Concert Chronicles Part VI

Harvest Jazz and Blues always ends with a bang - The Afterburner, they call it. Every year, at midnight on the last day of the festival there is a big name performer in the big white tent down by the waterfront. A couple years ago it was Joel Plaskett; last year was DJ Champion, and it’s usually the only event I actually go to during the festival.

This year's Afterburner performance was the British rock band Bloc Party. I only know a couple of their songs, but past experience told me that my unfamiliarity should not detain my attendance. After all, the only thing I knew about DJ Champion last year was the phrase "keep on riding", but that affect what a blast I’d had.

My brother’s girlfriend had three tickets for Bloc Party. She, Adam and Alex were going, but Adam called and asked if I wanted to come down with them to see if I could buy one down there. I’d heard rumblings that the show was completely sold out and had been for over a month, but I still agreed to go. It was the weekend after my Trews encounter, so I was feeling confident in my persuasive abilities. Getting into a sold-out show without a ticket, I felt, was a small obstacle, easily overcome.

The four of us headed downtown an hour before the show, making what was supposed to be a quick stop at a place on George Street that was home all the members of some local band. The guitarist moonlit as a “party enabler” and told us to stop in before the show. I can’t remember his actual name, but I do remember he looked like an attractive version of Josh Hartnett with reflective Ray-bans, so Christa and I called him Josh Heartthrob all night.

Anyway, the band lived in one of those cavernous old houses that was probably one of the nicest places to live in Fredericton some time ago. Now, it was just like all the other worn down houses with lead paint, creaky floorboards and that smell of old wood that churches, museums and old theatres sometimes have. But it had character. I liked it there.

The bassist sat in a swivel chair in the corner, clutching a giant bong. His name was Brandon I knew him from when my dad still lived in Fredericton. The last time I saw him was probably 2002, when he was young and unable to grow facial hair. Now, he looked like a drugged-out Jesus with a sleepy smile. I doubted he’d remember who I was, but as soon as he saw me walk into the crowded room, he jumped up excitedly, unable to believe I was there. He introduced me to his girlfriend, a delightfully bossy metal chick who I could tell he was madly in love with, and who was madly in love with him.

This abbreviated visit set my night on the right path, not only because of the mini-reunion, but because Josh Heartthrob’s gift was starting to taking effect and I was ready to get to this show on the road, more confident than ever that I would find a way into that big white tent.

A big mass of us migrated the few blocks to Queen Street – most of the people hanging out at the house were headed for the show anyway. We saw the line before we saw the tent. It stretched back two whole blocks – easily 1000 people. From the back of the line, we could only distantly hear music, which meant the concert had already started and at the rate the line was moving, we wouldn’t even make it half-way up the line before the show was over. Plus, there were whispers through the line that it was so packed, not only were they not selling any more tickets, they were turning away some ticket holders.

Everyone had scattered immediately upon arrival. I stood in line for approximately one minute before deciding a more hands-on approach was necessary to get in. Adam and Alex kept our place in line, just in case. Christa and I walked past the endless line of people up to the tent. I approached a security guard standing in front of an opening in the tent marked “Exit Only”.

“Hi there,” I said to him.
“Hi…” he said.
“I’m Erin and this is my friend Christa here… say hello, Christa.”
“What’s up?” Christa said.
He laughed a bit. “Not much…”
“We were in the show a minute ago, and tried to come out for a cigarette, but came out the wrong side of the tent.” (note: this was in reference to the fenced-in smokers’ area behind the tent) “Do you think you can let us just pop back in here?”
“Sorry,” the security guard said. “I have very specific instructions not to let any one in this door.”
“Oh, okay. It’s just that we’re afraid we’ll miss the whole show if we have to wait in line again.”
“I’ll tell you what – if you go around the side to the VIP entrance, there won’t be a line up. Just tell them Jason said it was okay. They’ll let you in there.”
“Perfect, thanks a lot Jason.”

We ran the two blocks back to where Alex and Adam still waited and grabbed them, running back up past the people in line, to the VIP entrance. Now came the tricky part. We’d managed to forgo the line, but we still had to get four people inside with only three tickets.

I re-explained our “situation”, including the part about Jason the security guard, to the guy working the VIP entrance. “Okay, that’s fine,” he said. “I just need to see your stamps.”

“Oh… we didn’t get stamped the first time. We must have missed the person giving them out.”
“I can’t let you in without stamps or tickets.”
“We all have tickets!” Christa said, whipping them out.

Alex went first, handing the guy his ticket, then yelling over his shoulder about getting some beer and disappeared into the crowd.Christa gave the guy her ticket next. He looked at it then nodded, handed it back to her and told her she could go in. She passed the ticket to me behind her back – directly in front of the guy – then I immediately handed the exact same ticket to him. It had the same fold creases and ripped corner. I thought, there is no way this is going to work. He studied it for what seemed like forever and, in my head, I was trying to think of an explanation to use if he’d figured it out. But he nodded, handed me back the ticket.

“Go on in. And don’t forget to get stamps this time,” he said.

On cue, a woman jumped up with a little stamp and pressed it on our hands. The stamp said VIP, which only made sense, all things considered. Thanks to some light coercion, the girl who didn’t have a ticket to a sold-out show, now found herself with an all-access pass to the event. It was a happy moment.
That is, until Christa and I turned around to see Adam being shaken by the collar by the same guy. “No way,” the guy yelled in Adam’s face. “You’re not coming in!” Christa and I looked at each other.

“What happened in the last five seconds?!?” Christa asked. I thought we’d somehow been found out, but it didn’t really make sense, since Adam had his own ticket. If anyone was not to be allowed in, it should have been me. Or maybe me and Christa, since we had been the two in on the scam. But it was poor little Adam was getting thrown around like a ragdoll by this burly bouncer.

Christa suddenly ran out of the tent, instinctively coming to Adam’s defense, screaming profanities at the bouncer without the first clue as to why it had come to this. Two police officers started to move in on the scene and both Adam and Christa – without any consultation with each other – immediately took off in opposite direction, like any good partners in crime know to do. I watched this like a surreal movie from inside the tent, then stood for a moment, suddenly realizing I had just witnessed the last of my party disappear into the night. But I wasn’t in the mind frame to be all that bothered by the situation. I just wanted a drink. With perfect timing, I saw Alex walking toward me with four beers in his hands.

“Hey, I got us some drinks… where did they go?”

“I have no idea. Adam wasn’t allowed in and they both just kind of took off.”

“Shitty,” he shrugged, relatively unaffected. He handed me two of the beers to me and we made our way to the front of the stage. I danced like a maniac for two straight hours. Except for one point when I went backstage, just because I could (VIP, baby) and briefly made the acquaintance of a scary Goth lesbian.

When I got back, I got mad at Alex because his dancing was insufficient. I had my back to the stage, yelling at him about patronizing me with his half-hearted moves, when I suddenly realized I could hear the singer’s voice, and not just through the amplification. I turned around to find he was crowd surfing and now inches away from me.

“What the fuck!?!” I yelled in surprise, and it was picked up in his microphone. Slightly embarrassing, but also effective in abruptly ending my fight with Alex, since we couldn’t stop laughing. Even the singer started laughing as he was swept back to the stage.

The concert ended after that song, and Alex and I walked back to the band’s house. On the way, we tried calling Adam’s cell, but it was off. We tried calling Christa’s cell but she wasn’t answering. We figured there wasn’t much we could do beyond that, so convinced ourselves they were probably fine.

A couple hours later, Brandon the bassist – of all people – got a call from the police saying that Adam was thrown in the drunk tank and someone would either have to collect him, or he would have to stay until morning. Apparently, they’d called just about every number Adam could remember and Brandon happened to be the only one to answer.

As the sister and the best friend, Alex and I knew we would have to be the ones to collect Adam, but we also knew we were in no shape to do so just yet. We decided to wait a couple hours, compose ourselves, then go to the station. It was 7:30 in the morning when we actually got around to going.

Alex rang the intercom at the station and a disembodied lady’s voice came through. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah, hi. Uhh… can I come in?” Alex yelled too loudly. I rolled my eyes and shook my head.
There was a pause before she said, “No. Why are you here?”
“My friend is in the drunk tank. I’m here to pick him up.”
There was another pause. “Sir, you have to be sober to pick someone up here.”
“I’m sober,” I chimed in, far better at faking it than Al. “I can take responsibility. He’s my brother”
“Fine,” the intercom voice said. “What’s his name?”
I told her and there was another pause. “You’re a little late. We released Adam hours ago.”

We left the police station with the cranky intercom (although I’d probably be cranky too if I worked the graveyard shift at the drunk tank.) We went back to Adam’s to make sure he’d made it home safely. To our relief, both Adam and Christa were there and sleeping soundly. When she heard us, Christa shot up from her sleep, and seemed overwhelmingly happy to find we’d returned. She then filled us in on what had happened on their end once we’d been separated.

So in case you’re wondering…

Adam was denied access because the bouncer thought he’d had too much to drink. After they’d run from the cops, the two met up again and Adam told her to go back to the concert and have a good time; he’d be fine. She had returned and searched the whole tent for us, obviously with no luck. Meanwhile outside and unbeknownst to any of us, Adam had been caught by two different officers, and was carted for public intoxication.

She said she watched the entire concert, by herself, front and centre. We were probably only a few people away from her, in fact. After the show, she was too tired to go home, so she took a nap in a bush for a few hours – the reason she didn’t answer her phone when we, and the police, called. When she woke up at around five, she saw the missed call from the station and went to get Adam, but he’d already been released before she got there as well.

Apparently he was a big hit at the drunk tank. He was entertaining and helpful to the staff, so he was let out extra early. So really, in a way, in was a good night for all of us.