DAMAGED by PRIMAL SCREAM Story by Darlene Zimbardi

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DAMAGED by PRIMAL SCREAM Story by Darlene Zimbardi

Darlene Zimbardi
February 1992, New York City

The cab stops; Peter runs around to open my door. Even though the doctor told me that everything was going to be fine, here we are just a couple of months later; I can’t even stand. Received: diagnosis. Lost: everything else. Pete bends over, gently lifting my body over his shoulder like I’m a sack of potatoes. We get in line with the others. I hold the Primal Scream tickets in my hand, trying hard not to let them slip through my fingers. The Screamadelica album had been released a couple of months earlier; nothing was going to stop us from seeing them.

Come Together:
Trip me, won’t you won’t you trip me
Won’t you won’t you trip me
Lift me ride me to the stars

The concert is at the old Studio 54 venue now called the Ritz. What did they care if someone’s carrying in somebody that looks passed out? You all know much worse happened prior to this. You’ve seen the famous photos of Cher, Warhol, Liza Minnelli, and Grace Jones.

Was it just two years ago that we had moved to the city and seen Dave Edmunds perform the Closer To The Flame album here? We were on the dance floor right up at the stage moving all night long; singing along to every one of his songs.

Damaged:
Sweet summer days when I was feeling so fine
Just you and me girl was a beautiful time
Oh yeah, said I felt so happy, my my my

Tonight, I needed help getting dressed, with my hair, my make up. Shit. Currently, I’m feeling fine due to the prescription drug cocktail that my fiancée concocted, just a little of this, a little of that to get me through the evening but not make me catatonic. Don’t want to miss a thing. It’s a fine line to feeling divine. We weren’t druggies, not that we didn’t enjoy some indulgences but the recent lupus diagnosis had made it too painful for me to walk…well too painful to do pretty much anything.

Damaged (continued):
Got damaged, I got damaged
I got damaged

It’s ironic the Screamadelica album itself is like a trip. When you’re vibrant it makes you feel like you’re so…spacey…beautiful…content. Pete gently places me in a seat, the lights dim.

Higher Than The Sun:
I drift in inner space, free of time
I’m higher than the sun, I’m higher than the sun

We had been turned out to Screamadelica a couple of months ago by our new trusted friend, Jacques, at HMV Records. The store was four blocks from our apartment. “The Manchester sound, you have to listen,” our music man would tell us. The Stone Roses, Inspiral Carpets, The Charlatans, Jacques would throw in a few others outside of the area; you all know that Primal Scream are Scottish. The only time he steered us wrong was with Skinny Puppy. I don’t even think we made it through the first song, right into the rubbish bin it went. Truly a waste of money, we didn’t even want to return it lest someone else be tortured by that noise.

Our record guru has been so much more curative than any doctor I’ve seen so far. Easing my building tension with melodies and lyrics to serenade me through the troubled time.

Our lives went from: me getting out of the TV station at 11pm to meet Pete at the sports newspaper, ‘bout midnight. Then of course, going to a party after.

Currently: me on disability can’t even walk the dogs. Now Pete’s hanging in playing Trivial Pursuit with me instead of out with the boys. I always lost. Damn, I was physically and mentally compromised you think he could have let me win on occasion? The news soon arrived; the paper is running out of money. Add a dash of anticipation, Peter being laid off from his job soon.

Come Together:
Now it’s all too much
All too much
All too much

I guess we are in the, Don’t Fight It, Feel It, part of our lives. Thank god there was music to carry us through. During the past couple of weeks, for him a good day might be:

Shine Like Stars:
I watch you sleep, you look so peaceful
You look so vulnerable, I feel scared for you

Feel scared for both of us more like it. More keeps drifting our way, in a small amount of time. We just lost his mother. Heart failure. We didn’t know it yet; my heart was next in line. It wouldn’t be broken by love; that would have been easy to cure. I have to admit there is no music good enough to get you through being hooked up to life support. Just sayin’.

Darlene lives in Portland, Oregon; she enjoys puttering in her garden with her dog and cat. She has completed her first novel, If Only George Clooney Were My Doctor. When not writing, Darlene and her husband are attempting to learn guitar.

By | 2017-09-28T10:19:51+00:00 June 24th, 2017|Indie pop, Rock|1 Comment

One Comment

  1. Sarah B June 25, 2017 at 6:42 pm - Reply

    Your writing is intriguing. I like the music theme and the lyrics woven into the story.

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