#travoltas

by Liz Berry

A lot of things were supposed to happen in the last almost-three years.  Humanity missed births, deaths, weddings, funerals, human interactions both formal and casual, concerts, ball games, huge swaths of careers that had previously never seen the outside of a cubicle farm suddenly had to be tailored to the inside of private homes.  You know.  You were there.

The pandemic wasn’t supposed to happen, we all howled, though statistically we were almost overdue (“once in every generation, the plague shall fall among them,” thanks, Mother Abigail!  M-O-O-N, that spells COVID.)

For Dallas music staple, Salim Nourallah, the thing that was *supposed* to happen was his album, “A Nuclear Winter.”

***

A Friday evening in January 2020, from a table at YAM (YOGA-ART-MUSIC in Dallas) I watched Salim preview material for his upcoming east coast mini tour with Rhett Miller.  The music making machinery in Salim’s head never stops, but the part that translates that live – especially when the live bits are far from home – requires a whole other set of switches, levers and pulleys.  Material. Polish. Present to audience.  Gauge reaction. Refine.  Wonder if the reaction will stay true for 1400 miles away.

The feeling that night was hopeful.  Salim would showcase the best and ear friendliest bits from the new Jesus of Sad EP, take said show on the road, and ranks of new fans would fall in behind him – the pied piper of Indie rock astride his velociraptor, resplendent in tennis visor and bathrobe.  All part of the plan: world domination one catchy song at a time.

(Collage by me: Stickerhead Salim from: artist, Eric Edwards , Pied Piper illustration from this weird 70s human behavior book I have, veloci-Jesus is from Salim's Jesus of Sad Ep)

Easy peasy.

In February, I was fortunate enough to follow along behind Rhett and Salim for this tour.  My husband and I lucked in to being able to sell Salim and Rhett’s merch for them— bless them, what do you do when people invite themselves along to your party?  Put them to work, of course.

It was a week of shows, living the very lightest definition of the rock and roll lifestyle (for someone who’s dreamed of that very thing since age in the single digits, you might as well call have called it On the Road fantasy camp.  If they’d asked US to pay them to do it, I would have started looking for a handy ATM), taking care of Salim’s tshirts and traveling merch display case – I didn’t find out until recently that suitcase is on the cover of Rhett Miller’s: The Traveler (thank goodness Salim didn’t tell us at the time as there’s no way I could have carted it around quite so blithely with the massive extra weight of that particularly kind of responsibility.)

We raced to have as much fun as possible with the specter of COVID breathing down our necks:  a flight attendant with a runny nose, people at the airports wearing masks (and, oh dear, it hit EXACTLY where we were not weeks after).  And we were successful for the most part.  There was a blizzard in New York (blizzard to a person from Texas, at least), but even the idea of the blizzard filled me with longing after the pandemic really, truly hit – though Texas had its own Snowpocalype February of 2021 and I stopped wishing for things because the intervening dumpster fire years all seems to have weird senses of humor (like nesting dolls, each year seems to be a bigger dumpster that the previous year fits in and it’s all a-flame.  It’s fine, everything is fine).

Our friendships went almost exclusively online – since the pandemic, since the world stopped/ended, since The Plague, since the Shit Went Down… call it whatever you want, but there’s one thing to be said for these unifying kinds of experiences:  we did it together.  Masked and sanitized in line at the grocery store, small talk turned in to “remember that time we almost froze to death? Almost died?” (subtext being “… and could still die” but only if you believed in science/germs/whatever – which a lot of Texas apparently doesn’t.)

Salim would call me.  We’d occasionally wax wistful about that time we had a blast on the road:  Logistics that were annoying to plan at the time, but felt absolutely crucial afterward because I honestly don’t think I could have made it through the last two years without the amazing memories we made.  How the planned future fun was now on hold.  What about the record? On hold (though Salim has produced enough material in the time I’ve known him, at times it was hard to keep the EPs and the album straight.) 

More time passed. 

The pandemic stretched on. 

Since touring with and befriending Marty Willson-Piper (former guitarist with The Church) in 2018, Nuclear Winter was meant to be The Album With Marty.  Well, Marty Willson-Piper was a million miles away – or might as well be – doing Marty Willson-Piper things.  I don’t even remember.  At some point he was in Penzance – which I actually had to Google because I probably thought Gilbert and Sullivan made it up.  You know… for their pirates. 

Out of sight.

Out of mind.

We all had things to worry about.

At some point, humanity decided the pandemic was boring and inconvenient so we declared it over and went about trying very hard to ignore it and the wheels of life that had ground to a screeching halt chugged gradually back to life.  At some point, there had to be a reckoning.  Years of labor pain is too long not to see some sort of result or a the very least some sort of closure. 

And the signal of this?  A Kickstarter campaign.  The album would be born in October 2022 when the finish line of $10,500 in pledges was crossed.  I watched the Kickstarter tick down from Salim’s own Galactic Headquarters – the listening room next to his recording studio—as he performed a show with former Travoltas bandmate, Paul Slavens (the band called it quits in 2019, but with new perspective brought by the pandemic, suits that still fit and a desire to give people the fun they crave, perhaps a revived two-piece affair might be in the offing in the new year.  Enquiring minds want to know!)

The goal was met and exceeded by $2357:

A Nuclear Winter is go.

You, reader, may enjoy ANW in May 2023.

In one of the few times in my life where I can marvel at the truth behind these words: I am special. I have this gorgeous work right. now.

Let's begin

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