Tonight I did something I do not often do. I saw a Facebook post that ruptured the fabric of space and time with its utter stupidity, and instead of getting into an argument I scrolled past. Have I suddenly become mature? No, I'm just too tired tonight to quibble with embittered fuckwits, none of whom I have even met in the physical realm. The reason for my weariness is a wonderful one: last night I took my almost-thirteen-year-old to his first ever 'rock' concert. This to me is an important rite of passage, and was a joyous mother and son bonding session.
I won tickets to a Queen tribute show, and my youngest is a bit of a Queen fan. In fact, we share quite a few traits and interests; people often say he is a chip off the old block. Not sure I like being compared to a shapeless, splintery lump of wood, but I will let it slide. We set off late yesterday afternoon, both flying our colours: me in animal print and him with a green sequinned trilby hat. The venue was a club in Newcastle, which is one and a half hours or so from where we live.
The trip was an uneventful one, save for constant questions of how long before the show started. The club bistro was quite crowded. We ordered our dinner, and in a sign he is growing up, my kid made his first order NOT from the kids'' menu. Such a special night of milestones, I thought. I also thought: how the fuck is he going to eat THAT, upon the meal's arrival. In case you care, he ordered a schnitzel with chips and salad, and the serving size would have even baulked his gluttonous older brother. As we dined, I became aware of an all-pervading malodorous stench I thought with disgust that someone had blown chunks somewhere. I then realised the diners at the next table were eating a pasta dish garnished with - shudder and gag - powdered parmesan cheese. Powdered parmesan cheese is a condiment devised by a culinary de Sade with no sense of scruples whatsoever. Mr Bingells refers to it as 'the green cylinder of death'. Like so many of my generation and upbringing, our introduction to parmesan was via this foul monstrosity. In the event the inventor of this gastronomic obscenity is reading this: you are a moron who should be punched out before being forced to eat a box of this shit, after which you should sit down and think about your actions. REAL parmesan cheese is a piquant delight, and I actually got into it when I was about thirty. It took so damned long because I had been prejudiced by that stuff in the cylinder which I would submit is not cheese at all, but the desiccated vomit of an infant. Actually, when we took our seats in the auditorium, my son told me he also thought someone in the restaurant had barfed.
We waited. And waited. My son, reasoning that we were at a rock concert, offered his opinion the band were all back stage doing cocaine. I refuted this, and squinted at the ticket stub (I had left my glasses at home) whereupon I realised the show was due to start at 8.30pm, not 8.00pm. However, the show started pretty much on the dot of 8.30pm, and what a show it was! 'Freddy' had all the flamboyance and vocal ability of the real thing, and the musicianship of 'Brian May', 'Roger Taylor', and 'John Deacon' was matched note for note by the back up band. It's trite to say this, but they really did capture the essence of the real band.
The venue has floor seating and a tiered section for standing, where the toilets are located. During the course of the first act, my son needed the gents, so I accompanied him and waited near the edge of the tier. We ended up staying there because we had an even better view of the stage, and my son was able to do what he does best, which is dance. Uh yeah. He danced like the little Mr Bojangles he is, much to the amused admiration of nearby patrons, some of whom joined him. At one stage, there was a group of about six people sitting in the front row not watching the posturing 'Freddie Mercury' on stage, but staring at my kid.
During the second act, he asked could he stand with the people at the front of the stage. Given the majority of the patrons there were rather sedate 55+ types, and not ecstasy-fuelled moshers, I gave my permission. I stayed on the tier watching the show, and my kid leaned against the stage watching in awe. His first actual 'rock' concert. A milestone has been reached. He loved the theatricality, the atmosphere, the music, and the showmanship. I felt he was my spirit animal. That fleeting thought really did make it a wonderful evening for me.
After the final bows and when the lights had come on, the Queen song 'Flash' was played as people left the auditorium. Most people walked out. My kid left performing some kind of interpretive dance. I regaled him with my association with that song: being taken to see the film 'Flash Gordon' for which that song had been recorded. My older sister's then-boyfriend took me to see the film as a school holiday treat. God, he must have really wanted to prove his affection for my sister because we both thought the film stank! What would have to be one of the worst actors ever cast in the titular role, and Max Von Sydow, who won an Oscar for his portrayal as determined, gentle Fr Merrin in 'The Exorcist' must have been facing disconnection of his electricity to take on the role of Ming the Merciless. Who can forget the line from Flash's love interest Dale (which is in the song)? 'Flash, Flash, I love you but we only have fourteen hours to save the Earth!' Pffft! Gimme a break! I will admit I do rather like this song - all the grandiosity and theatre you'd expect from Queen - and I guess it kind of helps make a putrid movie just that bit more palatable. Yeah, this film was kind of in the area of nadir of Eighties cinema.
So, after the show, it was a lengthy drive home. Possibly, I might have been able to organise some accommodation down there, but the hassle is I was rostered to work this morning, and my kids had things on, too. So I fell into bed at about 1.30am, was up again at 6.30am, and am now ready to collapse again.
But, it's like my son said when I asked him how he had enjoyed the show: 'Mum, it was 'a kind of magic'.' Yeah, boom-tish and all, but still....
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