The title of this blog entry is a direct quote: “I don’t know how to do this,” is something that Mieka said to me on stage during a show at Rockwood Music Hall, recently. I can’t remember if I actually heard the words come out of her mouth. I’m pretty sure that I saw her mouth move in the shape of the words, but…well… it’s just not that important to the story, ok? You see, Mieka has a certain magic about her. She has the power to express, whether she wants it or not. She need not speak. She need not gesture. She needn’t do anything at all, and you are bound to feel her fury; her joy; her despair; her mind-bogglingly neurotic panic. Much of the time, it’s her eyes that do the talking. Mieka’s eyes are beautifully expressive. Even when they are wide with incensed rage, you can’t help but admire their depth. They’re just so big. Often, I’ll find myself gawking in astonished wonderment as Mieka rips me a new one about one thing or another. It’s best not to drift too far out. The sea is uneven. Jagged shards of broken ice bob helplessly amongst inconsistently spaced white-capping waves that head in all directions. Unexplained shipwreck debris finds itself battered into kindling as it claws its way amidst the loosely packed ice, beneath a foreboding and thunderous sky. Lo! A voice; an unseen siren song beckons from the dark horizon… “Are you fucking kidding me?! Have you been listening to anything that I’m saying???” Sorry, Mieka.

I’d like to return to Rockwood Music Hall, if I may. Mieka, the rest of the band, and I were performing one of our heavier numbers when I seized on an opportunity to have an onstage rock-inspired moment with Mieka. Historically, execution of any traditionally Rock and Roll inspired antic within the context of Mieka Pauley could only be construed as ironic. There’s more acoustic guitar in Mieka Pauley’s past than under every campus tree in every pot-smoking east coast private college that exists or ever has existed. But Rock and Roll in at least one, if not more, of its forms has slowly been finding its way into Mieka Pauley’s music. Don’t get wrong! The extent to which the unadventurous, benign, house-cat character of any Mieka Pauley band member renders any type of raw, ass-kicking, trademark Rock and Roll moment ironic, should not be underestimated. What can I say? We like to drink wine and go to bed early. Irony, however, was not perched at the forefront of my consciousness when I decided to face Mieka onstage and thrust my guitar towards hers by pushing my pelvis out in an exaggerated “let’s make our guitars have sex”, moment. Mieka momentarily obliged. She sensed that this was something that her future identity was calling her to do. “Make your guitar have sex, Mieka,” her inner voice beckoned. “It’s dirty and exhibitionistic, but the people want to watch. You are Chrissie Hynde. You are Joe Perry. You are Slash.”

From my perspective, all this happened in an instant as Mieka momentarily consulted the ground. She paused, her body facing mine, but with her face cast downward, void of expression. Then, those big eyes turned up to meet mine, wide with panic, but not without a self-conscious twinge of humor regarding the absurdity of her position. “I don’t know how to do this”.