Cigs at Bullwinkle’s.
Melanie and I went over to Bullwinkle’s to catch the Cigs show. I wore the shirt with the metallic-thread stars on it which Anne gave to me at Christmas. Emily Bonus put us on the guest list for being such dedicated friends and enjoyers of their music. That pleased us, for we didn’t have to pay cover. They played, and we danced to our utmost and sweated and enjoyed it all. They did a lot of excellent new numbers, and I stripped off my jacket to keep cool, my starry shirt revealed to the crowd, the spotlights shimmering across the metal threads. What a band they are! They are a source of never-ending joy and pleasure for me. Their music satisfies every aesthetic standard I have, and more. They are artists in every sense of the word. Once I started dancing, I didn’t stop until the last song, the preceding one having totally sapped my strength (“Wild Times,” one of my favorites). Margot and I panted together and complained mutually that we couldn’t do the stuff we used to do in our youth. Actually, it occurs to me that this wild primal dancing—or at least the way I practice it—is an attempt to push myself over the limit of everyday experience, into something more rare and extraordinary, and I have done that very thing several times, the last and most memorable occasion being at the Uptown party where I was tripping and would have danced ‘til I dropped and died happy had the band not finished first. Whenever they play, I throw myself into transcending the normal limits.
But by god, it was fun! My friend Laurie enjoyed it just as much as we, and danced until her hair was flying wildly about her head and her clothes were wet with perspiration and joy. We did a frenzied dance during “Wild Times” which came close to crossing the boundaries, Margot and I screaming until our throats were hoarse (the Cigs all began smiling onstage when the screams began). It was very satisfying.