I Often Dream of Yo La Tengo:
part one, from Steven:
I had a yolatengo dream last night. I am here in Sapporo, Japan, and there was some sort of a Japanese market, except instead of food, they had bands for sale. And Yo La Tengo was the main band I noticed. You 3 were there practicing some songs and maybe peddling cds, I don’t know. We chatted about Jello Biafra. There was more, but my time on this free computer at Sapporo Train station is almost up. must go.
part two, from “fan from Oz”:
had a dream i met you guys at a gig, i was only in new york city for 1 night so was v chuffed to see you. anyway i hung around you making a nuisance of myself but you were v polite to me, answering lots of dumb questions. unfortunately cant remember any more details of the dream but it had a nice feel to it.
part three, from Susanna (this is the longest one, but also the best one. stick with it):
i want to tell you something funny. my friend is making fun of me now, for at the end of the show, on our way back home, we came to the realization that although i own many of your albums (including two dump albums) and have enjoyed your music for over three years now, i have had you, ira, and you, james, mixed up the whole time! we’ve had many a laugh about this since also, a dream i had, shortly before seeing your show…
you were doing a show at the local farmer’s market, a short free show (like they sometimes have at amoeba records) before your long show later that same night in san francisco. the stage was set up outside of the bookstore and you only played a few songs before taking a break. i went up to james (ira) and asked for his autograph. he said sure, and watched as i started to look through my bag for something he could sign. i didn’t have any of your albums with me, and all i had that was hard enough to sign was my inhaler and a rhinoceros-shaped cookie cutter (in the dream it was red and plastic, but it is really silver colored and metal). james (ira) told me he’d be over at a table, and to just come on over when i had found something for him to sign.
i decided that he should just sign my bag, and so brought it over to the table outside round table pizza where you collectively were sitting. ira (james) was a woman in my dream, and both ira (james) and georgia were dressed in beautiful, striped 1960s-cut clothing and had matching haircuts that looked like the woman’s haircut in ‘the bride wore black’. i had, for some reason, written james’ (ira’s) name on the bag where i wanted him to sign it. no one invited me to sit down at the table, but when i, a bit presumptuously as i realize now, sat down, no one objected either. i gave my sharpie and bag to james (ira) to sign, and he did, very carefully copying the exact way that i had written his name, and drawing an identical smile next to each of his names. i was a little bit annoyed, but mostly amused, and i told you that i’d still come to your s.f. show that night, knowing that it was a stupid way of showing myself that i wasn’t too annoyed about the non-signature.
i asked georgia if you were going to play alyda. no one committed to anything.
later, the show in san francisco was about to start. there was a stage set up kind of like the trailer stage set in ‘hedwig and the angry inch’, but less dramatic, and somehow also crossed with a jail. as in, with bars. the stage was facing a large field, and it was night, and many people were there to watch you play. the lights were quite sparkly. even though there was plenty of room on the field for people to sit, everyone was sitting very close together, so close, in fact, that there wasn’t any place for me to comfortably put my legs.
when you came on the stage, it was kind of a mixture between a rock show and a political press conference. you played several songs and then stopped to have a question and answer session. when you would call on an audience member, you knew the name of the person, like they do at the white house. when you called on me, i asked if it was possible that everyone could spread out a little bit, so that there would be room to sit comfortably. no one seemed to take any notice of the suggestion, however.
shortly after the questions and answers, you started rocking again. it was like the way kerouac describes his jazz gods. you announced that you had a special guest with you, and out came mr. sturch, my art history teacher from high school, who is a wiry, tall, very english, very proper sort of man who expects decorum and that people should still use handkerchiefs. he knows his grammar, his greek, his latin, his history, etc. in any case, you announced that here was mr. nicholas sturch, to play his famous stained-glass trumpet. the trumpet he held looked like any other trumpet i have ever seen, but that is what it was called. everyone on the stage rushed over to where he was and carried him, the way winning athletes are swept-up, across the stage to the center.
that was the end of my dream. i hope you enjoyed yourself.