My dreams are nuts. They’re vivid, loud, realistic, movie-like, and often I remember them for weeks after. Cars are a big factor in my dreams; I like to drive, I guess. I also went through a couple of weeks where I was having exclusively party-boat dreams. I have no idea what that was about.

Lately I’ve been having musical dreams. This could be extremely cool if it worked out the right way – because due to the vivid nature of my dreams, sometimes I actually remember songs that played in them. Fictitious songs, that don’t exist yet. I’ve tried to figure them out on the guitar before, but so far I have zero original songs ripped from dreams. One day, it will happen.

What I did have the other night, though, was three very vivid musical dreams in a row, which I’ll be glad to share, if you don’t mind reading this sort of drivel. I’ll try to keep it succinct.

2:30 a.m., Crazy Musical Dream #1 – Blur in My Apartment: I was sitting on the couch in my living room, listening to some people I didn’t know talking in the kitchen. All at once I began to realize there were people all around me, all over the place, filling up the apartment. Friends, acquaintances and strangers, sitting around on the furniture. “What is everyone doing here,” I asked myself, “and why didn’t I notice them before?” Then something else dawned on me. There was a band playing in my apartment. Like, three feet from me. I had just noticed this, even though they were probably about halfway through their set. (I must not be very observant in my dreams.) I noticed the band looked familiar, and they also seemed angry with each other. I slowly realized that guy in the front was Damon Albarn, the guitarist was Graham Coxon – yep, it was Blur. My neighbors, if they weren’t pissed, were almost certainly jealous. The music wasn’t Blur, though, it was sort of an indistinct mess of noise; this might have explained why they were angry with each other. After they finished playing I joined the people in the kitchen, and Damon walked over to get something out of the fridge. I complimented him on the set and said he could play here again anytime. He growled something about wankers, then stomped off. The invitation is, of course, still open.

4:15 a.m., Crazy Musical Dream #2 – Strokes Rewrite: My girlfriend has a good friend, we’ll call him “Jake.” Jake is a very accomplished guitarist who occasionally works with some pretty well-known people. Anyway (this is the dream), we got a call from Jake saying to meet him at the local record store, because he had a surprise for us. We got there (very quickly it seemed – maybe we teleported). There he was, sitting in the isle, behind a table, guitar in his lap, looking like a Bob Dylan book signing. There on the table were copies of the last Strokes album, First Impressions of Earth, and there further down the isle were the Strokes, hanging out and reading album covers. “What’s up, Jake,” we said. “Oh, nothing, I just recorded a few Strokes songs,” Jake said. He handed us an album. “Tracks Rewritten By Jake Jakerton,” the note on the back said (but with his real name, of course.) I plugged a headset into the listening station. Wow, a strokes song, but with completely different guitar, and different lyrics. “It’s not as good as the original,” I said, handing the album back to Jake. “I know,” he said.

6:30 a.m., Crazy Musical Dream #3 – Secret Radiohead Show: (Warning: because of my alarm clock, this one is particularly anticlimactic.) I was standing in line with about 20 other people, and I was extraordinarily lucky. I was in my old college town of Chico, waiting to get into the back room of a small, dark, basement-like bar. It might have been Duffy’s, with a sweet remodel. Patrons were trickling into the bar, eyeing us with jealousy. Yeah, bitches. We had tickets, you didn’t. Eventually we filed into the even darker back room – it was dimly lit red, with no windows, and clay benches and crates serving as seating. A small stage stood against one wall, and everyone was crowding each other for seats next to it. I grabbed the last front-row seat, next to a guy who looked like Josh Radnor, and as I claimed the seat, three other people who were racing toward my bench gave a silent “awww….” We waited for a good 20 minutes while nothing happened, and the tension built. Finally, as people began impatiently lighting up cigarettes and whipping out cards, a door slammed open against the side wall. Everybody’s head turned. The noise from the crowd outside boomed through the place, and suddenly a procession marched through the doors toward the stage. Thom Yorke was in front, in a blue hoodie cinched close around his face, followed by roadies, stage hands and other band members toting instruments. Our eyes eagerly followed them to the stage, and the door boomed shut behind them as the band took their positions and turned to face the audience. Then they all disappeared into thin air. We stared in shock for several seconds, not knowing what to think. A few seconds later, an amplified voice explained over the speaker system that the entrance we had just seen was a holographic projection, taped from the previous year’s show. The real Radiohead would take the stage shortly. We were all confused and slightly irked, and the tension in the air doubled. Suddenly, there was a giant beep as my alarm clock ended the suspense, robbing me of sleep and the coolest secret Radiohead show ever.

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