LB |
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Chapter 2 |
| I've never believed anything anyone told me. One hot summer day when I was 3, I asked my sister what would happen
if I stuck my finger in the fan -- would it stop the blade? "You'd probably get your finger cut off."
"I wanna see -- owwwww!" (Not cut off, but very badly hacked nonetheless.) I always wanted to see, I
had to know for sure, had to try it for myself. And I wondered, was there anything I could do that was bad enough
to make my parents kill me? By age 4, I found that there most certainly was not. Scream at me, ground me, make
me sit in the corner, take away privileges -- but not kill me. And whip my butt with that skinny leather belt (until
I took my toy drum apart and hid it inside -- gave it back when I was 15 and came across the toy one day), but
I still did what I wanted -- and you couldn't take that away. So I rarely backed down; I'd hold my ground and fight
with my parents about everything. A few times, I made my father so mad he actually had to leave the room, his fists
clenched. I'd hear him yelling to my mother, "Gail, I swear I'm gonna KILL that kid!" Of course he didn't,
never even came close. But he got his revenge by teasing me mercilessly. No matter which piece of chicken I pointed
to at the dinner table and asked, "Which part is this?"... if Mom was away from the table, my father
would quickly and quietly say, "The butt." Yuck. "What about this one?" "That's a butt,
too." "MOM! Dad said these are all butts!" Then Mom would scold me for saying "butt" at
the dinner table. Dad always taught us to do stuff ourselves -- he wanted his girls to be self-sufficient. If I'd ask him to replace the cord on a lamp, he'd buy the cord and show me how to do it. He showed us how to retile a floor, change a tire, fix a car, hook up stereo equipment. (Of course now I realize how lucky we are to have a father who looked after us like that, but at the time I despised him for it.) But by the age of 13, I'd begun to suspect there were things going on that no one had ever told me about. The world felt like a different place. When I saw the Pretenders first album, I was stunned -- the two dark-haired ones on my left, serious and scary, and the light-haired ones on my right, goofy. Something kicked over in my soul. I felt a spiritual bond with that Hynde, whoever she was. It was trust at first sight (well, second sight). And I was willing to bet she knew lots of stuff I did not and I had to find out what I could learn from her. I read some interviews and saw lots of pictures. I listened to my album privately, since my parents surely would not have liked the lyrics. When they weren't home, I'd blast it on their stereo in the living room. Sometimes my mother would walk into my room and I'd tear the needle off to stop it. "What are you doing in here? I haven't seen you all day." "Nothing," I'd guiltily reply. Oh man. . . I mean, what was a tattooed love boy anyhow? Did my parents know? I thought not, but I wasn't gonna ask. Tattooed love boy... what could that be? And more important, where could I get one? One day in 1980, not long after my birthday, a small package arrived for my sister. I followed her into her room, curious to know what she'd ordered and didn't tell me about. She opened the package and pulled out a book called The Pretenders. I snatched it out of her hands and, screaming wildly, ran down the hall, jumped over the side of the couch, turned in mid-air so I faced the front and landed on the far end with my legs crossed. I began to read and heard "Happy birthday!" from my sister's room. It was more like a not-so-well-written magazine article than a book, but I didn't know that at the time - I loved it. There were loads of pictures and I learned some new stuff about the band. And the discography went all the way up to "Talk Of The Town" and "Cuban Slide" -- March 28, 1980. So, wow -- it was pretty current. In September 1981, we got cable and MTV. At the time, MTV had, what -- 20 videos? And five of them were the Pretenders. It was fantastic! At least once an hour I'd see them. The videos MTV showed were "Talk of the Town," "Message of Love," "Brass in Pocket" and "Kid". And "Tattooed Love Boys", this time with a visual. It would be difficult to hide this from my parents, as MTV was on 24 hours a day, and it was all I watched anymore. On the weekends, I'd stay up until all hours of the night, dozing off in front of the TV. The Pretenders would come on and I'd snap back into consciousness, happily watch the video, then fall back asleep till their next appearance. This was the most awesome band I had ever seen in my entire life, and that video for "Tattooed Love Boys" was so... dirty-looking and raunchy. Sometimes I had to look at the floor for part of it -- it was very sexual and embarrassing. I loved it. The "Talk of the Town" video has always been my favourite. I love that jangly guitar thing. It is The Perfect Song. I still get zingy whenever I hear it, and I think of all the black and white lines in the background, and... well, it just did it for me, I guess. There was one 45 that I bought before I'd heard it. My sister and I were in Tower Records and I spotted it, grabbed it and carried it around. My sister asked what I had and I showed it to her. "Which song is that?" she asked. "I dunno, I never heard it." She seemed a bit puzzled. "Are you going to buy it?" "Yeah, why not? I like everything else they've done." Liked the second album more than the first. Never could figure out why it got so-so reviews. It has "Message of Love" and "The English Roses" and "Waste Not, Want Not" and HEY -- it even has The Perfect Song. What was their problem? And exactly what kind of a job is that? Critic. A person who finds fault with what you do, should it not happen to please them. How awful. Everyone likes their own thing according to how they're wired and what life has given them to work with, so just get out there and like and do your own thing -- don't concern yourself with what other people think. AM radio -- they never told you anything. I'd just begun listening to FM (I'd switch back and forth). August 28, 1981 (exactly one month after my 15th birthday) -- I was listening to the radio, lying on my back on the couch, my head hanging over the edge (I liked looking at stuff upside-down). Out of the speakers came a voice, "All riiiiight... it's Friday, and if you're wondering what's happening, we'll give you a rundown. The Pretenders are at the Warfield Theater tonight. It's sold out..." I flipped my feet over my head, landed on my knees and turned toward the speakers. "WHAT!?" I was grief-stricken. My favorite band, and what could I do? I was home alone. I got up and shuffled to my room, feeling like I'd been cast from lead. I'd see them next time, for sure -- but tonight I was one sad kid. Seems like it was around December 1981 when I heard THE PRETENDERS were going to be coming soon to a venue near me! They'd have been there and gone -- I'd have missed them altogether -- if Martin hadn't slit open his hand, causing the entire tour to be rescheduled. The injury gave me enough time to complete the transition from AM to FM radio, where they announced concerts. They tacked on another gig (or a few?) in Los Angeles, and one in San Francisco for February 20, 1982. I've always meant to thank Martin for that. I saw the Stones in October 1981. I was 15 and had to beg my parents to let me (and my sister) go. It was a damn good thing I behaved at that show (and at the Kinks show in 1980). Many drugs were offered and I partook of none of it. Whew! With the Pretenders, I begged, I pleaded, I groveled, I think I even cried -- I had to go. My parents weren't cruel, just cautious. Besides, I was 15, and they knew how wild I could be. But I'd been good at the Stones and the Kinks, so, well... OK. Shit! I needed $9.50 for a ticket! I'd do anything! I did do anything. I scrubbed walls (five bucks, all the walls in the house), washed the cars, folded clothes, dusted -- everything. I came up with enough money to buy a ticket and I'd have enough left over for a tour shirt. Does anyone remember this time period? Tell me the truth -- did each day take at least twice as long as it was supposed to or what? Each slow-passing day was a chore to complete. I'd come home from school and look at the ticket I had pinned to my wall, my head ready to explode. I was really going to get to see them for myself -- with my own eyeballs and in person. Hot damn! How many days left till show time? I mooched more money from my parents. Finally the big day arrived. Truly, I was about ready to pee my pants. My parents were going to drop us off and go out to dinner and whatever -- I didn't pay attention to their plans, I had my own. We were dropped off at the Oakland Auditorium. We got in line and-- HEY! They were taking the entire ticket! You can't do that! I want a ticket stub! Damn! But I wanted to be in the front row more, so fuck you and the horse you rode in on. Theresa and I bolted into the audience. It was a wall of bodies and you really couldn't move much. We managed to get pretty close to the front, though. There were tons of scary biker guys and gals. Next to us and sort of in front of me (of course) was this huge man. Not only huge in size, but in assholeism as well. He was pushing people around. I guess some people think that's funny, but I don't understand it. The opening act, Bow Wow Wow, came and went. They were horrid. Or maybe they were good, I dunno -- I hated them. During the break between bands the shoving got really bad. I pulled out and went around to the other side. By the time the Pretenders were on stage, I was in the front row, between Hynde's and Honeyman-Scott's spots. YOW! They were absolutely amazing! They ripped, they rocked -- each note was its own masterpiece. At one point Chrissie came over and looked down right at me. I was delighted. She stepped forward more and planted her feet within reach. I reached out and touched her foot. I had to. Why? I have no idea -- I'd never do it now. She looked down at me and smiled. I retracted my hand, and she spun around and was off. And all this time, everyone had said she was so incredibly mean. Her?! Puh-leez! I didn't leave with her boot lodged in my face, did I? On the other side of the stage, two girls had gotten up on their boyfriends' shoulders to see better. Chrissie went straight over to them and said "You get down! The people behind you can't see." Of course they did, 'cause it was mean ol' Chrissie Hynde -- and she wasn't joking. Strangely enough, this impressed my sister more than anything before or since, as those girls were right in front of her and all she could see was two butts. Theresa thought Chrissie was very cool after that. Anyone else would've let it slide. Chrissie wanted everyone to be able to see. Unlike anyone else, she did give a fuck, and don't you forget it, pal. Martin tossed out half a billion drumsticks. One hit Jimmy in the back of the head. It was too far to reach for. Damn. Jimmy kicked it (and probably cursed at it) and it came spinning towards the audience. My hand and another hand reached for it. The other hand got it. Some girl. Piss. That would've been a real topper to that fabulous night. Oh well. Chrissie tossed out her tambourine after "Day After Day" -- that huge asshole guy got it. The good thing was, according to Theresa, he had to leave because people were jumping on him trying to take it away. Sometimes, even the vastly unfair works out to be good. Hooked up with my sister after the show. Was able to buy all three tour shirts, the tour program, the button, the pin and the bandanna. I got everything. There were a few sweaty people with Bow Wow Wow shirts on -- they'd bought them just before the show, put them on and got 'em sweaty. The colours ran and they were all smeary and gross. They were bitching like angry chickens. We giggled at their poor choice of shirts. We went outside and waited for the parental units to fetch us. I was like, "I touched her foot -- she came right over and smiled at me!" My head was spinning -- I was dizzy and quite euphoric. Hey! They have to come out of the building, right? I mean they aren't gonna move in there or anything. Now I wonder... I peeked around the back -- a limo! There were a few people waiting. I could get their autographs! I could meet them! My head was reeling now. We went back there and waited and waited. Some people came out -- the driver, road crew people, whoever. Waited more. Then someone was at the door, shifting around 'cause the band was coming out! "Theresa, Lisa, come on, let's go." It was my mother! I spun around, then back, speechless. "Come on!" Finally I said "NO! Not yet...I CAN'T!" Theresa left. The guy at the door was shifting around a bit. "NO! Mom, pleeeeease -- just a minute!" "No! Your father is double-parked!" Mom was absolutely not screwing around tonight. She actually grabbed me in a Vulcan stun grip and pulled me backwards. I was walking backwards as fast as I could, nearly running -- if I hadn't, I'd have been on my butt. The last thing I saw as we rounded the corner was the door opening, the delighted looks on everyone's faces. "NOOOOOOO!!!" Did they hear me? I was thrown into the back of the car. It was like being kidnapped -- I never had a chance. I seethed all the way home. NEXT TIME, I promised myself, I'd meet all of them. Next time, next time, next time. At home I cried. I actually cried. Dammit, two minutes at the very most. I put on my new gray sweatshirt and went to bed. |
