|
listen  jim guthrie read  the little prince laugh  ryan belleville
random © design and text by near-sighted 2001-2002 |
Music stirs up my inner goop, adds a little bit of sugary sweetness and keeps me on my toes for days. So you can bet that an unforgivable “ERROR” message on my CD/mp3 player is causing some irrevocable torment. I went through a tumultuous period where I refused to see shows, refused to care about local music happenings, partly because I was in Toronto and generally disgusted with everything in my life... resenting everyone around me and putting on superior airs, assuming that part of my life was dead and gone. I’d also lived in a suburb a good 45 minutes away on the vomit comet, and it was just...too...much...effort. It's always worth the effort, but there were forces against me: Toronto’s freaking 11pm start times and lousy subway hours were a pain to deal with. Us old music fans enjoy two things: 1. going to shows and 2. getting home - with relative ease (one transfer at most) - by midnight to curl up fetus-like in bed to think and dream about the show. None of this standing around for four hours business. Leave that to the virile. Us music fans aren’t of the fitness club type, you see. Of course, that’s just pigeonholing people and I apologize to all you buff concert geeks. (Sidenote bob: why are most male music fans tall and gangly? I will never learn).
(By the way, I’m not saying gangly is bad. Gangly is definitely good. I will take gangly. I will even take spangly, but I’m sure a spangly boy would be batting for a team that wouldn’t want me. I’m just saying.) With late start times and bars that wanting to cash in on the boredom of the patrons, I was dying in ol’ Hogtown. I’d seen the same artists again and again. Hayden would be at a photography exhibition. Jim Guthrie was walking through Eaton’s. And Moe Berg from the Pursuit of Happiness? He was just like CityTV. Everywhere. Those long flowing gold locks. I'm an adult now. Near the end, I noticed more industry types crowding the clubs, yapping in every possible corner, making it nearly impossible to actually listen to and enjoy a gig. I saw more trend-meisters looking all pretty and nerdy just to fit the bill of the music geek. People were going to see concerts for the sake of looking cool. Since relocating here, I’ve seen four bands I’ve already seen back in Toronto. I saw Rufus Wainwright a couple nights ago, and I was worried the feeling would die again. But it didn't: It was just so nice to be at a concert again. All shows started on time and got me home by 12:30-1:00 at the latest. All shows had an attentive audience. But I just can’t shake the feeling that I’m actually getting sentimental about a scene that I supposedly left. And I also can’t shake the feeling that this is the first time since 1997 that, beside this Rufus show, I have actively gone to a string of shows alone. It’s like starting at square one again. But once you get into your late 20s, it’s just harder to meet people like you did before. No more of that just-legal, early 20s camaraderie, waiting in lineups and getting all chummy with other single boppers. No more of that autograph-hounding, set-list grabbing, zine-interviewing, five-hours in lineup-standing to get a space up front sort of life. Now, it’s just me, sneaking in a few minutes before showtime, standing on the sidelines. But I do get excited when I see those other people standing alone in the crowd, so passionate about music that they will just come and see something for themselves, and not for the general thumbs up or peer acceptance from their friends. I try to give them a knowing glance sometimes, but half the time a friend trots up to the person in question and then the bond's gone. But I don't care anymore. I don't care about those people chatting on the sidelines. I don't care about those girls in big groups wearing matching cardigans and hairclips and 3/4 length skirts. I don't care about the people who talk about how they think this band or that band has sold out or if that other band's only good album was their first indie release available on cassette. I just want to be there to listen. And laugh. And cry once in a while. And I don't care if it's by myself. I get this crazy feeling I’m finally enjoying music once again. Let the fucking games begin.
And I feel fine....... - 2004-02-23 |
