A gig, the first in many years. Fucked up, no babysitter, so it’s just me, no R., down in Indigo waiting for Minuit.
Same alt-crowd, but younger. No smoke. Strange.
Waiting.
Have money these days, buy t-shirt for me & a couple badges for my girls, asleep at home… (chat with band member on t-shirt selling duty).
I’m sorry baby, your dreams never come true and your nightmares maybe
…and…
Even if you’re lying please tell me everything’s gonna be fine
I can just see B₂ & R₂ with these pinned to them.
Will anyone I know walk through the door?
Find a comfy chair, observe some people. Young sexy geeky boys and girls. Some old farts like me. Some even older farts, parents?
A bit pissed, disco lights making me dizzy, obscure New Order remix pounding, another pint please.
Shit, that was the taxi money.
Waiting.
Support. Feedback. Migration to the front. Tadpole reincarnated. Who are they?
I’d forgotten what fun this is.
Not Tadpole reincarnated. An all-chick band. Pixies in the bottom of their garden? Loud. Passionate.
But going a bit too long…
Finished now, what next? Roadies. Another support? Or the main event?
Toilet. Geekboys bladdershy queue like girls for stalls.
Position now at front, ready for the Real Thing.
But not quite yet… So So Modern, boys in decontamination suits, sounding great like the bastard children of Franz Ferdinand & the Super Furry Animals. EP soon, one just gone, watch these boys ‘cause they rock.
So many girls at the front, how times have changed, moshing politely.
Right ear already muffled & deadened, the perils of age apparent.
Waiting. Midnight. Time flies …
Three girls behind me, most drunken one taps shoulder:
-
can I try on your glasses?
-
uhhhhh, Ok. Warn you though, make you look like a fucking geek… (to her friend) yeah, she looks like a geek now
Later, another tap.
- why you wear a watch? No-one else here does - they use their cellphones instead.
I cast around. It’s true. Things have changed.
-
I guess it’s because I’m an old fart.
-
How old are you then?
-
-
Nahh, that can’t be right: my Mum is 39.
Put in my place. I’ve been going to gigs since before this girl was born. Scary stuff.
Minuit. Pretty damn good, I’d not see them before, although I have a lot of their stuff. Maybe too close, down the front: although technically brilliant did not feel the crowd behind it as much as it could have been. Maybe not pissed enough. Great music though.
Get home via Taxi, credit card to the rescue. R. sick with worry ‘cause it’s 2am. T-shirt too small. Badges too weird.
It’s bedtime.
