A couple of weeks ago Shane and I attended a Funeral for a Friend Concert at the Fillmore in New York City. The experience turned into something more than just the average concert. Here’s how it went down. We strolled up to the doors a half-hour before they opened, and a very large man stuck his arm out to block our entry. “Line’s back there,” he growled.
I unfolded my early entry pass, and suddenly he was the epitome of graciousness. “Right this way, I’ll take you up.”
He led us up the steep stairs of the old venue, as we passed the posters of the acts that had played there: Jimi Hendrix, Eric Clapton, The White Stripes, etc. The man took his leave of us at the top, and another man handed Shane his limited-edition poster and pointed the way into the concert hall.
Shane and I stepped onto the hard-wood floors of the room and peered around, squinting like Ozzy our hamster when she just wakes up and climbs out of her house. There were about 30 people milling around, but no familiar “table” with the bandmembers seated behind it signing things. Suddenly, an unassuming fellow in glasses and the most non-descript attire you can imagine--Pete Wentz doesn’t need to worry about any sartorial competition here—approached us. He stuck his hand out and said, “Hi, I’m Matthew.” (pssst. He’s the lead vocalist and frontman for FFAF.)
I was slightly taken aback, but the manners I had been taught as a kid reflexively kicked in. “Hi, I’m Renata and this is my son, Shane.”
No one said anything for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably 4 seconds. Shane was standing there agog, so I knew it was up to me. I decided to simply have a conversation with him as if I had just met him at a cocktail party.
“So, is this your first time in NewYork?” I asked idiotically.
Very politely, he answered, “Ah, no, no. We’ve been here many times.”
[*swoon* Welsh accent! Welsh accent! You know how we Americans are gaga for the accents. It doesn’t matter if the accent is English, Irish, Scottish, Welsh, or Australian, we love the accents. I have no explanation for it; we just do.]
Here’s the rest of the interview. (Remember, I was totally unprepared for this; hence the lameness.)
H: So, is this the beginning, middle or end of your tour?
M: We’re sort of in the middle. Tomorrow, we go to Asbury Park, New Jersey, which I’m very excited about because that’s where Bruce Springsteen is from.
H: Do you get any time off, or do you tour year round?
M: We take two weeks off a year, which we spend with our families and use to write our next album.
H: I noticed on the liner notes of your new album that members of the Lostprophets sang backing vocals on several tracks.
M: You’re right!
H: So I guess you guys are friends with the Lostprophets?
M: We’re friends with all the Welsh bands; it’s a very small country.
H: You’re all from the same town, right? (yeah, I know, witty.)
It was at this point I decided not to overstay my welcome. I asked Shane if he would like the band to sign his poster. He nodded vigorously.
“Come on, lads,” Matthew said. (Actually, he didn’t say “lads,” but I wish he had.) The rest of the band gathered around to sign Shane’s poster and take photos with him.
Since FFAF were the headliners, it was some time before they took the stage. The boys launched right into “Rules and Games” from their latest release Memory and Humanity. Suddenly Matthew, the guy who looks like an Associate Professor of Anthropology at SUNY Albany was transformed into a rockstar.
“Newww York!! It’s bastarrrd cold out therrre. We doon’t have THIS kind of WEATHerrr where WEEE are fruum!”
Gotta love ‘em.
Annie*, if you’re out there, I apologize for “bastardizing” the Welsh accent.
luv...helen...xo
*annier
