Strummer, Costello and Last Night, Watt

In the Spring of 2002, a friend called me day of show and offered a free ticket to see Joe Strummer at St. Ann's Warehouse in Brooklyn. For reasons I now can't imagine, I turned it down. Just eight months later, Strummer died at the age of 50. That chance to see him "next time" would never happen. I can still remember my girlfriend at the time pushing me to go to the show while I found some lame excuse. Yes, an excuse to *not* see Joe Strummer, for free.

Not long after, I sat in the Austin Convention Center listening to Elvis Costello talk about music. The entire room was gripped. Not only was Costello an amazing talent but he was just like us. He absolutely loved music and had almost childlike adoration for many of the artists we loved. As he was nearing the end of his talk, he honed in on the reasons for us all to continue to abandon those excuses for passing on that night out. He said something along the lines of, "You never know when your favorite band will break up. When one of them might leave. This could be your last chance to see that band. Don't sit at home." A chill ran up my spine as I thought of Strummer. I assured myself that barring emergencies, I would never let that happen again. No, I wouldn't see every show to come through town, but when an artist to shift something inside me came through town, especially one I'd never seen before, I would do everything to make it.

Last year I watched the wonderful documentary on 80s punk-legends The Minutemen We Jam Econo. Sure, I had Double Nickels on the Dime and man I loved the Uncle Tupelo song "D. Boon," but honestly, I can't say I knew all that much about the band. But the movie floored me. I started listening more. And buying more records. I scoured YouTube for videos of Boon, Watt and Hurley. Anything.

A month ago I'd learned that Mike Watt and his band The Missingmen would be playing Bottom of the Hill here in San Francisco. I waited a few days, caught myself and picked up a ticket. But the past two weeks I'd been leveled by a virus. I hadn't even thought about the show. Aside from work, I barely left my breadbox of an apartment. But sometime around dinner last night I tried to muster up the energy. It wasn't there. I still felt awful. Around 9pm I assured myself that I'd at least try to stop by.

I walked into the club around 11pm and Mike Watt was onstage in a yellow windbreaker and some sort of sleeping mask, lending vocals to one of the openers. Thirty minutes later Mike Watt & the Missingmen took the stage and, as only few shows can do, put everything else in my head to the side. As the sold out crowd watched every move, I remembered Costello's reminder, a seemingly obvious sentiment that now stands as one of the most important things I've ever heard about music. And because of that advice, I left the venue at 130am having just seen one of the greats.