Thursday September 24, 2009
“Who’s next? Hey can I help you?”
As it turns out I was the next in line, standing in some other space, paying little at-tention to the no messin’ around woman behind the counter.
I stepped forward and tapped my hand on the faux marble, trying the figure out what I was supposed to be doing. “Ah,” stammering, “I’ve come to pick up some tickets.” She raised her eyebrow at me.
“On the guest list.” It was awkward but we worked it out. Luckily the woman behind the counter was used to dealing with people like me. She had that surly but helpful demeanor.
I walked through the milling crowd to find Ally. “Got them,” I said as she smiled and shivered, clutching her bands together and raising her shoulders to her ears. The night felt warm but cold gusts kept streaming down the street whirling up skirts and in-between legs. I clasped the tickets hard in my hand as they danced helplessly around my fingers. Wolfmother, they read in bold, Door 3, Standing.
We stepped inside the not quite deco, not quite kitsch Enmore Theatre and joined the line for the bar without really thinking about it. I got a beer to continue the smooth happiness I was riding.
On the stage a drum kit waited anxiously for its next beating, while in front of it an old Korg reminisced, creaking inside it’s wooden case. Behind them both huge black stripes spelled W M on a fascist rally sized white banner.
And there they were. Thick curled locks in pairs, hands slapping against keys and steel string. Ally yelled into my ear “I’m glad we came,” as the crowd released its stored energy in a fury of tuneless melodies close to something like what was being sung on stage.
Hecklers decided to show up, yelling “bullshit” from the very back of the theatre. No one knew why they did it. As each song was played they were jumping and singing louder than anyone else around us. Who knew.
Once all of was over, an encore had been heavily punched out of each instrument, the crowd dispersed occasionally slipping onto the street, much to the dismay of the guards.
I contemplated having another beer but thought better of it and made for the train station and from it, home.
Words by Zoltan
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