SHARING THE SHOWS
Waking up the morning after dancing at a show to go for a run isn’t easy, but I managed to pull it off. Afterwards, I had a nice egg and cheese on a bagel (I love cheat days!), read and wrote, took two naps, had a couple of slices of leftover pizza, and took a long trek (read: five-minute walk) from my apartment at City Center to Tradition Brewing Company (it’s nice having a concert venue five minutes from my house, especially since I really don’t go to enough of them J).
So I bought a ticket assuming most of my friends would. Then, this past Monday, my friend Gary PMed me telling me they were sold out. Then, Sonya told me the same thing. Then Maggie. So I assumed I’d be riding this one solo, which is fine. I’m comfortable enough in my own skin where I can go to a concert solo. Except I wasn’t solo. The minute I walked in, I was greeted by a 60s psychedelic-like fuzz from the speakers. When I walked over to the merch table, I learned they were a group called The Southern Belles, based out of Richmond. I always buy the CDs of the lesser-known bands I see; I’m old-school like that, and I like to support the smaller acts where I can, so I did the same thing for the Marcus King Band, who I had seen once before at Manhattan’s Gramercy Theater during the Phish NYE run this past year. This venue was a little more tightly packed than the night before, and I generally don’t like to jostle through crowds just to get to the front; I wait it out. After about 20 minutes of bopping along with the Belles and slowly making my way toward the front, I saw my friend Dean, and in front of him, my friend Dave and his girlfriend Pat. So I politely slithered toward the front (slithering is a helpful skill in these venues) where I was greeted by hugs and fist-bumps, both righteous mating calls for us concertgoing folk. During my conversation with Dean, he jokingly said, “I think you need to go to more concerts, dude.” I sadly had to agree that I don’t go to enough. I would stay in front of the stage for the remainder of the night, save a trip to hydrate. The remainder of the night had some amazing highlights. Good conversation about future travel plans, the drunken 60ish-year-old woman who grabbed my buttocks and tried to place her hands around my waist before I subtly slithered to a spot on the right with the help of a fellow dancer. Other than that, it involved a little light flirtation, a bunch of high-fives, some ecstatic screams that only come when the music really hits your soul, and some tired feet. Oh, and did I mention great music? And the following conversation took place between me and Dean after the encore, a beautiful, fitting song called “Virginia.” Me: I think I’ve come to an epiphany. Dean: What’s that? Me: I don’t go to enough shows. Dean (laughing): Yeah, I think you could use one or two more. I do admit I need to get on my game with shows, so there will be more this summer. Fortunately, the walk home was carried by my spirit, which is always touched after an inspiring show. Great times, great friends, great music.
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April 2024
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