CITY GIRL LED TO NORTH JERSEY BY PROMISE OF PASTORAL TRANQUILITY

Noam Levy (No-ám) had errands to run in the city and said he would call around noon on Saturday. I set the ringer on hi and berated myself for getting in at 5. We agreed to meet at the Path station on 14th and Sixth and forgot to name a corner; remarkably American Altitude's bass player was easily found, despite my groggy omission.

Although the armed guards had vacated their stations outside of government buildings, 9-11 hung in the air. I was looking forward to an escape to New Brunswick, home territory of Beekiller's recent contributors, American Altitude.

American Altitude came to our attention through poetry editor Mike Wexler; they're old friends he invited to share a bill at The Living Room a few months back. Their anodyne compositions of slide, steel and acoustic guitars, banjos, drums and bass not only make them a musician's band, but have perfect pop hooks. Only a few songs include vocals from front man Stephan Ryshkewitch--his deep voice is direct, pressing, settled. The audience listened at The Living Room; we were impressed and invited to play our summer Beekiller Party. Even Dave, the leather-clad biker and owner of Tobacco Road (often host to our gala affairs), who likes nothing, likes American Altitude. He invited them to play anytime--he told me everything else he could do without. Except, we expect, the money we bring in.

In search of an escape from charred-smelling air, and a healthy curiosity of this seeming well-spring of talent led me to spend an evening in New Brunswick, NJ.

Noam and I took the Path to Hoboken. We stopped at a diner for tepid coffee and undercooked egg sandwiches. It was all sunshine and disturbingly warm for November along the Hudson; I didn't need my coat. I carried it to Noam's house where he has a car. We were to meet Stephan and Josh Saltzman, their new drummer, at Stephan's house in New Brunswick. (The other band members weren't able to come out that night: Bassist Josh Newman has moved to Philadelphia and Slide guitarist Jeff Van Newkirk has this crazy, great job traveling around major cities, checking the addresses of buildings.)

Noam and I got stuck in traffic--it took an hour. The cd player was broken. We took the opportunity to get-acquainted. The car is Noam's sister who recently moved to Queens and wanted neither to lose or keep it. Noam has a tattoo of the American Flag and is looking forward to going back to New Brunswick living after an ill-fated job at a small publisher in the Empire State building.

Stephan's house is ordered bachelor's chaos: Bride of Pin-Bot, pool table, two drums kits and lots of recording equipment in the basement--even vending machines loaded with cheap beer (!).

Stephan is serious about interior design. A constant source of vexation: housemates apparently refuse to keep the table aligned with the couch instead of the floorboards. They're suspected of rearrangement when Stephan's out. Well, at least the cat is now well-looked-after.

Most of American Altitude's local crew--which follows the band en masse, even to shows in the city--had gone to see Stereolab, so it was a quiet Saturday. We played a few games of pool in sets--I won a game. We listened to Nick Cave, and then I listened to them play in the basement and had some Yingling. Noam wore a pig-mask that fit snugly, and eerily clung to his skin.

Happily twirling on a stool, drinking beer, listening to the band "jam." Stephan decided, true to the eternal suburban quest, that we ought to "do something." We went to the Edison Diner on Route 1, taking back roads to avoid the highway. Stephan corrected Josh's grammar and explained that his mother was a teacher. A heated discussion on comma usage flared and some guy behind us had such an obnoxious laugh that it made us giggle.

Noam drove me back to the Path. On the L train, I heard new sincerity on the album. Driving crescendos move forward, but at a comfortable, unhurried pace; urgent banjo, bass and guitar picking tumble to an ordered resolution; snares, cymbals and shakers fill the landscape and the slide guitar alternates as narrator--motivating the listener to listen, rally, be still and resolve.

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