Burgers And Rock Shows And Beers: A Love Story
words and photography by Lulu Rodriguez.
It started with a burger. And sweat.
I meet up with Naz at the York on Avenue B. The York is a beloved wooden bar that’s always dim enough to make it feel like you’re hiding from the rest of the city. It’s a comfort place for me. Unless it’s a Saturday night and everyone in the world decides to join in on the fun– great for their business, I suppose, even though it comes at a detriment to me (and the rest of the regulars). Naz and I are both filled with anticipation for what’s to come. The York is also a perfect spot to have one (or three) drinks before a show. We’re seeing Catcher, Zastava and Ammiture at Nightclub 101. What a perfect Saturday night.
I scarf down my York burger while the city’s one thousand percent humidity tries its best to kill me. My cardinal sin that night was that, of all the nights in my life, I chose to wear pants (I’m more of a skirt and dress girl). So, I’m hot and sticky and questioning everything that led me to this moment. I’m also a bit nervous. I don’t really know what to expect.. And my perfectionism and deep desire to do a “good job” tonight are weighing down on me like storm clouds, almost as oppressing as the humidity itself. I thought about how I wish I could make these anxious thoughts go away as easily as sweat when you’re sitting in a cool room long enough. Solace came to me, however, in the form of a cold, wet, delicious beer. And friendship. I banished these thoughts from my mind and decided to get excited again.
The show was a Nightclub 101 and I was looking forward to going. Besides their stellar shows, I love the community it harbors. Every time I go, I run into people I know and that I’m so happy to see, or I’m leaving having met someone new and very likely getting into some sort of whimsical, mischievous adventure at another bar after. (And, yes you can have one million more beers at Josie’s around the corner after 101 and call that a whimsical adventure, why not? Life is what you make it). Anyway, I love going somewhere where I don’t know who I’ll run into, but know deep in my heart of hearts that I’m bound to know a few.
On our way to Nightclub 101, well fed and beer’d up, I think about what’s to come. I know the boys from Catcher. I’ve seen them play a few times and have ended up at more than one late night karaoke hang after. So, I was stoked to see them again and eager to meet and see the other two bands.
Ammiture had just started when we got there.
I ducked my way toward the front, my glorious little camera in hand, squeezing between people to snap a few photos before I settled into listening. Their set doesn’t demand your attention so much as quietly earns it. I caught myself dancing a little and smiling. It was fun! They’re captivating and loud. As their set ends, I introduce myself, and say hello to other familiar faces at the bar. Get another beer.
As I make my way back to the main stage, Naz introduces me to Zastava while they’re setting up. They’re in the middle of tour and at this point, they’ve lived inside these songs city after city. You can feel that chemistry before they even begin. Their set was groovy and I danced along to some of the songs with the crowd.
Afterward, we step outside to take a few photos. Avenue A is jam packed. It’s Saturday night, I guess what did I expect. Nightclub 101 spills out into the street, adding its own bit of mischief to the neighborhood. Everyone is out and about trying to dance and kiss and smoke cigarettes while I block the sidewalk in the name of the Perfect Shot.
Usually when I photograph shows, I don’t feel the need to take a hundred photos. Such is the beauty and tragedy of film. Because this assignment carried a little more weight for me than usual, however, I didn’t realize how quickly I went through this roll until I looked down and realized I only had five shots left.
I was having such a good time watching Ammiture and Zastava, their stage presences incredibly captivating, I didn’t realize the level of which I tried my best to capture them. Etch their sets into the eternal world of the negatives that will undoubtedly sit in a box in every room after room that I’ll live in for the rest of my days.
A little bit of panic peeks its way into my heart. I start sweating again. I slightly want to laugh out loud at myself on how something so inconsequential can feel like the end of the world. But it was the end of the world because I only had five shots left and Catcher hadn’t even gone on yet. Would it be too dramatic if I jumped in front of a bus?
“Can we take a photo in front of our yellow tour bus?” Matea from Zastava asks me. This snaps me out of my reverie. I slap on a smile and say, “Well, of course!!!!!” as if nothing mattered and everything was perfect.
I start to think really hard and fast… It’s midnight in the East Village, there is no roll of film out there for me at this hour no way no how. I didn’t want to ask Naz.. I didn’t want to admit to my folly (until now, hi). I look at my phone, that holy thing that holds the knowledge of the world, and also, conveniently, my friends' locations. And glory be to the gods, one of my friends is only a few blocks away.
I say a little prayer. I call. Are you there, God? It’s your girl.
Turns out he has an extra roll and I couldn’t really believe my luck. If this was a sitcom, cause it certainly felt like it for a second, I’d look into the camera and flash a winning smile as I hung up. I probably did anyway and sorry to whoever witnessed that moment of partial insanity. People start going in to catch Catcher. I fib and say I’m taking a call and that I’ll be in in just a sec. I slyly sneak out of the chaos and walk with a slight to moderate pep in my step to the end of the block. Once I knew I was out of field of vision, I begin to sprint to third street.
I pick up the roll– I wink at the sitcom camera in my head, yell back my thank you’s and I owe you’s to my friend, my guardian angel, and begin to sprint back. Another mischief managed.
Once I’m at the venue I’m breathing fast but try my best to look like a normal person as I made my way towards the front again. It felt holy - snap snap snap - with no fear.
I don’t know if it was because I had just sprinted through the crowded East Village in the name of more Perfect Shots or because this whole debacle really shed some light to stop worrying about getting everything “right”.. But I felt extremely present during Catcher’s set. Their music asks you to slow down. People are swaying, singing their songs back to them. Live music isn’t just about the bands themselves but the temporary little worlds they create during their sets.
When they finished, I corralled the troops for a few more photos outside.
It’s 1:30 in the morning now, my brain and heart are tired and I am very keen on ripping my pants off my body and throwing them into an incinerator. Nights like these are why I love New York City. Not because every single night is magical, they definitely are not, but because you’re reminded that the bare necessities of life and a good time are simply good friends and rock n roll. And a York burger.
