Fanzine:Buffalo
I’ve always believed that music should be more than background. It should be life enhancing, thought provoking, or just catch you in a moment and make you want to yell your head off and shake your various limbs around. Sometimes it should be a vehicle for irresponsible behaviour. The reunion tour has covered most of those bases for me—and more. The following is an extreme example.
May Day Bank Holiday weekend looms. This marks the unofficial beginning of the British Summer, so instead of looking forward to the usual two days off work, sitting indoors, watching the rain, I can look forward to three days off work sitting indoors watching the rain. I toy briefly with the idea of getting on a train and heading to the coast for a couple of days. This won’t avoid rain, but proximity to large expanses of water reminds one that rain has a purpose.
Of course I could just go to a gig on Saturday night, which will be cheaper and require less last minute planning.....
Somewhere on the highway in Pennsylvania, USA, after several hours of 'Kate's here!' yelps from Dirtymartini, it dawns on me that yes, I am here. I'm in Policerule's car. Dirtymartini picked me up at the airport the previous night and gave me house room. I've talked typefaces and goodness knows what else with the wonderful Moeskido, and I'm going to Buffalo (which despite being a demi-yank, I had to look up on GoogleEarth—turns out it is close to a large expanse of water) to see a band I have loved for nigh on 30 years. It is about 1pm local time, which means it is about 42 hours since I said 'Fuck it!' and booked a flight. Holy shit. On two fronts:
1) Hey! Real 3 dimensional people! And they are whip-crackingly smart and funny and kind and (in Policerule's case) hugely amused by my pronunciation of 'schedule' and a tendency to say 'petrol' instead of 'gas'. (Gas is a vapour, not a liquid—by definition—I'm just sayin'....) Since she won't take a red cent off me for 'gas' I can only return the favour of a lift (that's a 'ride' in the US I believe) by continuing to speak the Queen's english.
2) I'm pushing 40 and why in all hell have I waited until now to just GO DO something like this? Probably because I've never had a group of people that have said 'Just get yourself on a plane, lady!' before.
On an 8.5 hour road trip, one goes a little bonkers. (Or maybe it is the caffeine rush from the Starbucks From Heaven, which appears before us when all hope of hot beverages seems lost.) We find signs to Scranton hugely amusing. Dirtymartini and I—both with a tendency to sensitive skin—conclude that Scranton must itch dreadfully. Policerule starts to chant it in a throaty rasp that makes it sound like a procedure inflicted on young bullocks.
We cross the border into NY (we only realise this when they start the highway exit numbers from 1 again—which I find stupidly funny). Then the rain starts coming down in torrents about 2 hours out from Buffalo, and we all go batshit. I'm concerned that Dirtymartini might punch a hole in the sun roof, thereby turning it into a rain roof....
Somewhere in all of this I remember to ask who I owe for the gig ticket and (without wishing to seem ungracious) enquire about exactly where I'll be sitting. My companions will be in the front row, which is a first for both of them. Turns out I am right behind them, just off centre of the stage in the third row. And the flag bearer for the night will be adjacent.
We make it to Buffalo, which smells. (We are informed by our cab driver later that day that the sewers are backed up and overflowing downtown—nice—probably explains why the lake looks a bit grim. My theory about large expanses of water easing the misery of constant rain is clearly wrong to the point of being rancid.) We sneak into the hotel—NancyRose has booked a double room for two people, but since there are two king sized beds, she figures we might as well all just share and save on the accommodation costs. Particularly as we are unlikely to sleep much, post-gig.
So I get to meet NancyRose too. We leap around like loons for a bit.
We head to an Irish pub (inevitable) near the venue. I look at the venue and realise it is about half the size of the smallest place I've previously seen The Police in. I gibber a little, until my compadres get a G&T down my throat.
We meet flag bearer LudditeLady on the floor of the arena. She's got the message to come and see Kellie before the show—probably thinking that there is some flag complication to be resolved. A third row ticket is put in her palm. (It turns out that she is reclaiming 3rd May for herself, after a long haul of it being a bad date in the diary—I didn't know this at the time, but it is a real joy to be sat next to a fellow fan—has only happened to me once before on this tour and it does make all the difference)
I should add that the reason that she and I are where we are in the arena, and the reason that 4 of our little gang are in the front row, is because of ticketing screw ups following a last minute (Tuesday) decision by NancyRose and Dirtymartini to go to this show. Things have fallen into place so spectacularly well that we start to assume the gig will be a washout.
Somehow I'd forgotten that Elvis Costello was opening the show. I'm in Buffalo NY, listening to some of the best crafted anti-Tory songs ever written. Mercifully the arena is pretty full by the end of his set, and it feels incredible to be here, listening to people from another nation screaming along to 'What's so Funny 'Bout Peace Love and Understanding', which was written as a spit in the face of Thatcher and her ilk. At this point I'm totally convinced that the headline act is going to be a washout, because that Costello set was just. so. good.
Then there's a Police gig. The sound is a little muddy, and they are a little rusty, Sting's voice is clearly uncomfortable. But about 2 minutes in, it is obvious that this is going to be fun. It is contagious. Stewart clocks his people in row 1 and that insanely green flag, precipitating a rapid exchange of grins and points.
They've changed the set list a little, so I get to hear songs I have never, ever heard them play live. The venue is small, and the stage is low, so for all of us up the front it feels like the band are playing in our front room. Andy is nailing gorgeous melodic guitar solos which were a bit wonky last I heard them. Sting is being Sting, but rather more relaxed than previous shows, despite obvious vocal worries.
Part way through 'Roxanne' , which is by no means a favourite song of mine, I get totally lost in the music—maybe the band have gone from working hard to get things right to finding a real groove. Maybe it is the jetlag. Whatever. My eyes are closed, I'm floating . I drift back to reality after a moment or two. Sublime.
We get to EBYT. I love the guitar part. I love the wonderfully nasty lyric. But it always feels a bit turgid.
Tonight however, it is enlivened towards the end by Andy, a Hat, and a lot of laughter, all of which others can relate better than I. Some days later I find out that the Hat didn’t get to meet Mayor Bloomberg the following Tuesday. But this is the only minor disappointment of the experience.
The rest is a late night, an even more lunatic road trip back to NJ, take out italian food, and a 5am start to get to the airport.
Total travelling time about 36 hours. Gig 3 hours. And if my bank account and carbon footprint would stand it, I'd do it again next week.
I've had more productive Bank Holiday weekends. And cheaper ones. But none better than this.
And I'm not sure who to thank. Gio and Eugenio and all of Team Italia, because this is ALL YOUR FAULT (if it wasn't for that ‘private little site’ you created I'd be a sensible lady of middling years). DM, PoliceRule, Nancy, LudditeLady, Mimi, Agroovie (who didn't have to drive a jetlagged brit from Boston in the end, but had made the offer). You all rock. Smart, sweet, sharp folks.
And do you know how fucking lucky I am? Hannaha and Dafttart live just up the road from me. They weren't in Buffalo because they are rational beings, and don’t have the luxury of a boss who says 'oooh that sounds like fun, go for it' when you ask for Friday off work at 9pm on Thursday night. The day after my return, they hauled me out for a drink to hear all about it—and of course within 30 minutes we were more off-topic than sc.net on a quiet day.
The music has been wonderful, the gigs a lot of fun, but now all that is over I find it is the people I can’t imagine being without.
