Went to see nephew's rock & roll ensemble last night, a newly-crafted 3-piece after the second guitarist backed out of the r&r life four days prior to this gig at Club Infinity - once only known as How-Dee's. Now, apparently, according to a sandwich board near the curb on Transit, there are still How-Dee's nights. I do shudder to think, recalling the night I motored out there to see Electroman and had to wait a long-arsed time for c.w. linedancers to robot around the dancefloor in identical kicksteps.
Nephew's stage name is Drake. I thought I may have mis-heard and asked the niece for confirmation. Drake. His real name is Jake. Other members are the girl lead singer, Izzy, and drummer Josh. They did all originals, one cover. Izzy introduced a song twice and had some semi-snarly inter-song banter to offer, interspersed with teen sardonicisms and a giggle or two.

One person I did not mention thus far on the Shiney Apple sojourn is Zelda, a woman Sparky and I met Wednesday night in the Rose Lounge of Gramercy Park Hotel.
She was a vision and had so much charisma that as she entered the lounge with her entourage of two heads did turn.
She had on oversized round black plastic specs, an Egyptian princess head wrap about one foot high, made of a sumptuous pink silk, and an equally pink dress.
I picked up a nice little gesture from Zelda - the party girl head bob, a nice little and exuberant nod. Zelda nodded at me and lifted her champagne flute at me.
She was out on the town celebrating her 91st birthday and, according to the gymnastic barkeep, a former regular of Studio 54.
Her perfectly manicured hands oso gently held onto her cocktail and, when she was having no more, she demurely covered the glass with her hand.
I did ask one of her entourage what her name is, the duo were smitten with the lady and she even knew the d.j. who was spinning out some lovely Latinesque music. One number I jotted down, As close to reggaeton as I'll ever get, he said. It was all good.
This weekend meant the documenting of a soirée for 13-year olds, a race, a wedding garden party, and the rock life of the nephew.
His band is Ad Hoc but they pronounce it Ay-dock.
Oh well.
Bought one of their 3-song demos last night for $3. Their merchboy asked how many I'd like. They had sold a few, they have no sleeve, are sold in the raw if You will, a quick Sharpie notation of what is on the disc. Ay-dock, and the date.
Followed the nephew backstage to find the merchboy and was most amused at the teen antics back there in the clubly bowels, boys aping what they think rock stars should and must do backstage sans all the usual amenities like towels, girls, drugs, drink, fans, keepers, handlers, and the like.

Off and running to more dissemination of happiness via digital images on disc.
These are not demos, these are in-the-game veritas.

True, truer, truest Love.