Falling Over the Line... Ass First!

It has come to my attention, thought a recent discussion with my mother, that I collect four things: CDs, band t-shirts, ticket stubs and underwear. Admittedly, one of these things is not like the others, but lets set aside the undies for, perhaps, a later blog. The three that remain, when added together, would suggest that I am infatuated with live music.
All my recreational funds, or ‘beer money’ as my dad likes to call it, goes towards consuming music at its various points of purchase. My friends often question how I can afford it, to which I reply that my clothing style – faded, holey jeans and band t-shirts – is less emblematic of wanting to seem ‘rock n’ roll’ and more symptomatic of the rock and roll lifestyle itself.
I’ll see anything or anyone if there is cash in my pocket to pay for the ticket (except Gwar and the like – I prefer not to be splattered in faux-blood and spit upon.) From Bon Jovi to Bad Religion, from Snow Patrol to the Arctic Monkeys, from Willie Nelson to Christina Aguilera and back again, I have seen a wallet-seizing amount of shows. But I have never, ever crossed the line from enthusiastic audience member to groupie – until two weeks ago Thursday:

September 13th, 2007 -- Mute Math @ the Dinwoodie Lounge

I, ever so uncharacteristically, forgot to pick up the tickets. I panicked, but the day, at least so far, had a sense of destiny to it, a quality that can only be described as providential. As fate would have it, upon our arrival at the Dinwoodie Lounge there was a will call list at the door - so I, along with my two companions, Candace and Michelle, rocked on!
Inside the place was packed. Lights, set deep into the ceiling, gave the Lounge a tiny twinkle. I surveyed the scene, checking for the beer gardens, the merch desk and stage visibility. For my 5’6” stature, the majority of my follow fans seemed to be prohibitively tall guys, which I think you can explain by the fact that Mute Math's song 'Typical' was stolen for use as the Transformers’ theme song. Boys with toys, eh? But such things as actually being able to see the performance were to be handled later – first we drink!

Less dedicated fans milled about the jardin. I got in line to get a bevy and was greeted by a bright eyed bartender. I smiled.
“Rye and coke, please” I said.
She smiled. Then she picked up a clear bottle with a clear liquid inside. I stopped her.
“Oh. I said rye and coke.”
“You want dark rye?” she asked. Another smile. I thought about how to respond. Her big blue eyes were clearly far too innocent to know the difference between rye and rum.
“Yes. The dark rye. Please.”
She looked at the labels of a couple bottles, finally finding ‘the dark rye’ and I got my drink.

Again I say fortune was on our side, as we found a spot within the confines of the beer gardens, right at the side of the stage.
From our position we saw the stage in its entirety, albeit sideways. A standing bass lay down near the rear. Bass drums were cradled above the ground in stands with mallets placed near by, waiting. The drummer’s kit was, a-traditionally, placed to the side on the stage, instead of near the back. Curious as to how they were going to navigate the organized chaos that was their set-up, we watched most intently.

To be continued...