November 10, 2013
I Can Level Anything I Want
This week’s words come to you straight from some young mid-town writer rocking the pen from behind the name “Wynona Wryder” (pronounced Why-Known-Na.)
So the story, my side of it at least, goes something like this. I bumped into this one walking towards the venue where my band Level Anything was set to play what turned out to be our last Brooklyn gig. I saw that she was taking turns studying an iPhone with a therapist’s squint and then scanning the distance for clues as to where she was supposed to be headed. I stopped and asked if I could help her out. She eyed my guitar case for a second before shooting me a frustrated glance that thankfully turned to warmth when she opened her mouth and said, “Maybe.” This is where the story tilts towards dumb luck because as it turns out she was goin’ my way like a Lenny Kravitz song. “C’mon, walk with me,” I quipped.
As we made our way to the venue I don’t remember too much being said in the way of small talk (no matter what it says below.) She didn’t even respond to the inquisitive look I shot her when she introduced herself as Wynona Wryder and handed me a business card with nothing on it except that name written in cursive and what appeared to be a scribbled out contact number. I noticed she’d written an email address on the back with a black sharpie. “Fair Enough”, I thought as I held the door open for her, all gentleman like and stuff. She instantly claimed a corner stool and I lost track of her, momentarily of course.
We were the first act up that night and I can still remember being somewhat distracted as she stood up front, stage left, scrawling from time to time in what appeared to be an unlocked old diary and giving my choice in t-shirts what I took as a disapproving eye. “Focus”, I told myself as I prepared to start our third number “Rewards Out,” but I noticed that even Gregg (Swiatlowski, drummer) sat rigid behind his kit in the presence of what was becoming increasingly clear to be a stone-cold journalist and worse yet, a possible blogger. We finally found our voice during the chorus of “For Abba” and played the rest of, what I thought to be, a great set. As I thanked the 16 people in the audience I surveyed the horizon, hoping to catch her eye but it was too late. “Wynona” ghosted. Shit.
After wrapping up the final cable and closing my 4-string guitar case I heard a girl’s voice say “Goodbye Lance” and I looked up to see Ms. Wryder making an exit. I was at a loss. “Lance?” I said to myself, “What’s with that?” but before I could attempt to make sense of things I witnessed her walk out the door, and send me a look though the front window that burned into my mind like a solar eclipse. I sprung up and bee-lined out onto the sidewalk but she was nowhere to be found. Later the next day I sent an email to the address from the back of her card. I did my best to explain how I “run” a music blog and how it’s always been too weird an action for me to write about my own stuff for obvious reasons and how I was hoping she could send me her take on the night to run on CME. I thanked her in advance for the review, however it painted us, hoping that would seal the deal. I wanted to ask her a million questions. Talk about a million things. Who knows. Maybe soon I’ll get an answer.
Anyways, here’s her review of the show, un-edited and un-filtered. I wouldn’t have it any other way…
by Wynona Wryder
© 2017 cover my ears