December 25, 2005
A Very Abysmal Christmas
Written by Girth McDürchstein on December 25, 2005 3:48 PM
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Recording Girth McDürchstein's 'The Return'
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None of us have any family here, so Girth came up with the brainstorm to decorate the studio with a tree, garland, and pretty, pretty lights for that good Christmas spirit. Then he blasted Brian Wilson’s brand new Christmas album, What I Really Want for Christmas, on the studio PA, while he set up a buffet of various breads, cold cuts, cheeses, fruits, and Christmas cookies.
Girth invited the entire band to come over for a Christmas Day jam session. He knew they’d be reluctant, but they’d all give in. Even Mikey needs this job, so nobody will tell Girth “no.” So they all dawdled in this morning around 11, surprised at the calm Christmas atmosphere Girth had created. Surprised even more, I suspect, at the fact that no instruments were to be found. Anywhere.
Under the tree, Girth had positioned wrapped and labeled gifts for everyone in the band, including me. The first to arrive was Jam Malone, followed soon after by Riffs, and finally, about an hour later, Mikey arrived.
“Okay, everyone,” Girth said, “time to open presents.”
This floored Mikey, who expected a grueling four-hour session in which the most we would accomplish was the group decision that the last chord on the bridge for “Return” should be A minor instead of major. Enormous dagwood sandwich in hand, Mikey rushed over the tree in search of his gift. He found it near the back, wrapped in cute green paper with Santa faces all over it.
Under the soft glow of the Christmas lights, Mikey tore apart the wrapping to reveal…a coffin-shaped bass case. Now, he’s been drooling over this coffin case in the Musician’s Friend catalog for months, but he’s really not the type of guy who’d just run out and buy himself a frivolous case. That’s really Girth’s specialty.
“Thank you, Girth,” Mikey said, sincerely flattered by the gift.
Girth, who was reading the paper in the La-Z-Boy recliner he brought into the studio last week, looked over at Mikey and smiled. “Look inside,” he said quietly.
Mikey pulled the case open, and sitting in the burgundy-velvet-cushioned case was…
“My fuckin’ Sears bass,” Mikey gasped. “Holy shit.” He gingerly lifted the bass out of the case, gazing at it with wonder.
Girth and I found the bass on eBay. Though it was a decent replica of the one Girth destroyed, the paint job was all wrong, some kind of dusty variation on candy-apple red. Girth made sure the sound was decent, the electrical worked, and so on, before taking it to a local shop to have it refinished with Mikey’s original black sunburst.
“Jesus, Girth, this musta cost a fortune,” Mikey said.
“You deserve it, Mikey,” Girth said, then went back to his paper.
Excited by the thoughtfulness and theoretical price tag of Mikey’s gift, Riffs and Jam fought over who would go next. Jam won out and found waiting for him a Moog Minimoog Voyager synthesizer, a beast of a recreation of the original Minimoog, a staple of the 1970s rock recordings Jam seems to love so much. Jam was touched by the gift.
Finally, Riffs pulled his open to find a gleaming red Slash Epiphone signature Les Paul. I don’t even know where Girth tracked this down; the original was very limited edition, and I’m almost positive the original price was around $8000. I can’t even fathom what he would have paid for a mint item like this eight years later.
And that’s the thing about Girth. For all his pissing and moaning that he’s broke, the motherfucker’s loaded. You can’t dedicate your life to gigging, selling records, and bumming off of others without finding some dough of your own. Well, actually, you can, but his dad was an investment banker his whole life, so I guess some of that must have rubbed off on Girth. I’m his goddamn wife, I know how much he’s got, and trust me, we won’t be in the poorhouse any time soon, even though we live like we’re three steps away from it.
I took Girth aside. We sat together in the control booth, watching the boys playing with their new toys, as the ragged voice of Brian Wilson belted out a joyful carol. He took my hand in his and whispered, “Here’s what I got for you.” He picked up his acoustic guitar and began to play. And he didn’t stop for an hour.
Everybody, in the past few days, a creative frenzy has taken over my husband, and he has composed the entire cycle of The Return. Every song is there, and it’s beautiful.
Why is this a Christmas gift to me, you ask? Because now he’ll finally shut the fuck up about how worthless he is.
After Girth stopped playing, both of us weeping, I took him in my arms. An hour or so later, I gave him my gift: a 14 karat yellow gold pentagram pendant with an iridescent sunstone in the center. He cherishes it.
I hope you all had an equally wonderful Christmas.
Best wishes,
Margo Atwater & Abysmal Crucifix
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