Rocking out on a Weeknight
On the bedstand: Sons of the Profits: There's No Business Like Grow Business by Bill Speidel. A little Seattle history to keep things going.Coming through the speakers: In addition to the obvious, I've been going back through the Band's catalog.
“How young are you? / How old am I? / Let's count the rings around my eyes”I hadn’t planned on going to the Replacements show. For whatever reason--money, commitment, avoidance of “reunion tours”--I just never got a ticket. A last minute perusal of Craigslist led me to a seller who matched my price point. With that, I was going to the Replacements show!The show kicked off with “Seen Your Video,” followed by “hit” after hit in a way that didn’t feel like a “Greatest Hits Reunion Show.” They were loose. Energetic. Laughing. Nothing like the drug-infused ragers of the past, but certainly a touch of weird (including “Androgynous” being sung from an REI tent).I looked out at the crowd. A touch older than me, maybe by five to ten years. Fashion styles were mixed. Some had come directly from work and were still dressed in their corporate garb. Others never got around to trading in the t-shirt and tennis shoes. One guy was wearing a Ramones shirt with a collared button-up over it. That really bothered me for some reason.Regardless of what they were wearing, it felt like everyone there was grappling with aging gracefully. The lawyer in her business suit at a punk/rock show looked absolutely ridiculous. The guy who looked like he never left his parents’ basement looked equally ridiculous. It was a rock show, only the youthful energy had given way to nice glasses of wine, expensive clothes, and early morning responsibilities.My attention turned inward. Thirty three year old Chad. Was he aging gracefully? There in his hoodie and jeans and Sambas? That hairline keeps inching up, doesn’t it? And those rings around the eyes? And that wasn’t a touch of grey the other day, was it? Not old yet, but not far off.The show ended with a mix of raucous applause and quick glances at watches. Work in the morning. It was late for a school night.On the way out, a number of large-framed pictures adorned the walls. Woodstock 99. Lollapalooza. The festivals of my generation. In one, a kid was crowd surfing. He was the focal point of the shot with a massive crowd stretching behind him. Enthusiasm was on his face. Fingers pointed at the camera. A guttural, youth-driven shout of pleasure.How gracefully do you think he's aging?