We’ve updated our Terms of Use to reflect our new entity name and address. You can review the changes here.
We’ve updated our Terms of Use. You can review the changes here.

Wide Eyed / Stairwell

from My Big Break - volume 1 by Ben Seretan

/
  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    Purchasable with gift card

      $1 USD  or more

     

about

In the summer of 2016 I played a show in Arezzo, an old mountain town a short train ride to the southwest from Florence. I don't remember at what point in that long summer this took place - what came before or what came after - but we had a day off and took advantage of it being a smaller town to book a fancier hotel room. I was traveling with my girlfriend at the time who had trouble adjusting to the uncertainties of touring, particularly as far as accommodations go - having done various tours in the past I was game for unusual sleeping arrangements, less-than-tidy rooms, cramped budget hotels, or the homes of dead relatives. My traveling companion wanted and needed more certainty - cleanliness and quiet above all - and I tried to my best to be sympathetic, so when we were left to our own devices in booking a room we picked a place with a queen size bed, with a view of the town, with a well-reviewed continental breakfast. We spent the first night there watching law and order that had been dubbed in Italian with english subtitles and blasting the air conditioner. We were able to relax a bit in the luxury we had granted ourselves.

(I've noticed on tours how intimately you become involved in someone's narrative, in their personal life, by being given a place to crash - often there's a story. I once stayed in an apartment that was completely empty of belongings because the family had been trying to sell it unsuccessfully for years. It was causing them great anguish but, as my host told me, at least it gave musicians a place to crash. In Florence earlier on this tour we stayed at a beautiful apartment - I remember the shutters - that the organizer of the show I was playing kept in order to better spend time with his children after he and his wife had been divorced. He said he was happy that we were using it with a sadness in his eyes - we were amidst the great pain of his life).

This was early in a three-month-long trip that combined touring a record of mine and wide-eyed, American-style backpacking. We lived with whatever we could carry and we were constantly improvising - frequently I'd book a show one afternoon, buy train tickets there, and be playing it 24 hours later. The pace and by-the-seat-of-our-pants quality of the traveling gave us a deep and almost apocalyptic hedonism - if we didn't know where we'd be staying in a week's time, we should enjoy the complimentary food and drink provided by this bar venue tonight. We imagined a future scarcity that never really came, so we'd eat large, heavy meals and drink beers until we could feel the alcohol sloshing in our bellies, all while carrying our clothes, my records and CDs, and all my music gear with us from city to city. We were walking everywhere, we were strong and tan, we were maxed out and getting fucked up many nights in a row. This all led to a higher-than-usual occurrence of ailments - rashes and chafing in weird places, sunburns in unfortunate areas, sudden and insurmountable bouts of anxiety, puking in the bathroom during a concert because the cigarettes we bought at the bar on the corner were too strong and letting the cool night air streaming in from the back of the cab dance across your face. When we woke up in Arezzo my girlfriend was experiencing some pretty extreme stomach discomfort and asked me if I could find something that would help her body out. I had spent a good amount of time in Italy by that point and had a basic grasp of how to order a coffee but wasn't sure I could successfully navigate purchasing a laxative. But I left my girlfriend watching Law and Order, asked the concierge to point me towards the nearest pharmacy, and after much misunderstanding and getting lost I was able to buy something with a dirty wad of euros. I brought it back to the hotel room.

As travelers we had become more than intimate by this point. What I mean is that we were so focused on the most basic needs of our bodies - shelter, food, alcohol - that we began neglecting the less immediately pressing but still crucial needs. Things like affection, sexual intimacy, relaxation, and quietude fell by the wayside. Our budding survivalism allowed us to savagely eat room service with our bare hands at 3am as we poured prosecco into each other's mouths but we never let our guard down fully, could never melt into each other. It always felt like someone was watching.

The time came during our stay in Arezzo for me to head to the venue and play the show. Up until this point my girlfriend had been with me for each of the shows, enthusiastically watching with an intensity I now realize was fear on my behalf. In fact since reuniting in Torino (she had flown to Paris first to visit a friend) we had not left each other's sides for more than a few minutes at a time in many days. So it was a surprise to me that, when it was time for me to go, she decided to stay at the hotel. I hopped in the car with the show organizers and drove out to the venue - a large bar on the outskirts of town - but because I was playing without a band they set me up in a dark lobby stairwell, surrounded by a circle of 3 dozen votive candles that shot kinetic shadows onto the wall behind me and gave the show the a cartoony satan glow. I played my songs, letting the quiet parts get just above a whisper, so that everyone crowded in the stairwell had to lean their heads forward to catch the words. It was great.

After the gig I met up with my girlfriend in the college kid party part of town and she told me all about her day, which had included walking all around town and actually taking in the history of it, really appreciating the cobblestones, something I never got a chance to do. It's this moment that I remember most clearly from our time in Arezzo - the uncharacteristically excited and enthusiastic lilt in her voice, how she gestured more than usual and raised herself up on her toes while describing the hilltop cathedral. She had done this on her own despite her fears, despite her unfamiliarity with the town or country, with no guide or consultation, and the pride with which she spoke was moving. Not only because she felt proud of herself, but this afternoon and evening we spent apart allowed us an intimacy we had walled ourselves off from - it's difficult to tell someone about something that they too are currently experiencing, impossible to have real and meaningful conversations if you spend all your time together, seemingly unthinkable to want to fuck each other if you're washing each other's clothes in a bathtub or sharing every single meal and sensation. Intimacy is all about letting someone into your world, but it has to be a world of your own making, of your own experience, or else it has no real value. That afternoon we spent apart allowed us to feel that each other had something to give. I showed her a photo of the candles in the stairwell and she said that she wished she could have made it but we both knew the time apart was what we needed. And that was the last time apart we spent on the trip that I can recall.

credits

from My Big Break - volume 1, released July 16, 2020

license

all rights reserved

tags

about

Ben Seretan Climax, New York

**ECSTATIC JOY**

from 1 -> 1 of

contact / help

Contact Ben Seretan

Streaming and
Download help

Shipping and returns

Redeem code

Report this track or account

Ben Seretan recommends:

If you like Ben Seretan, you may also like: