There was a modestly sized flat-screen television on a stand with a hi-fi system underneath it, and the more I glanced at the individual components – the receiver, the tube amplifier – the more I could see it probably cost thousands. Otherwise, everything around us, like the tumblers, was mismatched. If domesticity had taught me anything it’s that the mismatch thing only works if there’s oversight, which is why couples always end up doing it better. Was Disasternoon’s back catalogue still selling? Were his SOCAN cheques still coming in? And parallel to this another part of me was all boo-f*****g-hoo, last generation of musicians to make a living through people purchasing your physical albums.
“With me, you mean?” I asked, worried the evening was going to be nothing more than the two of us
