Bowie was euphoric.
No other way to say it. Given my disdain for travel and my crappy experience in the Ozone section of the ACC, I was really starting to wonder (particularly as I tried to dodge psychopathic asshat truckers on the 403) if I'd made a poor decision by snatching up those tickets. And as I stuffed the tickets into my bag with one last paranoid "are they there?", I studied them and it occurred to me that "Floor 2" could as easily mean the second floor of the arena as opposed to an actual floor seat.
I was nervous.
My tensions began to ease when the ushers, looking at my tickets after I asked where "Gate 4" was, told me that any entrance at all would take me to the floor. The tone was almost reverently helpful. I expected a "Lovely to see you again, sir. When did you get back from the coast?" business-type banter.
So sure enough, we made it onto the floor. There was an eerie sense that we shouldn't be there. We were the interlopers. Surely real people didn't get to tread on the sacred ground around the floor seats. And yet, there we were.
Finally, we got about halfway up, and I made enough sense of the arcane scribblings on the floor to kindasorta think we might be in the right place. I was pretty pleased, but not 100% sure. Another usher noticed my confusion, and pointed out that we did have the wrong seats.
Our tickets, she informed us, were waaaaaaaaaay better.
Eleven rows back, dead centre. I could see the whites of his eyes, people. And so went the greatest single concert I've ever seen. It was easily the best Bowie show I've seen (of the three, now, for those keeping score), and probably the greatest concert I've ever seen in my life. It's a little hard to be fully objective about that sort of thing, because physical proximity to one's absolute favourite performer tends to affect one's impartiality. But fuck it. I hate a great time and sang at the top of my lungs for the entire brilliant show.
I was so close I thought the volume of my clapping might bother him. That's close.
I want to be (one of Bowie's touring guitarists) Earl Slick. The guy is so fucking rock and roll it hurts me. Onstage, he projected exactly the right blend of soldier and wild animal. Holy hell. I gotta admit, he plays the rock a little too straight for me. Musically, I'm way more in line with (other guitarist) Gerry Leonard. With his space-age doodads and ethereal layers of weird soundness, I'm totally up that alley. But when it comes down to slamming down the rawk with authority, Earl does it better than anybody. Holy hell. I'm even wearing my guitar lower and my pants tighter now, although that may be at least partly the dryer's fault.
The next day, we found out that my favourite sushi place in the universe (Yu's Sushi Garden, in the food court of the Galleria Mall) is still open. That made me extraordinarily happy. When we were walking out, I hit the record shop across the way and found a Bowie concert DVD from a gig in Paris a few weeks before I first saw him at Area 2. (I'm just getting back from Best Buy where I bought Heathen again because this version has a bonus track and a bonus DVD. Argh!) Seriously - the way "Heathen" is performed live reminds me powerfully of why I play music in the first place. I need to start another band.
Dogslife, my friend - one day you should just come over for lunch, and we'll just plug our guitars into my computer and see what weirdness we can make happen. I think you and I might be on a lot of similar musical wavelengths.
Also while in London, one of my best friends informed me that he was getting engaged, and asked me to be his best man. Humbled isn't the word. I don't think I've ever felt so honoured in my life. It's especially cool because I'm almost certain he'd be the guy I'd ask to stand for me when it's my turn at the altar. (And get those applications in now, ladies! Operators are standing by!)
I'm crushed I missed Prom. I outlined that enough in the last one. But when I was at my friend's house the next night, relaxing and watching some TV at around midnight, I was thinking that at that moment, you guys were probably all having an amazing time. I was thinking about you, and wishing I could have been there, and hoping you all missed me just a bit. I'll be there soon and I'll roll with the locals.
Ticktockticktock, Cathedra, and my dear Sorcha (as well as whatever other out-of-towners I may have forgotten)... we'll figure something out.
No other way to say it. Given my disdain for travel and my crappy experience in the Ozone section of the ACC, I was really starting to wonder (particularly as I tried to dodge psychopathic asshat truckers on the 403) if I'd made a poor decision by snatching up those tickets. And as I stuffed the tickets into my bag with one last paranoid "are they there?", I studied them and it occurred to me that "Floor 2" could as easily mean the second floor of the arena as opposed to an actual floor seat.
I was nervous.
My tensions began to ease when the ushers, looking at my tickets after I asked where "Gate 4" was, told me that any entrance at all would take me to the floor. The tone was almost reverently helpful. I expected a "Lovely to see you again, sir. When did you get back from the coast?" business-type banter.
So sure enough, we made it onto the floor. There was an eerie sense that we shouldn't be there. We were the interlopers. Surely real people didn't get to tread on the sacred ground around the floor seats. And yet, there we were.
Finally, we got about halfway up, and I made enough sense of the arcane scribblings on the floor to kindasorta think we might be in the right place. I was pretty pleased, but not 100% sure. Another usher noticed my confusion, and pointed out that we did have the wrong seats.
Our tickets, she informed us, were waaaaaaaaaay better.
Eleven rows back, dead centre. I could see the whites of his eyes, people. And so went the greatest single concert I've ever seen. It was easily the best Bowie show I've seen (of the three, now, for those keeping score), and probably the greatest concert I've ever seen in my life. It's a little hard to be fully objective about that sort of thing, because physical proximity to one's absolute favourite performer tends to affect one's impartiality. But fuck it. I hate a great time and sang at the top of my lungs for the entire brilliant show.
I was so close I thought the volume of my clapping might bother him. That's close.
I want to be (one of Bowie's touring guitarists) Earl Slick. The guy is so fucking rock and roll it hurts me. Onstage, he projected exactly the right blend of soldier and wild animal. Holy hell. I gotta admit, he plays the rock a little too straight for me. Musically, I'm way more in line with (other guitarist) Gerry Leonard. With his space-age doodads and ethereal layers of weird soundness, I'm totally up that alley. But when it comes down to slamming down the rawk with authority, Earl does it better than anybody. Holy hell. I'm even wearing my guitar lower and my pants tighter now, although that may be at least partly the dryer's fault.
The next day, we found out that my favourite sushi place in the universe (Yu's Sushi Garden, in the food court of the Galleria Mall) is still open. That made me extraordinarily happy. When we were walking out, I hit the record shop across the way and found a Bowie concert DVD from a gig in Paris a few weeks before I first saw him at Area 2. (I'm just getting back from Best Buy where I bought Heathen again because this version has a bonus track and a bonus DVD. Argh!) Seriously - the way "Heathen" is performed live reminds me powerfully of why I play music in the first place. I need to start another band.
Dogslife, my friend - one day you should just come over for lunch, and we'll just plug our guitars into my computer and see what weirdness we can make happen. I think you and I might be on a lot of similar musical wavelengths.
Also while in London, one of my best friends informed me that he was getting engaged, and asked me to be his best man. Humbled isn't the word. I don't think I've ever felt so honoured in my life. It's especially cool because I'm almost certain he'd be the guy I'd ask to stand for me when it's my turn at the altar. (And get those applications in now, ladies! Operators are standing by!)
I'm crushed I missed Prom. I outlined that enough in the last one. But when I was at my friend's house the next night, relaxing and watching some TV at around midnight, I was thinking that at that moment, you guys were probably all having an amazing time. I was thinking about you, and wishing I could have been there, and hoping you all missed me just a bit. I'll be there soon and I'll roll with the locals.
Ticktockticktock, Cathedra, and my dear Sorcha (as well as whatever other out-of-towners I may have forgotten)... we'll figure something out.
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
sniffle, sniffle, what about me?