I say this every time I leave the city. I'm astonished I don't bring it up every time I leave my living room. I hate travelling.
This isn't any kind of judgement on other people and places, nor on those who do enjoy trekking off for parts unknown. I envy you that exploratory spirit. But for me, the very notion of 'elsewhere' makes my skin crawl. My stuff isn't there. My normal watering hole isn't there. And the cool coffee machine from work is certainly nowhere to be found.
But David Bowie can bat those lashes at me with that "come hither" look, and I'm off in a heartbeat. And so I spent last night in Toronto, enjoying his performance at the Air Canada Centre.
The trip over was uneventful. We packed light but still brought some munchies to make the trip pass smoothly. I had a bag full of Quizno's that I'd picked up at lunch because we didn't have time either here or in Toronto to stop and get dinner. The bus even ran a little late, further cramping the schedule.
I think I made the right choice by enduring the bus again and not taking my beloved car on the road. I was a few feet into Toronto before I saw a few dozen testimonials in motion reaffirming the fact that most Toronto drivers are quite clearly insane.
Anyways - we arrived at the Air Canada Centre with moments to spare before the opening band came on, although I barely noticed them through my absolute heartbreak upon seeing just how shitty our eighty dollar seats were. The Ticketmaster.com map of the ACC is, shall we say, optimistic when relating one's distance to the stage. Sure, we weren't very far back. I'd say we were substantially closer than when we enjoyed his performance at the Molson Amphitheatre a couple of years ago. But we were waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay the fuck up. There were parts of the fucking ceiling that were closer to the ground than we were.
Dogslife, my friend - I'm afraid I proved myself unworthy of your kind praise that I was no rock snob. I found myself surveying the assembled throngs - almost all of whom had better seats than me - and running down how much more deserving of being there I was. Seriously - every 8 year old that got dragged along with the parents to see some ancient rocker that sat down entire sections closer than I got to was another dagger in my heart.
Granted, it was really funny to watch the white-haired granny throwing the horns. But still. All that fucking hand waving interrupted the meagre view I did have. And you dorks can't dance, okay? There's nothing wrong with accepting your limitations. ARGH!
Okay, that's off my chest. I realize it makes me a terribly shallow person, but I need you to understand just how much more I love Bowie than almost everybody else on the planet. This isn't hyperbole. It's stone fact.
The opening band was the much-maligned Polyphonic Spree. (Fortunately, the originally-slated banshee Macy Gray was unavailable for the rescheduled Toronto date.) I have to say - despite overwhelming evidence and testimonials that they sucked an assload of ass - the in fact rocked the joint. I was really impressed, and equally heartbroken when not a single store on Yonge Street had any of their albums in.
Bowie was, of course, brilliant. It's almost unthinkable that he's 57, and awe-inspiring that he continues to deliver material and performances the way he can long after a few generations of his many contemporaries have moved into obscurity, self-parody, or the great gig in the sky. His band was every bit his match. It's always humbling to see Gail on bass, the incomparable Mike Garson on piano, and Sterling Campbell rock the drums. Earl Slick (referred to repeatedly as "Earl Slash" by these dipshits a table over at the hotel restaurant this morning - the type of people who were urging their son to download some music of that opening band because they were so good) and the other guitar player whose name escapes me were outstanding, although I will never be able to accept anybody other than Reeves Gabrels playing guitar for Bowie. Their schism continues to haunt me.
Regardless, it was a humbling show. I want to get another band together now. Christ, I miss the stage.
There's more minutae of my Toronto trip that I could drone on about (including a moment of sadness when I passed by the Salad King and realized I had no way of contacting Photogrrl. But it's late. I'm sick and coughing nastily. My feet hurt. And I'm tired. So I won't.
But I missed you crazy bastards, y'know that?
This isn't any kind of judgement on other people and places, nor on those who do enjoy trekking off for parts unknown. I envy you that exploratory spirit. But for me, the very notion of 'elsewhere' makes my skin crawl. My stuff isn't there. My normal watering hole isn't there. And the cool coffee machine from work is certainly nowhere to be found.
But David Bowie can bat those lashes at me with that "come hither" look, and I'm off in a heartbeat. And so I spent last night in Toronto, enjoying his performance at the Air Canada Centre.
The trip over was uneventful. We packed light but still brought some munchies to make the trip pass smoothly. I had a bag full of Quizno's that I'd picked up at lunch because we didn't have time either here or in Toronto to stop and get dinner. The bus even ran a little late, further cramping the schedule.
I think I made the right choice by enduring the bus again and not taking my beloved car on the road. I was a few feet into Toronto before I saw a few dozen testimonials in motion reaffirming the fact that most Toronto drivers are quite clearly insane.
Anyways - we arrived at the Air Canada Centre with moments to spare before the opening band came on, although I barely noticed them through my absolute heartbreak upon seeing just how shitty our eighty dollar seats were. The Ticketmaster.com map of the ACC is, shall we say, optimistic when relating one's distance to the stage. Sure, we weren't very far back. I'd say we were substantially closer than when we enjoyed his performance at the Molson Amphitheatre a couple of years ago. But we were waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay the fuck up. There were parts of the fucking ceiling that were closer to the ground than we were.
Dogslife, my friend - I'm afraid I proved myself unworthy of your kind praise that I was no rock snob. I found myself surveying the assembled throngs - almost all of whom had better seats than me - and running down how much more deserving of being there I was. Seriously - every 8 year old that got dragged along with the parents to see some ancient rocker that sat down entire sections closer than I got to was another dagger in my heart.
Granted, it was really funny to watch the white-haired granny throwing the horns. But still. All that fucking hand waving interrupted the meagre view I did have. And you dorks can't dance, okay? There's nothing wrong with accepting your limitations. ARGH!
Okay, that's off my chest. I realize it makes me a terribly shallow person, but I need you to understand just how much more I love Bowie than almost everybody else on the planet. This isn't hyperbole. It's stone fact.
The opening band was the much-maligned Polyphonic Spree. (Fortunately, the originally-slated banshee Macy Gray was unavailable for the rescheduled Toronto date.) I have to say - despite overwhelming evidence and testimonials that they sucked an assload of ass - the in fact rocked the joint. I was really impressed, and equally heartbroken when not a single store on Yonge Street had any of their albums in.
Bowie was, of course, brilliant. It's almost unthinkable that he's 57, and awe-inspiring that he continues to deliver material and performances the way he can long after a few generations of his many contemporaries have moved into obscurity, self-parody, or the great gig in the sky. His band was every bit his match. It's always humbling to see Gail on bass, the incomparable Mike Garson on piano, and Sterling Campbell rock the drums. Earl Slick (referred to repeatedly as "Earl Slash" by these dipshits a table over at the hotel restaurant this morning - the type of people who were urging their son to download some music of that opening band because they were so good) and the other guitar player whose name escapes me were outstanding, although I will never be able to accept anybody other than Reeves Gabrels playing guitar for Bowie. Their schism continues to haunt me.
Regardless, it was a humbling show. I want to get another band together now. Christ, I miss the stage.
There's more minutae of my Toronto trip that I could drone on about (including a moment of sadness when I passed by the Salad King and realized I had no way of contacting Photogrrl. But it's late. I'm sick and coughing nastily. My feet hurt. And I'm tired. So I won't.
But I missed you crazy bastards, y'know that?
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
I love that version of Rebel Rebel, but he's been playing it for quite a while now. That doesn't make it less spectacular, but it would have been cool to see him switch it up again.
I was surprised that they chose to play China Girl perfectly straight. The last time I saw Bowie, that song kicked off as this jazzy, ethereal thing, and I didn't even know that it was China Girl (the gf caught on way before I did) until, about midway through, they just slammed into a more recognizeable version. It blew me away.
I know what you mean - thinking that guy is nearly sixty years old puts an awful lot of things into perspective, doesn't it?