My First Concert

My First Concert
by Live Music Head
April, 2008

The first concert I ever went to was Rush;
Friday, December 30, 1977
Maple Leaf Gardens , Toronto.
My brother and I were so excited because
my dad worked with the brother of the husband
of Geddy Lee’s sister.

And he got us 10th row seats, on the floor!
Can you believe it?
I wish I could remember what songs they played.
I was 14.
And suddenly cool.
Or was I?
I’m not being very honest.
My first concert was not Rush.
And I cannot tell a lie.
Believe it or not, my very first concert was…
Are you ready for this?
Really ready?
The Bay City Rollers!
Monday, August 22, 1977
Exhibition Stadium, Toronto;
four months before the Rush show.

And I don’t remember what songs they played either.
But there were events leading up to that concert which I do recall.
Yes, I was a Roller fan and
I had a lot of fun chasing those Scottish lads around.
My memorabilia and photos from that period show me
and my girlfriends all dressed up in our tartan Roller gear.
And my bedroom walls were plastered with their images.
We were so young, innocent, and silly;
much younger, more innocent and sillier than
the fourteen year olds of today.
And we were also very brave.
We thought nothing about calling a cab at 3 in the morning
to take us to the airport to greet our heroes.
Or a cab to their hotel for that matter.
We even managed to secure a room at the Harbour Castle Hotel
where the band was staying.
I really don’t remember how we managed that,
but it didn’t last very long anyway.
When the elevator doors opened on
what we hoped was their floor,
we were struck hysterical when the band's manager stepped on.
The screaming began and all hell broke loose.
I remember clutching on to Mr Manager’s arm; crying
“Please take me to him!”
“Take me to Eric! Please! Please! Oh Please!”

It was outrageous.
And it wasn’t long before hands were clutching my arm
when security came to drag us through the lobby
promptly booting us back out to the sidewalk
where all the other girls were stationed.
Our hotel stay lasted a total of 29 minutes.
The excitement of coming
that close to our heroes was devastating
and we continued to scream and cry a while longer.
Catching our breath,
we waited there on the sidewalk of Queens Quay
with necks straining upward for a glimpse
of a curtain parting
or a wave from a window.
But who should we believe?
That guy who says the boys will be leaving
for their press conference from that exit
or should we keep an eye on
the limousine that’s parked over there by that door?

We were so stressed out and
time ticked slowly.
We killed time sharing our fantasies with each other
like how great it was gonna be when I finally did meet Eric;
how he would fall madly in love with me and wouldn’t go back to Scotland without taking me with him.

And we had the latest gossip to flip through;
Teen Beet, Tiger Beat and 16 Magazine.
Sigh.
It was summertime and we could sit there all day
or forever,
waiting for that limousine to move.
“Hey, did that limousine move?”
Oh my god!
Suddenly it was happening so fast;
that non-descript side doorway had opened
and some older boys were anxiously waving
the limousine over a little closer.
It was a blur of tartan clad hunks
flying straight into that long black car.
Did their running shoes even touch the ground?
Oh my god!
And then the girls moved.
Boy, did we move;
rushing the car!
I was one of the first to grip a door handle,
cupping the other hand to peer through
the dark-tinted window into the back seat
where I instantly found Eric staring right back at me!
I screamed like I was watching a horror movie.
“I love you!” I cried.”I love you so much, Eric!”
Tears were pouring down my face
stopping to dry on my fourteen year old breasts,
which by the way, were large for my age
compared to some of the other girls.
And mine were sporting a white t-shirt
with big black letters silk-screened across the front that read:
“Sexy Eric”.
And now he’s looking straight at them,
with only a pane of glass to separate!
The limousine was speeding up
and I had to pick up the pace.
There was no way in hell I was letting go of the door handle.
I plastered my face against that dark-stained window
sputtering my drippy undying love for
my gorgeous guitar-playing god.
If only I could touch him!
I could see he was wearing shorts with legs
and I’d know those socks anywhere.
Suddenly I found myself running;
running to keep up with the limo
which was gassing it along the Quay.
Many girls were letting go,
falling face first into the pavement.
(I did that once
skipping rope.
I woke up from my faint
sitting on my father’s knee
with a stunned look on my face.
My chin was scratched and bruised and I had a huge fat lip.
My brother was right there of course, waiting for my eyes to open
so I could see him pointing and laughing.
I burst into tears,
turning to hide my big fat lip into my father’s chest.
Stupid brothers.)
My Eric would never laugh at me;
fat, scratched, and bruised lip or not.
We were hysterical now
chasing the long black automobile.
We must’ve looked comical to the passerby,
perhaps even disturbing.
My fingers were slipping loose...
But no, I can’t let go!
No, don’t look away!
“Please stop the car
Let me in
Take me with you!”
I’m letting go, oh no!
And then I stumbled,
scraping my knees bloody.
I was now a crumpled little fourteen year old mess
crawling to the curb sobbing
and wiping my snotty little nose all over “Sexy Eric”.
The limousine carrying my love
quickly disappeared before my eyes.
Oh so close, I thought.
So close, again!

There was a time I would completely deny this story;
every last word of it, absolutely.
The denials started when I was sixteen years old
after bringing a boy home;
when my older brothers,
dying for a way to tease
and embarrass their younger sister,
would tell my boyfriends all about my Roller days.
Aaargh!
"No, my first concert was Rush! Rush, dammit!”
Yes, it was around the age of 16
that my second concert became my first.
Boys liked Rush you see, not the Bay City Rollers.
And I was definitely at that Rush show watching
from that awesome 10th row floor seat,
that is no lie.
And there really was only a few months in between shows.
But I remember those days fondly now,
without the need to deny any of it.
Do I really care that I don't actually
remember the concerts themselves?
Not really.
And apparently nothing has changed
over the last thirty one years,
because I’m still a rock and roll chick
chasing…
well, not tartan clad Scottish lads anymore,
or black limousines,
although I still enjoy taking cabs;
but music…
music, I chase.
Not boys,
music, dammit!
Maintaining youthfulness is important to me
so I’ll likely keep chasing it,
again and again
until the day I die.

This video is a great reminder 
of why I loved The Bay City Rollers,
and still do...

All photos courtesy of Live Music Head's scrapbook.