More Fun In The New World

In the 1980s hair was big, Dynasty ruled, and I was at university, being not exactly an A student. I went to my classes occasionally, and spent my days in the basement of what is now called the William Shatner building, or so I'm told. In those days we just called it the Union. The campus pub was upstairs and the radio station and newspaper offices were in the basement, and at night we'd lock the doors and turn off the lights, and listen to that week's new releases in the studio, in the darkness lit only by the glowing dials on the mixing boards and the glowing ashes on the tips of our cigarettes.

I was the music director for the campus radio station, a music reviewer for the Daily, and I sometimes did interviews and voice-overs for the city's alternative FM station. They didn't pay me, but I did get to see all the concerts I wanted to for free, and I got invited to a lot of parties. I danced with Bernard Sumner, lunched with Nina Hagen, ate bananas with Billy Bragg, had a laminated backstage pass to an R.E.M. show, and got invited to New York by The Fleshtones, but the best time I had was when X came to town and the alternative station sent me to interview them.

The A&R guy from their record label let me into Le Club Montreal at about 4:00 in the afternoon, and told me I'd have to wait while they went through their sound check. I thought when they were done I'd get ten minutes or so with John Doe or Exene Cervenka, maybe sitting in the wings while their roadies manoevred around us, and if I was really lucky one of them might say something soundbite worthy, thereby guaranteeing my continued unpaid employment as a stringer.

Instead, I got two full hours at a nearby restaurant, at a quiet table, with both of them. No A&R guy, no local promoter, no roadies. Just me, John, and Exene. It was the coolest brush-with-greatness story I'd had in my repertoire, until yesterday.

Yesterday I had the blog world version of seeing U2 play at my local pub. With no cover charge.

I had a Märzen at Gordon Biersch with Robert Scoble.

In the next story, Postmodern Sass reconnects with an old friend.