"For better or for worse" or so those marriage vows go. If I'd known The man would never outgrow his love affair with heavy metal music would I still have married him?
Tick, tick, tick, tick...
That's me thinking about the answer.
Only joking. Of course I would and to prove my undying devotion I even agreed to going to an Iron Maiden concert with him. What the heck. Why not? Shouldn't everyone go to a heavy metal fest at least once in their life?
IRON MAIDEN CONCERT was penciled into the diary and with trepidation I thought of all the rock concert injuries I've treated such as:-
*whiplash - caused by repeated vigorous head banging in wild rock-fan abandonment.
(I am not making this up. The poor guy made a bit of a mess of his poor innocent skinny kind of neck.)
*mosh pit maulings - I've seen a couple of these, the most notable being bruised ribs and a back injury after an overly trusting soul expected his mates to actually catch him when he tried his hand at crowd surfing.
*hearing loss and tinnitus. Don't you just love that sensation like sticking your head inside a church bell that lingers after a particularly volumatic concert?
Bring it on I say. I can handle whatever perils the concert going experience may throw my way. Sydney Entertainment Centre here I come!
For those of you unfamiliar with the Heavy Metal genre Iron Maiden are the Grandaddy Band of all things metal. They've been going since 1975 and have enough of a loyal band of followers to be able to afford to fly around the world from concert to concert in their own specially kitted out 757 aeroplane called Edforce1. With three lead guitars in the line-up you can guess the sound features a fair bit of metal thrashing, driving rhythms, simple anthemic choruses and surprisingly melodic and intricate guitar riffs (Oh no! I'm sounding like a fan).
The big question of course is what to wear??
I decide to play it safe and stick to jeans and an Iron Maiden t-shirt, a choice that at least half the concert goers seem to make. The other half???? Oh boy. You could call it interesting.
An IronMaiden crowd is a curious mix. Lots of middle aged men in said jeans and t- shirts reliving their lonesome youth spent attached to headphones and hiding in their bedrooms, quite a lot of mums and dads bringing the kids (just what every child needs for their rock education), waaay too many women in extremely short skirts and chunky looking boots showing off more meaty thigh than a butcher shop's display window, and tattoos. Loads of tattoos. We're not talking butterflies or The Southern Cross here. Maiden Metal heads are more into scary looking dragons and monster-type tatts. And that's just the women! Add in an assortment of bikers, punks and goths and you pretty much get the picture.
A very handy thing about The Sydney Entertainment Centre is that there is a reasonably priced hotel directly opposite, great for staggering into bed with a song in your heart and a skin full of beer from the bar.
So here I am waiting for the lift to take me down to meet The Man and Poodleboy in the lobby, down to the expectant fans and the buzz of a pre-concert bar. The lift opens and the occupants very politely hold the doors from clanging shut to let me in. Bravely I enter that small confined space, made to seem even smaller by the space-occupying presence of a six-foot-five punk with a purple mohawk and silver prong piercings poking from above his top lip. He is dressed from top to toe in black, complete with studded leather belt and triple dangling chains, accompanied by two equally punk, black-clad, Iron Maiden t-shirt wearing friends who thankfully are not quite as large as their Mo-hawked friend.
Mmmmmm. Three Punks in a lift. And me. My twin-set wearing heart is all a-flutter. The closest (and thankfully, shortest) punk eyes me up and down. Heart is a bit more fluttery by now.
"Nice t-shirt, little lady," he says.
(what? is he talking to me?)
"Are you going to the concert?"
(oh yes, he's talking to me. Ain't no other little ladies in this lift)
"Yes. But I've brought my earplugs."
(Now why did I blurt that out?)
This alarming statement is greeted with puzzled looks.
"Earplugs?" the shorter punk says. "So you're not a fan?"
"I'm just doing this for my husband. He's the fan," I hastily explain."
Apparently this is a good answer. The expression on my new-best-punk-friend's face changes in an instant and all three heads nod up and down in chorus of approval.
"I like your respect."
At this point I know I am "in", when he raises he hand to mine and I have to 'knuckle' punk number one, punk number two and Mister Purple Mohawk. We part with a mutual wish to "enjoy the concert."
The bucketlist experience is already off to a great start.
Surprisingly, I quite enjoy the concert, thanks to my earplugs and ability to control the volume as required...
Well at least I enjoy the bits I am awake for.
Much to The Man's amazement I manage to nod off for a wee while in the middle of a somewhat droney bit.
Well it was a late night!
And I still reckon that falling asleep ever so briefly does not disqualify you from crossing an item off 'the bucket list'. Though I'm not so sure I would still have my punk friends' respect if they knew of my crime against metal.
It's the thought that counts I reckon.
And of course all experience is grist to a writer's mill. A very large purple mowhawked gentleman might crop up in my writing one day as a romantic hero.
That's what writers need to do.
Leap out of their comfort zone.
Try something new that may not be your thing.
Watch humanity and soak it all in.
Get in a lift with three punks and try a spot of head banging.
And if you want a bit of street cred and respect?
Always
Always
Always
Wear the T-shirt.
And fall asleep discreetly.
It works for me.
No comments:
Post a Comment