band and the wise decision to wait until people showed up had us actually playing at 9. The crowd was enthusiastic, if not completely lubricated, as it would become as the night went on.

Old Beans got a little press this week. An article in the Daily Lobo (the UNM newspaper) and a mention in the Alibi (local free weekly). The Lobo photographer took about a hundred pictures (digital, of course--isn't everything these days) over a half hour in an occasional drizzle. The reporter's tape recorder (ok, that wasn't digital) crapped out, and he had to write the piece immediately after the interviews to remember what we said. There was even a tease for the article on the front page of the Lobo with the headline: Old Beans Style.

Are we rock stars or are we just kidding ourselves?

I'm a little shell-shocked this morning, so it's hard to say. It's raining outside, so the dried sweat has company. My taste buds are totally shot, so the coffee is like gasoline: something to be consumed, but the consumption is barely comprehended. Somehow, it just gets gone.

And I remember the night--I didn't drink so much I used everyone as a wall to hold myself up. But definitely enough to forget myself and scream and yell and headbang and sing along to Romeo's set.

Is it supposed to mean something more than a memory? Is it supposed to be a defining moment? Are there really defining moments as they happen or is it all upon reflection?

And even the set, which everyone outside the band said was great, was good, but sloppy on my part. Sticks breaking every other song. Energy waning, heavy breathing apparent. Did I sing the right part? Why can't I feel the bass drum? Running in place and flaying away at drums and cymbals in a desperate attempt to keep up.

But then I remember: it's always like this. The attempt is a success. The only person who knows I'm fucking up is me. And as I look at every other drummer, every other guitarist and singer, I know this is our shared experience. A great orgy of mostly insecure freaks trying to explain the world they live in with loud music and caveman (and woman) screaming.

At the end of the night, we all hug and tell each other how great it was. That we want to do it again. And, by the way, there are some t-shirts and posters and CDs for sale and please, if you've got any cash left after drinking too much, throw some our way.

Because, in the end, we are Harry's smashed guitar and Bobby's exploded keyboard. Unit 7 Drain, even though they didn't end the night, gave an appropriate ending with their set-ending car crash.

The beginning is the end is the whole night. Everything happens at once, even as we stayed on a schedule and took our turns. Because rock n' roll is chaos, even though we rehearse before all hell breaks loose.

Matt Worley is spinning along with the world this morning.