Go Freddie GoMickey Power’s Birthday Bash
Blue Moon Pub, Toronto
March 28, 2009
Standing on the
northwest corner,
my phone rings.
“Where the hell's the Blue Moon?”
the voice on the other end says.
“It’s on the south side of Queen at Broadview,”
I tell him.
“I’M AT Queen and Broadview”, he says.
“Well so am I and I don’t see you”.
It appears I don’t know my east from west,
as I look in the wrong direction.
No wonder I don’t see him, like he said.
Perhaps it’s because I’m old and hungry.
Finally hooking up,
we make a pit stop at a fast food joint
where I ask for french fries to stay
and they serve them in a bag,
not even a cardboard dish.
I know it’s just a fast food place,
but hey are you kidding me?
The trouble-maker that I am
insists the server transfer the fries
to their next best thing,
a plastic plate!
Going against my midlife crisis,
I let it slide,
so my friend and I
can talk over the salt and vinegar;
about his mom, the move,
and my crazy trip to San Francisco.
The chat hits the spot,
so we cross the street to the south side.
Mickey Power is standing out front
on the Blue Moon sidewalk, talking jive.
With a cool bandana pasted to his forehead,
I wrap a hug around the black leather
of his rock & roll jacket.
“Happy birthday!
“How many sets will the band play, 2 or 3?”
“4”, Mickey says.
“And I’ll take a Canadian to wash down my Geritol, thanks.”
But of course!
Hearing Oh Darling we walk straight past the cover charge
and get called back where we toss the collector some cash.
“Honestly, we just weren’t paying attention.
Of course we want to support the act”.
With red on the inside, instead of green,
pool tables separate us and the back room stage.
And when Oh Darling ends,
the band goes on break.
Shit, we missed the entire first set.
Damn that french fry place!
“Mill St Organic for me and a Heineken for him”
as I’m told about an old guy
who strolled along Yonge Street today,
my friend says,
completely naked from the waist down.
“He had no pants and my mother missed it!”
I say, “More attention should be paid when dressing the penis.
The homeless man must’ve forgot.
Men should never be bottomless if they’re wearing a top".
When from the corner of my eye,
I see the bass player, Paul Filipiuk.
How sweet of him to ask us what we want to hear,
but our minds go blank, leaving us speechless.
When Filipiuk joins the rest on stage,
Go Freddie Go opens the second round
begging us to...
“Help!
I need somebody
Help!
Not just anybody
Help!
You know I need someone
Help!”
Accompanying Paul is Gerard Popma on electric guitar,
John Dustan on keyboards,
and following a request for some Ringo Starr,
the drummer for Boys is Skeets Mesquita.
For a rock & roll Mickey-Beatle birthday,
a 4-piece band is all you really need.
The words Go Freddie Go are painted on the front of the kit,
and reminiscent of the days of old is the band’s logo.
As Popma sings my un-requested song,
I’m Only Sleeping
and overhead spins a disco ball.
On the buffet table, I see bowls of orange
laid out alongside platters of wings and salsa.
You know,
I wouldn’t have had those french fries Mickey,
had I known about the cheesies!
People sit at tables here, there and on the elevated floor,
but we prefer the softly cushioned seats
along the low ledge side of the dance floor.
Straight across the west wall it’s layered in brick
and some folks are sunk down deep in low couches.
“Everybody seems to think I'm lazy
I don't mind, I think they're crazy
Running everywhere at such a speed
Till they find, there's no need”
And here’s Mickey Power again,
just in time for a photo.
But the digital camera is not easy to use,
snapping in the dark
with spinning dots in shadowed lights,
Hello!
“Mister Popularity, you’re running on empty
I’ll go now and get you that Canadian!”
As Obla Di Obla Da gets the dancers up
followed by the drummer’s choice,
And I Saw Her Standing There.
Handing Mickey his birthday beer,
yup, the dance floor is fired up.
Paul’s “la, la, la’s, oooh’s, aaah’s and cheats”
makes Baby It’s You just too darn sweet.
Mesquita’s in black with a Memphis Sun logo,
so I take my camera to the brick wall
and snap a few more sepia photos.
Gerard’s in denim under red and white,
and Paul, like his bass is black and white.
And tucked safely to the side is Dustan
who tinkles all over it.
When Paul and Gerard bend over
to end the song with Beatle bows,
I really wish I’d been shooting video
for that was simply delightful!
We’re told the next number was voted
the best song ever written
by such rags as Rolling Stone and blah, blah blah, etc.
I immediately thought of Something,
but that’s the best "love" song ever written
as voted by Frank Sinatra.
“It’s a bum squeezer,” Skeets says.
“So why not shut up and slow dance instead?”
The heckler stops when…
“There are places I remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone, and some remain”
In My Life?"
But, of course!
There’s a feeling that comes over me
remembering myself and the many places I’ve lived
on this side of Yonge Street.
But hey, I just saw a bottom pincher
And I Love Her made her giggle.
Gerard rocks hard on guitar,
but when they play Birthday,
Mickey is completely absent.
We haven’t seen him since that beer
come to think of it.
And then I become anxious,
for when the song I heard in the noodling is finally played,
“This boy wouldn't mind the pain
Would always feel the same
If this boy gets you back again”,
Heavy sigh, my oh my.
I’m just totally nuts about This Boy!
And it would’ve been the only song to request,
had earlier I not been mute and brain dead.
“The Beatles only used one microphone
when they performed This Boy on a television show”.
Skeets screamed the song Helter Skelter next,
until, I shit you not,
smoke came out of the amplifier.
John had to leave his keys to put it out,
before Here, There and Everywhere
and still no Mickey Power.
No sightings, no where.
We came, we saw, and we rocked,
but Birthday Boy, where the heck you at?
We must now go without saying so,
but thanks very much for all that!
Standing out on the northeast side
waiting for a streetcar westbound,
we witness an altercation.
Between an enormous waste management truck
and several drunks,
who kept him stuck in the middle of the intersection.
Unable to turn left,
the trucker became furious.
I covered my ears when he laid on the horn,
causing the drunks to yell even more and move they did not.
Waste management guy jumps out of his truck
and pounds on one of the drunks.
I have to keep my ears covered
when the yelling now comes from none other
than the one I’m with.
“What an asshole!”, he screams
(The trucker just committed assault)
“You’re an asshole!”, he keeps yelling.
“Holy shit!”, I say, “It’s 1:00 road rage.
And you’re lucky if the garbage man doesn’t pummel you next!”
Fortunately the drunk escaped to scurry back to his friends,
and in a cab they sped away,
clearing passage for angry waste guy to leave
and the Queen Street incident is over quick.
Thank Jesus.
“I no longer enjoy the weekend city streets.
Not like I use to,
preferring the late night weekdays I think”.
For some reason they seem more civilized,
at least lately,
in my experience.
http://www.gofreddiego.com/
http://www.bluemoonpub.com/
