(Guest blog by S. Mitchell)
When I told a friend that I had tickets to see both Crowded House in Montreal and the Police in Vancouver in the summer of 2007, he jokingly - and somewhat snidely - asked, "Do you only go to see 80s bands in concert? Do you ever go to hear new bands?" The answers were no and yes, of course, but I could see his point.
I like hearing new bands and music, but what is different now is that I don't invest the time in getting to know a band and their music the way I did in the 80s. Those were the days of record players and cassettes and free time and boundless energy...and the ability to stay up until the wee hours listening to music. And we’d listen together, just a bunch of friends; it was an accepted social activity. On my own, I'd listen so intently to my records, play them over and over again, memorize every song. I'd pore over the lyrics and study the cover art. Music was more tactile then - if that makes sense; we were more engaged, physically, in the experience. We’d select the record from the stack, slide the vinyl disk smoothly from its soft plastic cover and place it ever-so-carefully on the turntable. We’d run the felt dustbrush over the surface, and set the needle down, waiting for that exquisite moment when the static crackle quieted and the needle reached the music-infused groove. And then we’d really listen.
Now we can load numerous songs or cds into our players, we can skip, delete, fast forward; we can cherry-pick the songs we want, without ever having to listen to an album straight through.
I'm guilty of that; I bought a Jason Mraz cd months ago and have yet to hear the whole thing. I haven’t made time to focus on the whole effort. Speaking of focus, I can no longer enjoy the cover art or liner notes either....unless I have my reading glasses and a good light source nearby; everything is too small. (Insert snort of laughter here).
It could also be because my taste in music has broadened that I can’t maintain that same intensity, even if I wanted to. I like to listen to lots of different music. My husband has made me a fan of Tom Waits (and I like to think I’ve made him one of Crowded House). I like Charlie Haden and Jimmy Cliff; classical music, ska and surf guitar. My latest discovery is violinist Sophie Solomon - look her up, if a mixture of klezmer, folk and pop intrigues you - and my nephew recently introduced me to German industrial metal band, Rammstein. Yikes.
If only there were enough time in the day to get acquainted with all of those artists to the same extent that I knew and know the music of Crowded House. They’re the ones that I’ve stuck with over the years. Since 1986, in fact, when the first notes of "Don't Dream It's Over" wafted to my ears for the first time from my clock radio in the darkness of my room in Victoria. I loved that song immediately, then the album, and thus began my relationship with Crowded House. I’ll never forget the concert they played in Victoria, in the summer of 1987 at the Royal Theatre and not just because they played a surprisingly good cover of Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love” as an encore.
One very clear memory from that show is that during a break, the lights suddenly went up on the dark stage for just enough time for us to see the drummer, Paul Hester, standing there, naked. The lights went back down and delighted laughter and murmurs filled the theatre. Minutes later, the band returned to the stage, with Paul Hester nonchalantly buttoning up his shirt and saying "I just won $50 in a bet". He was known for his sense of humour, and what a great moment that was! That same night, I bumped into William, a friend from school and work. He was taking photographs at the concert and I was thrilled to see him; he was very clever and funny, in addition to being tall, handsome and popular, but a little dark and alternative, as well. It seemed that everyone either had a crush on him or wished they were him. That was one of the last times I saw William because these two concert memories share the same sad epilogue. Both Paul Hester and my friend William ended their own lives; William a few months after that concert and Paul Hester in 2005.
Fast forward to the present. All these years later, the world knows a lot more about depression and I, too, have more experience with grief and tragedy than I’d like. Happily, though, I also know more of joy, wonder and gratitude. And I’m still here on this earth. And so is Crowded House. It’s 24 years later and I’ve recently seen two Crowded House concerts, in two different cities, in two provinces, in the space of three days. And I might see another in Vancouver in a couple of weeks. I know how that sounds, but hear me out and I guarantee you might not think I’m a fanatic. Although the band has endured a break-up, lost Mr. Hester, and seen different members come and go, this latest iteration is solid and the shows in 2007 and those last month were as good, fun and exhilarating as that concert way back in the days of shoulder-padded, brightly-coloured 80s fashions. Lead singer Neil Finn is still in very fine voice.
I’ve seen other 80s favourites in the last decade or so and the experience has mostly been disappointing, though I’ve learned to manage my expectations somewhat. Sometimes it’s the venue: to see a formerly big name playing at an out-of-the-way casino or country fair seems to be a blow to their dignity. Sometimes it’s the musicians themselves: they’re ageing badly, they’re thicker around the middle (to be expected) and straining the seams of their too-small leather pants (to be avoided). Or their voices are raspier or weaker, whether due to age, misuse, rough living, or lack of practice. Or they try to act like they’re still 20 onstage, when they’re nearer to 50. Please no pelvic thrusts; you’ll slip a disc! And, lastly, they play the oldies, but have nothing new. It’s like they’ve given up. This only reminds us, the fans, that we’re getting older too. You can never go back to your glory days - yes, the ones you didn’t appreciate enough when you were living them.
But then there’s Crowded House, a band that has endured, overcome and morphed into a partly new, partly familiar, but still shiny, entity. They sound and look great and it’s clear they love what they’re doing. They’re pros: consummate showmen and musicians, without the rock star airs. This band shows literally no degradation over time and, bonus, they have loads of new material: two new cds in the last three years. How rare is that? (Well, I guess U2 does that, too, but Bono’s shades smack of rock star attitude...and didn’t he just put his back out?) For me, the perseverance of Crowded House provides this strange and wonderful link between the 22-year-old me and the 45-year-old version. Two very different worlds and perspectives, with this one great band in common. It’s like revisiting the old (young) me.
Experiencing Crowded House in concert again in 2007 - 20 years after that first Victoria concert - got me thinking about how music can have such a profound effect on our lives....and how strange that thought must be for the musicians themselves. I began to understand, too, that revisiting our past through music can be so rewarding and not just sadly nostalgic, and how rare it is to have something wonderful in your life remain constant and appealing, when so many things change, fade or disappear. It's the connection to that part of our lives when our love of music was intense and pure, as were we.
They say that if you write out a list of things you want to accomplish in your life, they’re more likely to happen. I’m starting to believe it, because I made a “life list” (sounds better than bucket list) in 2007 and number 8 on the list, after “photographing hippos in the wild” and before “hike the West Coast Trail with my family ”, I wrote “Meet Neil Finn”. Don’t ask me why. Astoundingly, a few months later I did in fact meet Mr. Finn and the rest of the band. ( I also had “Meet Colin Firth” on my list; nothing yet, but fingers crossed!) My husband and I had tickets to see Crowded House at the St. Denis Theatre in Montreal and, by coincidence, ended up staying at the same hotel as the band. My husband, ever-patient and wonderful, suggested that if I really wanted to meet the band, we could probably catch them on the way to the mid-afternoon sound check. I didn't pause to think about why I wanted to meet them. Or what I would say to them at such time, which became painfully obvious when I did in fact come face to face with them. My husband and I "staked out" the door between the lobby and the tour bus. It was more than a little pathetic; a lone middle-aged fan waiting hopefully by the door, pen in hand, camera at the ready. That weekend, the hotel was also home to many competitors in the Rogers Cup tennis tournament. Many hot young tennis stars breezed past us, but even Federer would have meant nothing to me, so intense was my focus on meeting Crowded House. Finally, one by one, the band members came out, dutifully signed my cd and posed for photos. They were kind and slightly amused, I think, by my presence.
Why do we want to actually meet our favourite celebrities? Maybe we believe that if we get close to them, some of their greatness or beauty or charisma will magically transfer over to us. We pose next to them like they’re the Taj Mahal or Niagara Falls. Look at how close I was to this amazing thing! Look at my brush with greatness!
When it happens, though, it’s more than slightly surreal. A clash of the familiar (celebrity to fan) and the unknown (fan to celebrity). It must be odd for a celebrity, especially a reluctant one, to be approached by strangers who feel as if they know them and actually do, in a sense. And, really, what can a fan/admirer possibly say, in the space of a minute or two, that hasn’t been said a thousand times before? How do you convey your appreciation for their effort, their creativity, their talent without coming across like a total dweeb or, worse, a psycho fan? And more importantly, how do you do that when the strange effects of celebrity and fame have tampered with your ability to speak and behave in a manner approximating normal.
Here’s how I did it....I blurted out the following inane comments, in a strangely strangled-sounding voice, using only simple sentence structure and little to no intonation:. "We're looking forward to the show" and "We're so glad you're touring again". Then I stood for a photograph standing next to poor Mr. Finn, not looking at, nor interacting with, him. Then, without me saying anything at all witty or interesting, he was gone. And the show that night was wonderful. Of course. Then I saw them again last month, twice.
“Yeah, what’s with two concerts in three days?” you ask. “You truly are a fanatic.” Simple explanation: I bought tickets to the Montreal show before I found out they would be playing Ottawa, too. They were two very different shows, covering lots of songs between the two of them. The Montreal show, held at a music hall/night club, was filled with a lot of diehard fans, ones who were familiar with all the material, even the new stuff, whereas the show at the Ottawa Bluesfest attracted many who knew of Crowded House in the 80s. To hear the comments coming from those around me in the audience was fantastic. They were blown away by the energy and quality of the band. Example: "Holy f**k, these guys are so good, even after 20 years; that's a real testament to what a great band they are". I hope that show, and the many others on the tour, contribute to even greater success for Crowded House. They deserve it. I mean, these guys are good. So good I might even fly to Vancouver to see that concert at the end of August. After all, my brother does have an extra ticket and I would like to see my family and the mountains and the ocean again.
And if I had a chance to meet the band again, this is what I would say:
Thanks for continuing to make brilliant music, thanks for caring about your audience enough to put on really fantastic shows, thanks for being kind to your fans, and, last but not least, thanks for inspiring me to be creative. I’ve thought a lot lately about the notion of contributing something tangible to the world, so I’ve been trying to spend more time and energy on my passions: writing and photography. Seeing Crowded House again gave me the idea for this essay, so maybe number 8 on my life list was really meant to push me back into writing. Done!
One word of advice though, to Crowded House: if you don’t want your fans to feel old and doddery, don’t sell tea towels as concert merchandise again (as you did in 2007). Or, if you do, go the whole distance in an ironic way, by selling Crowded House tea cozies, Crowded House teacups, Crowded House tea balls, etc. These would go over very well in my home town of Victoria.
Epilogue: I did go to the Vancouver concert....no tea towels in sight.
Post epilogue: Just noticed they're selling tea towels for latest tour on website....
I like hearing new bands and music, but what is different now is that I don't invest the time in getting to know a band and their music the way I did in the 80s. Those were the days of record players and cassettes and free time and boundless energy...and the ability to stay up until the wee hours listening to music. And we’d listen together, just a bunch of friends; it was an accepted social activity. On my own, I'd listen so intently to my records, play them over and over again, memorize every song. I'd pore over the lyrics and study the cover art. Music was more tactile then - if that makes sense; we were more engaged, physically, in the experience. We’d select the record from the stack, slide the vinyl disk smoothly from its soft plastic cover and place it ever-so-carefully on the turntable. We’d run the felt dustbrush over the surface, and set the needle down, waiting for that exquisite moment when the static crackle quieted and the needle reached the music-infused groove. And then we’d really listen.
Now we can load numerous songs or cds into our players, we can skip, delete, fast forward; we can cherry-pick the songs we want, without ever having to listen to an album straight through.
I'm guilty of that; I bought a Jason Mraz cd months ago and have yet to hear the whole thing. I haven’t made time to focus on the whole effort. Speaking of focus, I can no longer enjoy the cover art or liner notes either....unless I have my reading glasses and a good light source nearby; everything is too small. (Insert snort of laughter here).
It could also be because my taste in music has broadened that I can’t maintain that same intensity, even if I wanted to. I like to listen to lots of different music. My husband has made me a fan of Tom Waits (and I like to think I’ve made him one of Crowded House). I like Charlie Haden and Jimmy Cliff; classical music, ska and surf guitar. My latest discovery is violinist Sophie Solomon - look her up, if a mixture of klezmer, folk and pop intrigues you - and my nephew recently introduced me to German industrial metal band, Rammstein. Yikes.
If only there were enough time in the day to get acquainted with all of those artists to the same extent that I knew and know the music of Crowded House. They’re the ones that I’ve stuck with over the years. Since 1986, in fact, when the first notes of "Don't Dream It's Over" wafted to my ears for the first time from my clock radio in the darkness of my room in Victoria. I loved that song immediately, then the album, and thus began my relationship with Crowded House. I’ll never forget the concert they played in Victoria, in the summer of 1987 at the Royal Theatre and not just because they played a surprisingly good cover of Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love” as an encore.
One very clear memory from that show is that during a break, the lights suddenly went up on the dark stage for just enough time for us to see the drummer, Paul Hester, standing there, naked. The lights went back down and delighted laughter and murmurs filled the theatre. Minutes later, the band returned to the stage, with Paul Hester nonchalantly buttoning up his shirt and saying "I just won $50 in a bet". He was known for his sense of humour, and what a great moment that was! That same night, I bumped into William, a friend from school and work. He was taking photographs at the concert and I was thrilled to see him; he was very clever and funny, in addition to being tall, handsome and popular, but a little dark and alternative, as well. It seemed that everyone either had a crush on him or wished they were him. That was one of the last times I saw William because these two concert memories share the same sad epilogue. Both Paul Hester and my friend William ended their own lives; William a few months after that concert and Paul Hester in 2005.
Fast forward to the present. All these years later, the world knows a lot more about depression and I, too, have more experience with grief and tragedy than I’d like. Happily, though, I also know more of joy, wonder and gratitude. And I’m still here on this earth. And so is Crowded House. It’s 24 years later and I’ve recently seen two Crowded House concerts, in two different cities, in two provinces, in the space of three days. And I might see another in Vancouver in a couple of weeks. I know how that sounds, but hear me out and I guarantee you might not think I’m a fanatic. Although the band has endured a break-up, lost Mr. Hester, and seen different members come and go, this latest iteration is solid and the shows in 2007 and those last month were as good, fun and exhilarating as that concert way back in the days of shoulder-padded, brightly-coloured 80s fashions. Lead singer Neil Finn is still in very fine voice.
I’ve seen other 80s favourites in the last decade or so and the experience has mostly been disappointing, though I’ve learned to manage my expectations somewhat. Sometimes it’s the venue: to see a formerly big name playing at an out-of-the-way casino or country fair seems to be a blow to their dignity. Sometimes it’s the musicians themselves: they’re ageing badly, they’re thicker around the middle (to be expected) and straining the seams of their too-small leather pants (to be avoided). Or their voices are raspier or weaker, whether due to age, misuse, rough living, or lack of practice. Or they try to act like they’re still 20 onstage, when they’re nearer to 50. Please no pelvic thrusts; you’ll slip a disc! And, lastly, they play the oldies, but have nothing new. It’s like they’ve given up. This only reminds us, the fans, that we’re getting older too. You can never go back to your glory days - yes, the ones you didn’t appreciate enough when you were living them.
But then there’s Crowded House, a band that has endured, overcome and morphed into a partly new, partly familiar, but still shiny, entity. They sound and look great and it’s clear they love what they’re doing. They’re pros: consummate showmen and musicians, without the rock star airs. This band shows literally no degradation over time and, bonus, they have loads of new material: two new cds in the last three years. How rare is that? (Well, I guess U2 does that, too, but Bono’s shades smack of rock star attitude...and didn’t he just put his back out?) For me, the perseverance of Crowded House provides this strange and wonderful link between the 22-year-old me and the 45-year-old version. Two very different worlds and perspectives, with this one great band in common. It’s like revisiting the old (young) me.
Experiencing Crowded House in concert again in 2007 - 20 years after that first Victoria concert - got me thinking about how music can have such a profound effect on our lives....and how strange that thought must be for the musicians themselves. I began to understand, too, that revisiting our past through music can be so rewarding and not just sadly nostalgic, and how rare it is to have something wonderful in your life remain constant and appealing, when so many things change, fade or disappear. It's the connection to that part of our lives when our love of music was intense and pure, as were we.
They say that if you write out a list of things you want to accomplish in your life, they’re more likely to happen. I’m starting to believe it, because I made a “life list” (sounds better than bucket list) in 2007 and number 8 on the list, after “photographing hippos in the wild” and before “hike the West Coast Trail with my family ”, I wrote “Meet Neil Finn”. Don’t ask me why. Astoundingly, a few months later I did in fact meet Mr. Finn and the rest of the band. ( I also had “Meet Colin Firth” on my list; nothing yet, but fingers crossed!) My husband and I had tickets to see Crowded House at the St. Denis Theatre in Montreal and, by coincidence, ended up staying at the same hotel as the band. My husband, ever-patient and wonderful, suggested that if I really wanted to meet the band, we could probably catch them on the way to the mid-afternoon sound check. I didn't pause to think about why I wanted to meet them. Or what I would say to them at such time, which became painfully obvious when I did in fact come face to face with them. My husband and I "staked out" the door between the lobby and the tour bus. It was more than a little pathetic; a lone middle-aged fan waiting hopefully by the door, pen in hand, camera at the ready. That weekend, the hotel was also home to many competitors in the Rogers Cup tennis tournament. Many hot young tennis stars breezed past us, but even Federer would have meant nothing to me, so intense was my focus on meeting Crowded House. Finally, one by one, the band members came out, dutifully signed my cd and posed for photos. They were kind and slightly amused, I think, by my presence.
Why do we want to actually meet our favourite celebrities? Maybe we believe that if we get close to them, some of their greatness or beauty or charisma will magically transfer over to us. We pose next to them like they’re the Taj Mahal or Niagara Falls. Look at how close I was to this amazing thing! Look at my brush with greatness!
When it happens, though, it’s more than slightly surreal. A clash of the familiar (celebrity to fan) and the unknown (fan to celebrity). It must be odd for a celebrity, especially a reluctant one, to be approached by strangers who feel as if they know them and actually do, in a sense. And, really, what can a fan/admirer possibly say, in the space of a minute or two, that hasn’t been said a thousand times before? How do you convey your appreciation for their effort, their creativity, their talent without coming across like a total dweeb or, worse, a psycho fan? And more importantly, how do you do that when the strange effects of celebrity and fame have tampered with your ability to speak and behave in a manner approximating normal.
Here’s how I did it....I blurted out the following inane comments, in a strangely strangled-sounding voice, using only simple sentence structure and little to no intonation:. "We're looking forward to the show" and "We're so glad you're touring again". Then I stood for a photograph standing next to poor Mr. Finn, not looking at, nor interacting with, him. Then, without me saying anything at all witty or interesting, he was gone. And the show that night was wonderful. Of course. Then I saw them again last month, twice.
“Yeah, what’s with two concerts in three days?” you ask. “You truly are a fanatic.” Simple explanation: I bought tickets to the Montreal show before I found out they would be playing Ottawa, too. They were two very different shows, covering lots of songs between the two of them. The Montreal show, held at a music hall/night club, was filled with a lot of diehard fans, ones who were familiar with all the material, even the new stuff, whereas the show at the Ottawa Bluesfest attracted many who knew of Crowded House in the 80s. To hear the comments coming from those around me in the audience was fantastic. They were blown away by the energy and quality of the band. Example: "Holy f**k, these guys are so good, even after 20 years; that's a real testament to what a great band they are". I hope that show, and the many others on the tour, contribute to even greater success for Crowded House. They deserve it. I mean, these guys are good. So good I might even fly to Vancouver to see that concert at the end of August. After all, my brother does have an extra ticket and I would like to see my family and the mountains and the ocean again.
And if I had a chance to meet the band again, this is what I would say:
Thanks for continuing to make brilliant music, thanks for caring about your audience enough to put on really fantastic shows, thanks for being kind to your fans, and, last but not least, thanks for inspiring me to be creative. I’ve thought a lot lately about the notion of contributing something tangible to the world, so I’ve been trying to spend more time and energy on my passions: writing and photography. Seeing Crowded House again gave me the idea for this essay, so maybe number 8 on my life list was really meant to push me back into writing. Done!
One word of advice though, to Crowded House: if you don’t want your fans to feel old and doddery, don’t sell tea towels as concert merchandise again (as you did in 2007). Or, if you do, go the whole distance in an ironic way, by selling Crowded House tea cozies, Crowded House teacups, Crowded House tea balls, etc. These would go over very well in my home town of Victoria.
Epilogue: I did go to the Vancouver concert....no tea towels in sight.
Post epilogue: Just noticed they're selling tea towels for latest tour on website....
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