Last Words

by Jeff

I’m reluctant to say something about Daniel Street closing.  It was a funeral I went to out of respect.  I wasn’t that close, though the few times we had were surprisingly agreeable in a way that made you grateful, simply because they didn’t have to be.  Daniel Street is the kind of place that makes you question why you don’t go to it more often, and even though you resolve to, it never happens.  The bands I saw there were liked by friends.  Daniel Street made it possible to stop doing research before I saw a live show, which was one of the best decisions I made this year.

I admired Daniel Street’s lack of pretense, though now I wonder if having something to prove would have been the spirit that could have saved it.  I overheard someone say the owner closed it to focus on his more profitable bar across the street.  I assumed that whoever was running the place wasn’t doing it to get paid – stupidly, I tend to undervalue money in the middle of a good time.  There’s something in here about the necessity of things, how money probably represents it, and what community support really means.

I was outside talking to Bob about trains when the show started that night.  We went back inside during the Felice Brother’s second or third song.  People were stomping and waving their arms appropriately, as they pounded beers to keep up with some pretty intense fiddling.  The slower songs were a courtesy that let you catch your breath, and it was during those times that I took note of hearing everything I wanted to that night:

“I’m alright if you’re alright.”  “The louder you sing, the better the song is.”  “Fuck my career.”  “Faith is the door and love is the key.”

Which were all good things to remember Daniel Street by.  And, feeling good enough to dance myself, I said “fuck pizza,” hoping to see the Felice Brothers again somewhere new.

If you’d like to hear what the whole thing sounded like, a friend of mine taped it.  Download it here.