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<BKM> Albino Moon
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Brian Miller
Jun 22, 2012, 5:02:20 AM6/22/12
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Written several years back. No, it's not about the real "Golden Earring" nor their song "Albino Moon". Didn't even know they existed until years after I wrote it.
Albino Moon
by Brian K. Miller
March, 2005
"Albino moon glowin' in the sky
Wolf in the distance lettin' loose a cry
All alone in the long desert night
All alone when the wind takes fright
Darkness singin' a storyman tune
All alone 'neath an albino moon"
Chris finished the last chorus and the crowd went wild. It didn't matter where Golden Earring played, as long as we closed with Albino Moon the crowds could never get enough. Chris's moaning alto-soprano close had the power to carry us all a million miles away. At one jam-packed club in Phoenix she carried the final chorus acappella. The rest of us got so caught up in her voice we forgot to play and the audience never even noticed. Golden Earring had the world by the tail, until the night we played in Millbrook.
Millbrook, Alabama had less than 20,000 people. It was a tiny little stage set town just outside the state capitol of Montgomery. I'd have rather played Montgomery, more money and bigger crowds, but Millbrook was Kenneth's hometown so Millbrook was where we went. The town looked the way we expect small town America to look; a town square that was really square, a movie house next to a diner that served chicken fried steak and eggs with grits on the side, and a great big Rotary/Lion's Club sign to welcome any weary traveler foolish enough to stop. For all the whitewash, a lot of those towns are rotten at the core.
The Chamber of Commerce had set up a bandstand in the middle of the square. The Courthouse and City Hall were behind us, the diner on the north side, brick police station on the south side, and the setting sun in our eyes as we climbed the steps and started checking the instruments. There was trouble almost immediately. Chris stepped up for the mic check and some kid whose letterman's jacket size and IQ were the same number hollered out, "That injun chic ain' gonna sing, is she? Where's Chris?"
Before the roadies could grab him or any of us could say anything, some girl about the same age hollered at him, "Shut-up Billy, you ignorant jock! That is Chris!"
At the time, we should have noticed the obvious, but after a year and a half on the road all the fans in the world were beginning to look the same. Chris smiled down at the girl, gave a little wave and kicked out a hip. The only thing I noticed was a cute brunette in a way too short light blue mini-skirt. Chris's skirt wasn't much longer, but I stopped noticing what Chris wore her second day in the band when she told me straight up she preferred girls. After that, I played my guitar, sang a few refrains, and figured I'd have a social life once we got off the road.
The guy in the letterman's jacket scooped up some of his buddies and split the scene. The roadies relaxed and the rest of us got ready to play.
The first batch of songs went off like clockwork. Kenneth was stoked to be in his hometown and it showed. His bass line ran deep and strong as the Missouri River. Wallie, the sound guy, cranked up Kenneth's track so loud the only thing that could be heard clearly above his bass was Chris's vocals. Hometown or not, there was no way Wallie would ever let any of us outdo her. We'd all be down on him quick if he did.
Deep into the second set somebody screamed. Kenneth's riff broke up and mine wasn't much better. Chris kept right on going like the rest of us weren't even there. Then the crowd circled out like dish soap dropped on an oil film. Right there in the middle of the openness was the letterman. He had a gun in one hand and a knife in the other and the girl in the mini-skirt was lying in a pool of blood. That's when I noticed the girl was black and the guy was white.
The roadies leaped for him, but before they'd gone half a step he pointed the gun up at Chris and fired. Just like that. No smile, no smirk, no angry words. Just one calm shot that lifted her to her toes and flung her back against me. I dropped my guitar, caught her, and fell on my backside so hard it felt like I'd broke something.
She was still singing, but she'd drifted into the chorus of Albino Moon. Her voice was so low I don't think anyone heard her but me.
"Thanks for catching me, Ben," she whispered, and then she was gone. Just like that. Chris was a real star, right to the end.
Golden Earring died with her, of course. Kenneth and Wallie tried to put another tour together, but I couldn't play without Chris. It just didn't seem right. I drifted around a bit, wound up back here in Millbrook where Chris is buried. Last night there was a full moon, so I took my guitar down to her grave and played Albino Moon soft and slow. When the chorus came up a wolf howled; soft and slow, just like the guitar. In that moment time kinda froze and I felt connected to the world around me in ways I'd never even dreamed of before.
That's when I heard her whisper, "Thanks again for catching me, Ben."
Albino Moon
by Brian K. Miller
March, 2005
"Albino moon glowin' in the sky
Wolf in the distance lettin' loose a cry
All alone in the long desert night
All alone when the wind takes fright
Darkness singin' a storyman tune
All alone 'neath an albino moon"
Chris finished the last chorus and the crowd went wild. It didn't matter where Golden Earring played, as long as we closed with Albino Moon the crowds could never get enough. Chris's moaning alto-soprano close had the power to carry us all a million miles away. At one jam-packed club in Phoenix she carried the final chorus acappella. The rest of us got so caught up in her voice we forgot to play and the audience never even noticed. Golden Earring had the world by the tail, until the night we played in Millbrook.
Millbrook, Alabama had less than 20,000 people. It was a tiny little stage set town just outside the state capitol of Montgomery. I'd have rather played Montgomery, more money and bigger crowds, but Millbrook was Kenneth's hometown so Millbrook was where we went. The town looked the way we expect small town America to look; a town square that was really square, a movie house next to a diner that served chicken fried steak and eggs with grits on the side, and a great big Rotary/Lion's Club sign to welcome any weary traveler foolish enough to stop. For all the whitewash, a lot of those towns are rotten at the core.
The Chamber of Commerce had set up a bandstand in the middle of the square. The Courthouse and City Hall were behind us, the diner on the north side, brick police station on the south side, and the setting sun in our eyes as we climbed the steps and started checking the instruments. There was trouble almost immediately. Chris stepped up for the mic check and some kid whose letterman's jacket size and IQ were the same number hollered out, "That injun chic ain' gonna sing, is she? Where's Chris?"
Before the roadies could grab him or any of us could say anything, some girl about the same age hollered at him, "Shut-up Billy, you ignorant jock! That is Chris!"
At the time, we should have noticed the obvious, but after a year and a half on the road all the fans in the world were beginning to look the same. Chris smiled down at the girl, gave a little wave and kicked out a hip. The only thing I noticed was a cute brunette in a way too short light blue mini-skirt. Chris's skirt wasn't much longer, but I stopped noticing what Chris wore her second day in the band when she told me straight up she preferred girls. After that, I played my guitar, sang a few refrains, and figured I'd have a social life once we got off the road.
The guy in the letterman's jacket scooped up some of his buddies and split the scene. The roadies relaxed and the rest of us got ready to play.
The first batch of songs went off like clockwork. Kenneth was stoked to be in his hometown and it showed. His bass line ran deep and strong as the Missouri River. Wallie, the sound guy, cranked up Kenneth's track so loud the only thing that could be heard clearly above his bass was Chris's vocals. Hometown or not, there was no way Wallie would ever let any of us outdo her. We'd all be down on him quick if he did.
Deep into the second set somebody screamed. Kenneth's riff broke up and mine wasn't much better. Chris kept right on going like the rest of us weren't even there. Then the crowd circled out like dish soap dropped on an oil film. Right there in the middle of the openness was the letterman. He had a gun in one hand and a knife in the other and the girl in the mini-skirt was lying in a pool of blood. That's when I noticed the girl was black and the guy was white.
The roadies leaped for him, but before they'd gone half a step he pointed the gun up at Chris and fired. Just like that. No smile, no smirk, no angry words. Just one calm shot that lifted her to her toes and flung her back against me. I dropped my guitar, caught her, and fell on my backside so hard it felt like I'd broke something.
She was still singing, but she'd drifted into the chorus of Albino Moon. Her voice was so low I don't think anyone heard her but me.
"Thanks for catching me, Ben," she whispered, and then she was gone. Just like that. Chris was a real star, right to the end.
Golden Earring died with her, of course. Kenneth and Wallie tried to put another tour together, but I couldn't play without Chris. It just didn't seem right. I drifted around a bit, wound up back here in Millbrook where Chris is buried. Last night there was a full moon, so I took my guitar down to her grave and played Albino Moon soft and slow. When the chorus came up a wolf howled; soft and slow, just like the guitar. In that moment time kinda froze and I felt connected to the world around me in ways I'd never even dreamed of before.
That's when I heard her whisper, "Thanks again for catching me, Ben."
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