#87
I went to karaoke night on Saturday at the Greek Theatre and ended up having a couple of revelatory moments. It started out uninspiringly with the rockabilly-lite schtick of the Rev. Horton Heat. Thankfully, their set only lasted about 25 minutes so they were off just as they started to get boring. Next came the Pogues-lite schtick of the Dropkick Murphys and their 16-year old fan base who think songs about drinking beer are rebellious.
Just as I was yawning and starting to look at my watch to try to figure out how much longer the guy with the bagpipes was gonna play, I noticed a familiar face walk right past me and sit down like 5 or 6 seats away. It was fucking Morrissey! The guy just walked in very unassumingly with a couple of women friends and sat down right in the middle of the great unwashed masses. After the Murphys finally finished their set (they did end up doing a couple of cute tunes with a girl singer who came in from the wings that they didnt introduce) I figured I needed to walk over and say hi to the Moz.
I would not normally bother trying to meet most rock stars. I generally feel like its best to know them through their music. However, I felt like Morrissey was different. Ive always considered him one of us. A fan who became a star but never stopped being a fan. So I figured, why not tell him how much I admired his work and how much it had meant to me and thats exactly what I did. He was the nicest and most unaffected person you could imagine who almost seemed embarrassed to be receiving such high compliments. After I spoke to him for a couple of minutes I watched as other people came over to meet him as well. He hugged a couple of girls, gave autographs and genuinely was warm and nice with everyone. In return, you could see the respect and affection with which he was regarded by everyone who approached him. It was really great to see and sorta restored my belief in the fundamental contract between artist and fan that I have always felt underlies the best rock n roll.
Soon, the lights dimmed and it was time for the main event of the evening, the former most dangerous band the world, now turned into overweight middle-aged entertainers, the Sex Pistols. They ran through pretty much everything they ever recorded in a brisk set of an hour or so. Jones, Cook & Matlock pretty much just stayed outta Johnnys way. None of them shared any eye contact, smiled or looked like they had any interest in interacting with one another in any way. Johnny cursed up a blue streak and generally played the part of the punk rock clown for the audience. He hurled insults like the old days, but without much conviction and definitely with tongue planted firmly in cheek. They did a single encore and were just about to call it a night and go cash their paychecks when a funny thing happened.
As the crowd loudly cheered the final encore song, Problems, John got serious. He bowed to the audience, looked us right in the eye and said were not worthy. But, he went on to say, after a pregnant pause, always make sure you ARE. He waited a beat for his words to soak in, gave us that Rotten glare, turned on his heal and walked off. Now THAT is punk rock.
I went to karaoke night on Saturday at the Greek Theatre and ended up having a couple of revelatory moments. It started out uninspiringly with the rockabilly-lite schtick of the Rev. Horton Heat. Thankfully, their set only lasted about 25 minutes so they were off just as they started to get boring. Next came the Pogues-lite schtick of the Dropkick Murphys and their 16-year old fan base who think songs about drinking beer are rebellious.
Just as I was yawning and starting to look at my watch to try to figure out how much longer the guy with the bagpipes was gonna play, I noticed a familiar face walk right past me and sit down like 5 or 6 seats away. It was fucking Morrissey! The guy just walked in very unassumingly with a couple of women friends and sat down right in the middle of the great unwashed masses. After the Murphys finally finished their set (they did end up doing a couple of cute tunes with a girl singer who came in from the wings that they didnt introduce) I figured I needed to walk over and say hi to the Moz.
I would not normally bother trying to meet most rock stars. I generally feel like its best to know them through their music. However, I felt like Morrissey was different. Ive always considered him one of us. A fan who became a star but never stopped being a fan. So I figured, why not tell him how much I admired his work and how much it had meant to me and thats exactly what I did. He was the nicest and most unaffected person you could imagine who almost seemed embarrassed to be receiving such high compliments. After I spoke to him for a couple of minutes I watched as other people came over to meet him as well. He hugged a couple of girls, gave autographs and genuinely was warm and nice with everyone. In return, you could see the respect and affection with which he was regarded by everyone who approached him. It was really great to see and sorta restored my belief in the fundamental contract between artist and fan that I have always felt underlies the best rock n roll.
Soon, the lights dimmed and it was time for the main event of the evening, the former most dangerous band the world, now turned into overweight middle-aged entertainers, the Sex Pistols. They ran through pretty much everything they ever recorded in a brisk set of an hour or so. Jones, Cook & Matlock pretty much just stayed outta Johnnys way. None of them shared any eye contact, smiled or looked like they had any interest in interacting with one another in any way. Johnny cursed up a blue streak and generally played the part of the punk rock clown for the audience. He hurled insults like the old days, but without much conviction and definitely with tongue planted firmly in cheek. They did a single encore and were just about to call it a night and go cash their paychecks when a funny thing happened.
As the crowd loudly cheered the final encore song, Problems, John got serious. He bowed to the audience, looked us right in the eye and said were not worthy. But, he went on to say, after a pregnant pause, always make sure you ARE. He waited a beat for his words to soak in, gave us that Rotten glare, turned on his heal and walked off. Now THAT is punk rock.
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And about to update my journal with a photographic entry!!!!!!
Thank you sooo much! I am still wearing it