Tuesday, November 8, 2016

Solo concert night #theveils

Last night I went to the Roxy alone to see a band called The Veils. I can't remember how or where I learned about them but their song "Sit Down by the Fire" is beautiful. I might have found them on Pandora, I really don't remember. I've asked around, and none of my friends know who they are. The lead singer, Finn Andrews, is the son of the keyboard player for the band XTC, but I don't really know much about either of them (aside from the bio that's on their website).

They released a new album recently and announced a tour. Last night's show in West Hollywood is the only one near here on the whole tour. Patrick was going to go with me but it's not really his music, and it was a school night for Jules, so after much back and forth, and failed attempts to wrangle a friend or two to join me (it's my own fault: I was a little lackadaisical in my approach to this because I was conflicted about going at all), and with his encouragement, I went alone.

Walking up to the venue, I was pretty anxious. I had my ticket already but there were people lined up in front (I don't know why) and a couple of dudes who looked like bouncer-types. I walked to the corner and texted Patrick ("Do I just go in or do I have to wait in this line?") like a dork. I hate walking into bars or places alone. I think I've mentioned this before. If there's a friend waiting for me, even that part makes me anxious. What if I don't find them? What if they see me wandering around, looking anxious? But this time nobody was looking at me and nobody was waiting for me, so I walked up to the door and gave some guy with long hair straight out of a John Hughes movie my ticket. Another guy slapped a blue wristband on me, and then the first guy scanned me with a wand. For weapons. "Really?" I asked (implied: me?), and "Really," he answered.

I felt awkward and weird, waiting for the band to start. Following my brother-in-law Joe Rezendes' tip, I pretended I was waiting for a friend for most of the time I was standing there (I did not take his advice and remove my wedding ring to see if anyone would buy me a drink. Ring or not, nobody bought me a drink, which is fine, because I threw up at home right before leaving and a drink would probably have been a bad idea). I fiddled with my phone and checked my email, but the only emails I had were from Jules' school, regarding drama club registration. It seemed too obvious and lame to be on Facebook, though I did post a couple "I feel like a dumbass" type updates. It was too dim to indulge in people watching, but the girls in front of me (dressed like Lorelei Gilmore probably dressed to see The Bangles before she got pregnant) were pretty entertaining (and good dancers).

The band went on more or less on time, and from the second they started, I loved every minute of it. It was loud, the Roxy is very intimate (I was about 20 feet, less by the end of the night, from the stage), and almost perfect (they didn't do my two favorite songs, "Sit Down by the Fire" or "Another Night on Earth"). For most of the night I had a good view of the drummer, which you know is always very important to me, but the singer has that lead singer animal magnetism, and like every other woman, I felt his eyes on me a few times. I have to admit, I wondered, as I wandered out when the show was over, if I would feel a tap on my shoulder and an invitation to go backstage... but nothing like that happened, and I collected my car from the valet at the Rainbow Room next door (have I been there? I have a distinct feeling that I've been there but the exact memory escapes me. Perhaps that's a good thing). 

I didn't take any photos, not even when the band was playing, because the people doing that were annoying the woman standing behind me. I also didn't really want to take my eyes off the reality in front of me to look at it through a screen, even for a second. 

I haven't been to a lot of concerts, but this one made me wish I did. 

I think they're going to be in San Francisco this weekend, and I wish there was a way we could go. 

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