Clay booked the show. I knew his name from punk listings, so I expected a certain type. Ideological certainty, maybe a basement full of amplifiers. Instead, he’s a computer programmer. The kind of guy who probably debugs code all day and then, for reasons that feel both noble and slightly mysterious, decides his town should also have live music. He just wants to make shows happen. Which is harder than it sounds. While searching Facebook or TikTok groups with which to advertise our show I found the very amusing;y titled “WTF Prince ALbert!” Summed up my hopes for the show.

Clay put us up at the Twilight. The name alone should have been a warning. You walk into a room like that and your body begins filing reports. Chemical smells. A bed tilted just enough to make one question gravity. The clientele suggests stories you don’t want to hear in full. We stood there for a minute, took it in, collectively decided this was not where we would test our immune systems or luck with bed bugs.

Clay took it well. The show itself in a seniors’ hall, which turned out perfect. Sometimes the best venues are the ones not trying to be venues at all. A local pizza place sponsored the night and I ended up with an excellent salad. Good food in the right moment can reframe an entire town. Clay reminded me of a Simpsons character. Not in a mocking way. In that precise, slightly exaggerated clarity and look that animation gives people. His sister, working the door, felt like she had been drawn by the same hand. The two of them had effortless cartoon logic. I could imagine them existing in an episode where everything works out despite the odds.

There was an old upright piano. Not terrible. Just old enough to need attention. Clay spent $300 to get it tuned and fixed for the show. Three hundred dollars in a small town is not nothing. He was prepared to absorb that, like an invisible tax of caring. We reimbursed him. Not out of obligation but respect. He’d already tried to house us at the Twilight, which we rejected. He’d arranged dinner. He’d put money and effort into making the music possible. There’s a point where you don’t want generosity to turn into a loss that discourages the next attempt. Prince Albert feels like that. A place where the infrastructure isn’t guaranteed, where every show depends on someone like Clay deciding it’s worth doing anyway. Hope we keep coming back and the room fills. Hope Clay keeps programming by day and quietly building a scene by night.