Yesterday I got to Nightclub 101 around 2:30, hung around waiting for the band to arrive. Piece by piece load in was quick, messy, quiet in that specific way, cables everywhere, no one fully settled. Soundcheck started without warning.
I stayed against the wall, hearing them live for the first time, noticeably missing a bassist, low end just not there, someone still late, still somewhere else. But it didn’t fall apart. A lot of bands can’t translate what they’ve made into a room, but this did. The sound felt intact, and her voice cut through it all beautifully.
After, we went down to what they called a green room, really just a basement closet, no air, no space, barely a room at all.
Took some photos down there, everything felt slightly off, like being stored somewhere you’re not meant to stay. Eventually we drifted back outside, just lingering in front, waiting again, the night stretching in that slow, shapeless way.
Later, I went to grab Molly from the train. On the walk back we passed a pile of karate trophies dumped in the trash, gold figures mid-kick, frozen wins no one wanted anymore. Molly said we should take one. It made immediate sense. So we did, carried it back with us, this weird little artifact, like it belonged to the night as much as anything else.
Back, we handed over the trophy like it made perfect sense, like this was always part of the plan. They didn’t question it, just laughed and said they’d put it on stage. Of course they would. It already felt like it belonged there more than wherever it came from.
Before their set, me and Molly slipped into a corner booth under a disco ball, sitting in that low, reflective light, waiting and sharing silly videos back and forth. The room started to fill in slowly. When made our way into the main room to watch, the trophy was already on stage, planted in front of the monitor like a small, gold witness. It caught the light every few seconds, flashing back at the room.
Here are some photos from the night.
