"Just an abstract guy, under abstract skies, singing abstract songs about you"

note: this is part of a series of posts about a trip to a rock concert with my son. The opening post can be found here: Me You Sick.


   After Whitestarr left the stage, I took the opportunity to visit the little boy's room. I asked Matthew if he needed to go, but he said no. (My mother used to call him The Camel, because even at three years old he could go for hours without needing to use the facilities). Faced with my first parenting dilemma of the evening, I had to decide whether to leave my twelve year old son unattended in a bar full of total strangers, or force him to accompany me to the washroom. I was pretty sure what The Mom decision would have been, but I'm The Dad. I looked him in the eye and said, "promise me you won't move from this spot." He nodded and I left him there. Don't tell my wife.
   As I went down the stairs to the basement, where the washrooms were located, I noted that the guy following me down was the drummer from the band. I said hello, complimented him on a good show, and made some casual comment about the maze-like aspect of the hallways we were traversing. He laughed, and replied in kind. The guy we passed on his way out of the bathroom door didn't play it quite so cool.
   "Dude! You're the drummer, man! You guys were freaking awesome, man! I had never heard of you guys before, but you guys freaking ruled. Dude, you guys totally freaking rocked up there!" The drummer, Orbie (he is allegedly the son of the late Roy Orbison) was quite gracious, and sincere in his thanks, but he was clearly hoping the guy would leave. He had come into the washroom on a mission, and wanted to get it accomplished before someone else took his spot at the available urinal. Finally, the guy backed out of the can, and Orbie gratefully stepped up to the wall.
   But, no! The raving fanatic had merely stepped aside to let someone else leave the room, and now he was leaning, half in-half out the open door, announcing the band's supremacy at the top of his lungs once again. I was embarrassed by the guy. Just as I was about to say, "dude, buddy's hanging his wang. Step off and give the man some privacy," someone else pushed past him and out the door, and I guess the momentum carried him all the way upstairs, because he didn't come back.
   I looked over at the relieved/relieving Orbie and said, "looks like you've got a fan." As I made my way back to my seat, I passed the singer of the band, who had number one fan draped all over him, loudly slurring into the video camera his newfound adoration of all things Whitestarr. I'm telling you, college students and beer. It's not pretty.

   It was sudden. There was no fanfare, not even an announcement. Juke Kartel ran out on stage and started playing. You wanna talk about a contrast. Where the opening act was 60% posing and posturing - the guitarist called himself "Rainbow" fer crissake - the headliners were no nonsense, jeans and t-shirts, straight ahead rock and roll. They knew how to play their instruments, and that's what they did. And there weren't any dancers.
   In every way, Juke Kartel were a step above their opening act. Their "wall of sound" was wallier, though we could clearly hear every instrument, and Toby's voice was audible, which is a common problem a lot of live bands have. I seem to remember the judges on Rockstar: Supernova telling him that it impressed them the way his voice always came through the rest of the band, no matter how loud they were. Their blinding light show was blindier, and more in synch with the music. They used cooler colours, too.

   I was still fuming about the whole camera thing. It was about a third of the way through their set, when Toby reached down off the stage, took a camera out of a young lady's hand, then leaned in and took an arm's length portrait of the two of them, that I made up my mind. I turned to Matt and said, "I'm going for the camera."
   He looked at me and mouthed the word, "what?"
   When the song ended I tried again. "I want to get the camera," I said. "Promise me you'll stay in this exact spot. You won't go anywhere, you won't talk to anyone." he nodded, and I went out to the lobby, claimed my coat, and left my son all alone in a downtown bar for the second time in one evening. Probably best not to tell my wife that either.
   I ran the two blocks to where my car was parked, retrieved the camera, and ran the two blocks back. When I sat back down beside Matt, he looked at me and asked, "didn't you go?"
   Of course, my digital camera is a piece of crap, so most of the pictures I took look like this one:

   OK, so some of that is due to user error. I forgot to put it into the low light sensitivity mode, which would have enabled faster shutter speeds to stop the action, but at the expense of added graininess. That's OK, though. The most important pictures are the two of Matt. One was in a previous entry, of him showing the "EVS" written on his hand. The other is below.
   We hung around after the show ended, and the band came out to press flesh with the fans. Matt and I threaded our way through the throng of young (and some not so young) adoring ladies, and asked Toby if we could get a picture of the two together. He graciously acquiesced, and the result is below. Ah, memories that will last a lifetime. It's gratifying to be able to create some of those with my son.

Bonus points for identifying the quote in the title (you'll surprise the hell out of me if you do).

tags: Family, Music