|Sorrento Hotel, 1912|
|Sorrento Hotel, 2010|
Morrison Boomer. Though, I was to find out later that they are, neither of them, named Morrison or Boomer.
I stood on the landing of the stairs listening. It was shady there, and a sea breeze was finally coming up. I was cool, and strangely happy. And, best of all, my head had stopped hurting a bit. I thought their music was amazing. Two guys, two guitars, tight harmony, the acoustics of a stairwell.
I waited for them to finish their set and went down to drop five dollars on one of their CD's. I asked one of the fellows which CD contained the song I liked. "Oh, you mean the girly song?" he asked. Girly? I wouldn't call it "girly." Are you mocking my taste in music? Your music? It turns out the song I liked is called Lullaby (though since then I have found songs of theirs which I like better) and it is on their second album, Deuce. I dropped five dollars into the box and took my CD.
"Thank you, Ma'am," said the polite young man with the guitar.
Ma'am? I had just been ma'am-ed. I have been ma'am-ed before, of course. I was ma'am-ed at fourteen by the clerk at a department store, who was trained to ma'am everybody. I get ma'am-ed weekly by the young kid who bags my groceries. But this was different. They are two young artists, and I appreciated their art. I even paid for it. I thought we had something special. But, alas, no. I was just a middle aged housewife with five buck to spare.
I was out in the sun again, at this point. I could really feel the heat, and my age, and my head. I whimpered for Hubband to take me home.
(Please click on any of the Morrison Boomer links. And if you have six minutes, check out another of their songs, called Sunburnt Tongue. Amazing, amazing. Though, I must say, if you get the chance to hang out in the stairwell at Pike's Place, they sound even better there. Tell them a middle-aged housewife sent you. I wish I were a middle aged housewife married to a record company executive.)