Let's Call Her Brabera

Junos went down, as Brows described with such mastery, and adult alternative album of the year went to Serena Ryder. Who is Serena Ryder? I haven’t much clue, I discovered her but a month, or two, ago and have been in the infatuation stage with her ever since.

One of my ex-girlfriends – side note, you know there's this etiquette to talking about ex-partners: you say “My ex-girlfriend” when it’s a recent ex, but it’s improper to say “my ex” when you’re referring to an ex, two relationships, or more, ago. Anyways one of my ex-girlfriends, let’s call her Brabera (chuckle if you’re a Flight of the Conchords fan), had an unhealthy obsession with Sam Roberts that could rival the general OCD of Thor’s Hammer (hopefully a prelude to a future blog describing the specificities that entail commuting, studying, or talking with him). I’m on tangent central today, but what I’m getting at is that she would describe him practically as a deity, and felt something for him that seemed a little outlandish. I didn’t think less of her for it, and the closest experience I had had was with Morrissey, but that’s just because he related to the ostracized intellect within me. In sum, I thought it was a fathomable feeling but I mainly discarded it, until, that is, Serena Ryder came into my life.

I went to her show at the Cabaret downtown and only after hearing her a couple times, but figured it would mainly be a nice Sunday night oasis. She gave a mind-blowing performance that I never expected; she laughed, swayed and rocked out with the music, sipped on her red wine, and encored after encore. I was originally having a cold Boreal Rousse (influence from my ex-girlfriend’s father) in the back of the bar, trying to pull the ominous look with my leather jacket and somewhat akimbo stance leaning against the wall. I could not help but dismiss the beer, back away from the wall and walk over to the stage and find the group, dancing the strangest, to join in with. I found myself just slightly off to the left of Serena, with a bunch of wild blondes bobbing and singing along adjacent to me- I was utterly captivated by her. After I had sectioned out of the crowd and was practically euphoric in my satisfaction, I moved back to the bar for a breather, and leaned in towards the barmaid for another Boreal Rousse, to replace the one I had ignored earlier. My body still moving to her voice, I glanced back to the stage and found her looking at me, and I automatically glanced back at the bar but said to myself that there’s no way she’s looking my way and turned back again, which lead to a solid 7 second stare off. The bar was definitely packed, and it’s possible she wasn’t looking at me, especially since artists can go off into trances while remembering lyrics, but with her voice and that uncertainty my membership to her fan club has been solidified.

What is the result of this evening-

I facebook-stalk her.

-Swank