Lucinda Williams did a four-night gig in the city this past week. Her first two nights were at Irving Plaza. I tried to get tickets for Saturday but the show was sold out.
Time Out said that Lucinda Williams’ live show can be spotty at best. But I love her. I wanted to see that show.
Sunday night I was having dinner at Galaxy, a restaurant adjacent to Irving Plaza. This was coincidental to the Lucinda Williams show happening next door.
I have this thing for Galaxy’s eel burgers and sweet potato chips. I had in fact forgotten all about the rock show at that point.
Just as I was finishing one of the waitresses came over and leaned down next to me.
“Do you want to go to the show next door tonight?” she said.
“No,” I said, “I have to deal with a bunch of teenagers at 8 tomorrow morning.”
Then, as an afterthought, I added, “Who’s playing, anyway?”
(I really had forgotten)
The waitress was Russian. She pulled the ticket from her pocket.
“I never hear of her but it sell out,” she said, “Some customer just give me the ticket. He couldn’t go.”
The ticket, of course, had Lucinda Williams’ name on it.
“Aah!” I said, “Why did you have to show me that? Now I have to go.”
Tim Robbins was ahead of me on line. I saw a woman I used to work for at MTV who would make me copy long articles from the New Yorker so she could mail them to her mother in Delaware.
Lucinda Williams, as it turns out, is not so good live.
But New York … always.
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