Friday night I went to see a show of a band that was celebrating their 20 year anniversary. I was 19 when they had their ONE hit that was played on the radio. It was a good song, apparently good enough to get them a following that is still interested in following them around 20 years later. I mean, it was a good song, but it wasn’t THAT good. Catchy? Sure, but certainly not as big of a one hit wonder as Chumba Wumba’s Tub Thumbing.
So there I was, totally out of place, with my over sized Badgley Mischka purse that everyone kept bumping into, and my Burberry scarf. Maybe I don’t belong in concerts with standing room only. I want a table where a waiter is going to come over, take my order, and bring me a GD glass of champagne or an overpriced cocktail. Not Bam Margera’s bar where I have to elbow my way through a crowd, push my way up to the bar, yell at the top of my lungs to get a drink, and then get served a shitty vodka tonic in what can only be described as a shitty dixie cup.
The opening act was incredible. Sure, he was dreamy and cute and about 20-nothing (so you know that’s right up my alley), but the kid had some amazing talent. As soon as he left the stage I was pretty much ready to go. But my friend who I had gone with, the one who had “dated” the lead singer of the band insisted we stay. Fine. Whatever. I had scored a chair at the front of the venue, and the only thing obstructing my view was the sad 50+ year old woman who hippie danced her way through the show.
As I was watching the crowd and the band I thought to myself how these guys, in their prime, may have been handsome. I imagined the groupies getting all excited when the bass player sweat all over the place. The throngs of women who wanted to be invited back to the bus to see if they could get a lick of that bass player’s sweaty sack (I just grossed myself out with that). Fast forward 20 years and seeing a middle aged man with a little pooch isn’t quite as sexy. It’s almost sad watching these guys hang on to something that they once had. I was half surprised that no one started wheezing on stage.
Not that the crowd seemed to mind – everyone seemed to be the same age as the band members. They had all left their jobs, spouses, kids, responsibilities at home and were capturing their youth for a night. All except the one drunk whore who rushed the stage and had to be carried off by a bouncer with facial piercings. Not cute, ma’am, not cute.
I get the allure of wanting to see a band who played the soundtrack to your youth. Two years ago I went to see Duran Duran with friends and it was awesome! We were smashed up against the stage and the music sounded great – though seeing John Taylor up close was a bit of a shock. The face that had once been so handsome was now covered in lines. You could see his arms once carried muscle tone, but were now saggy. It was strange seeing these one time idols who were now on the cusp of senior citizenry.
As I drank my vodka tonics on Friday it occurred to me that I’m more than happy to stick with pretending I’m young and cougaring it up with a 20-nothing year old, than to date someone my age. After all, I can’t look as old as those dudes on stage, right? At least that’s what I’ll keep telling myself.
Unless we’re talking Bruce Willis. I’d still climb on him like a ladder.