Office crush to gig-mate – could this be the start of something new?
“This’ll do,” you think nervously as you don the ‘Red Hot Chili Peppers’ shirt you bought off Amazon Prime after that girl from accounting innocently asked if you liked ‘the Chili’s’. You enthusiastically responded “YES” and asked if she was going to their gig next month? Because if she wasn’t, and fancied it, you have a spare ticket… is what you told her. You don’t have any tickets, never mind a spare, but after a little haggling with some bloke from Leeds you managed to secure them for a disgustingly unreasonable price.
She did seem like a rather big fan – more so than you initially thought, as you eventually stumbled into a conversation about their entire discography, nearly being outed as the dreaded ‘casual listener’. ‘Scar Tissue’ is undoubtedly a tune, and ‘By The Way’ can’t be beaten, but was she expecting an opinion on whether ‘Quixoticelixer’ is a better B-Side than ‘Over Funk’? No, mate, me neither.
Nodding at the appropriate times can only get a person so far. So, determined, you sat down and gave the ‘This Is Red Hot Chili Peppers’ playlist on Spotify a listen, feeling some pride when you recognised the opening drums of ‘Dani California’. They’re a good band and the gig will be fun, and heck, think about the potential outcome. Aye? Ayeeee? The band shirt will look good and my word, the cologne yer Nan bought you for Christmas will go down a right treat.
The time is here, and you’re about to pick her up. The doors open thirty minutes from now and you both agreed that you should arrive for the support act. She didn’t seem to know much about them, either, but she said it’s always important to see the smaller bands because there are some, and I quote, “‘real hidden gems out there”. A slam of a heavy front door – shit. You have to scramble to turn off Belinda Carlisle, but you manage to shove Blood Sugar Sex Magik into the CD player just as she opens your car door. Her eyes light up. “Getting ready for tonight?” she asks, over the mumbled ‘heybatterbatter-hey-batter-heybatterbatter…’. Yes, indeed. She puts her seatbelt on as you drive towards the venue. Why did you offer to drive? You can only have one pint really, two if you’re feeling risky; how are you supposed to calm your nerves, or sing the lyrics you clearly don’t know with any conviction? You silly, silly bastard.
You pull up outside, slam some money in the ticket machine, and then you’re off to join the queue. The electric atmosphere only to be found before a huge arena concert doesn’t exactly help calm your nerves. There are people everywhere; you’re anxious, claustrophobic, you’re scared. You get in, buy two pints – one for you and one for her – as the support band you’ve never heard of commences their set. You’re pleasantly surprised. “These are really good!” you shout to her over the music. She nods and smiles. She definitely hasn’t heard you.
Forty minutes later and the Chilis come on, opening with a song you’ve heard before but don’t really know. In fact, you don’t know half the set. It doesn’t matter, the music and energy takes you in – everyone around you is proper lovin’ it. You’re actually really glad you bought the T-shirt: let’s be honest, it does look cool. Who cares if you don’t know the entire discography? You’re still a fan.
The gig ends and she looks over to you, elated. “We need to buy some merch before we leave,” she implores, and drags you over to the enormous queue for the RHCP stand. You see the support band in their little stall next to them, comparatively deserted. “I enjoyed these guys, you know,” you tell her. “I’m gonna get one of their tees.” You pick the one that’s all black with the band’s logo displayed proudly on the chest, and smile at the friendly chap who graciously hands you your purchase. Contemplating the wonders of serendipity, you mentally add the support band’s discography to your Spotify. Maybe you could make her a playlist…
Twenty minutes later, and armed with your respective merch, you both leave. “We should do this again,” you suggest. Smiling, you drop her off and tell her you’ll see her at work tomorrow.
The next day arrives and you walk in wearing the support band’s T-shirt. “What’s on your shirt, who are they?” says the bloke who sits next to you and always makes conversation first thing in the morning. You tell him you saw them supporting the Chilis at their gig, that they’re really good and that. In fact, you’re probably going to see their next show. “Who you going with?” he asks, desperate to get out of the house for one night and do something ‘edgy’. “That girl from accounting,” you reply, smugly.
