I don’t know what you thought about 2006. For me it was lucky. It was a year of excitement, anticipation, and getting free. I think most everyone I know has been working their ass off lately on their long-term goals, and towards the end of the year the mood was type restless and hungry for something more.
If you were there, you know what I’m talking about. If you weren’t I wish you were. The party was situated in downtown LA, in a warehouse that had been transformed into a private skate park (thanks and love to Steve Berra and Eric Koston for the spot). As people began to filter in through the small crack in the sliding steel door and crowd around the stage made of skate ramps and the tusk sound system, the tension in the room felt like gathering thunderheads. It’s difficult to explain. I normally try and remain immune from things like holiday introspection, but at eleven thirty it really felt like the future was laid out before us. When we (Brother Reade) took the stage there was already a critical mass at the jam, and people were still pushing into the space. We played a few new songs and things were really getting riled up, and at eleven fifty eight I could feel those clouds I was talking about earlier twitching in bothered anticipation. Desert Eagles was called to the stage to open a bottle of Dom P that Justin Hollar had given BR as a gift for the New Year. It was eleven fifty nine, and it was time to count.
As Desert Eagles peeled back the foil on the bottle, I thought about everything that had happened to me in the last year. Also, I thought about how I had never really imagined that things could be as good as they had gotten. I was with my closest friends and 1500 of their closest friends having what seems so far like the time of my life. We had a new lease on things, new horizons, and new ambitions to explore them. When the count began, I found myself washed of any specific expectations, but completely open and in awe of whatever might be to come. The closer we got to zero, the more the room urged for the future. The clouds trembled. Desert Eagles pushed his thumbs to the cork at the count of one, and then pushed the cork off the bottle. Then came the rain.
After that, things had proverbially popped off. Bobby and I powered through the rest of our set, then he and Desert Eagles killded it. Them Jeans? Killded it. DJ Franchise? Killded it. The night ended with tangled bodies kissing and touching, and a small handful of harmless melees. Some spectacles and some jackets were lost, and a girl cut her foot and sanitized it with champagne. Everyone got home safe. All in all, the jam was perfect, and complete. I hope your year is.
Yours,
Jamz (on behalf of Brother Reade).
Thanks to: Steve Berra, Eric Koston, Stacey, Rabbittusk, Obey/Giant, Studio no. 1, Day19, Eagles, Jeans, Franchise, Cobrasnake, and everyone who came out and crushed it.
