Kings of the Nighttime World
Well, cross another item off my "things to do before I die" list.
Last night (er...actually this morning) we immortalized My Father's Place, Portland's premier late-night hangout, and site of many, many marathon Bigger than Jesus work sessions.
For more Saturdays and Sundays than I even care to remember, Joni and I would hold down a booth in the dark, smoky, somewhat spooky recesses of this Portland landmark, scribbling furiously on yellow legal pads, and trying desperately to wrangle control of this stageplay behemoth we had created.
The food is cheap, the coffee hot, and the atmosphere fairly screams "rock and roll."
Anyway, with a potent mixture of Tom Waits and Aerosmith blaring from the jukebox, we whipped the story and script into shape, and the rest is history.
Last night/this morning, we revisted My Father's Place, this time with our intrepid crew in tow (a gang of folks who really deserve merit badges and combat pay at this point.) From 2am until just after 6am, we filmed a long series of interviews with the folks who made Bigger than Jesus happen, tracing it from inception to execution, and chronicling the ups, down, and near disasters that happened along the way.
In the process, we committed to film a small, largely unspoken tribute to a place that aided us immeasurably throughout the creative process. It didn't have Stephen King's iconic "shuttable door", but it was where we did our best work, and it was only fitting that it was where we gathered to look back on the whole ride.
Next up, we film the final, and perhaps greatest, of all the bonus features, after which, we hunker down to finish post-production and manufacturing of The Greatest Damned Thing Ever.
Stay tuned.
Last night (er...actually this morning) we immortalized My Father's Place, Portland's premier late-night hangout, and site of many, many marathon Bigger than Jesus work sessions.
For more Saturdays and Sundays than I even care to remember, Joni and I would hold down a booth in the dark, smoky, somewhat spooky recesses of this Portland landmark, scribbling furiously on yellow legal pads, and trying desperately to wrangle control of this stageplay behemoth we had created.
The food is cheap, the coffee hot, and the atmosphere fairly screams "rock and roll."
Anyway, with a potent mixture of Tom Waits and Aerosmith blaring from the jukebox, we whipped the story and script into shape, and the rest is history.
Last night/this morning, we revisted My Father's Place, this time with our intrepid crew in tow (a gang of folks who really deserve merit badges and combat pay at this point.) From 2am until just after 6am, we filmed a long series of interviews with the folks who made Bigger than Jesus happen, tracing it from inception to execution, and chronicling the ups, down, and near disasters that happened along the way.
In the process, we committed to film a small, largely unspoken tribute to a place that aided us immeasurably throughout the creative process. It didn't have Stephen King's iconic "shuttable door", but it was where we did our best work, and it was only fitting that it was where we gathered to look back on the whole ride.
Next up, we film the final, and perhaps greatest, of all the bonus features, after which, we hunker down to finish post-production and manufacturing of The Greatest Damned Thing Ever.
Stay tuned.
2 Comments:
We worked until six a.m. at My Father's Place. We sat down at the biggest table and shared a delirious, sleep-deprived breakfast. I ate bacon. I came home. I read a few pages of the Motley Crue autobiography until I dozed off. I slept for a few hours. I awoke. I showered. I donned my Bigger Than Jesus t-shirt. I drove to the Roseland Theater. I basked in the technicolor genius of Rufus Wainwright for an hour. I laughed when he flipped his tousled hair and told cute, lispy stories. I cried when he sang "Poses" and again at "Hallelujah." I wallowed in the glorious, near-unbearable ache of wanting to make movies that look as beautiful as those songs sound. I thought about how, without Rufus to guide me, I wouldn't even know how to express myself artistically. I thought about being interviewed in front of the camera just that morning with my boys from BTJ, and trying to explain how, even though I wasn't a metal fan, I still cared for the show as though it were my own story. I thought about how it never even occured to me, not for a single second, that I didn't belong with BTJ. Not once did I feel like a poser -- despite the number of times I had to ask Rick stupid questions about Metallica albums and the members of Iron Maiden -- because standing there at the Roseland, surrounded by Portland's prettiest and gayest, Rufus Wainwright reached into my chest and fucking throttled my heart and blissed me out in that way that only music can ... and even though it was the most non-metal place on Earth at that moment, it was also pure Bigger Than Jesus. I thought about how Rick, Chris, Aaron, and all the other boys never questioned my role in the show either, though it would have been easy for any of them to challenge my appointment, because they knew what everyone who sees the show knows. To paraphrase Almost Famous, it's about loving some silly little piece of music so much that it hurts. Maybe it's Led Zeppelin. Maybe it's Winger. Maybe it's some queer, pop-opera Canadian. It don't matter. What matters is your belief in the fuckin' buzz, however it reaches you.
And that is ...
e para as faixas que me começaram aqui, grande e pequeno, obrigado, do fundo de meu coração. Ame, Chris
... in Portuguese, by the way.
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