Wednesday night I went with some of my uber-trendy, DC blogger friends to the Rock & Roll Hotel to see the 1900’s. They have a great act, and those of you who live in real cities should go see them.
Afterward, I got interviewed by somebody from Spin magazine. They even put my picture on their website. Notice that I am the oldest person they interviewed. Then someone asked me the last concert I’d been to. The answer was Rush, in 1995, with my good buddy Bill Chandler. I couldn’t hear for three days afterward. Explaining all this to my younger companions made me feel very, very old.
So I went back to my hotel room and went to sleep. In the morning, I showered, and scrubbed at the ostentatious black ink mark on my hand, the stamp I’d gotten at the club. It wouldn’t come off. This led to some amusement among the fifty or so young people to whom I had to speak later that morning. Is that a tattoo? Surely he didn’t go to a club, did he? Do they allow people his age into clubs?
This, too, made me feel very, very old. I suppose it’s good to be humbled in this way. So I’m resolved to go see more indie bands in small, dark clubs.
