Perspectives really change with age. I’m not quite 30, so I’m nervous about how many things I have yet to look back on and shake my head about, but needless to say, it’s funny how time changes things.
I heard the song “Shimmer” by Fuel on the local rock station tonight, WMMR. I drove along and snickered a bit when I thought about my first “rock star” experience. I was fifteen and Fuel was in regular rotation on the airwaves at my favorite Modern Rock station, Y100. RIP. They were holding a Sonic Session, which was a somewhat regular promotional event in which the station got a popular band to play a mini concert at a local recording studio as they breezed through town for a concert. One of my best friends at the time won tickets and asked me to go. If saying “OMG” was popular at that time, I would have said it about 150 times the day leading to and following this event.
I remember it like it was yesterday. My Mom had been the type to idolize musicians in her youth and met the Bay City Rollers at a similar event when she was that age, so she understood the true excitement to it all. My Dad on the other hand, was none too pleased about his little girl going into the city on a school night to drool over some guys in a band. Looking back, it’s fair to say he was right to feel that way. They both were, really. Mom won and I went.
There weren’t that many people allowed into the small recording space, but it was pretty exciting as we sat on the floor and watch a band, which was signed to an actual recording label, jamming out in front of us. The lead singer Brett was barefoot and blonde, and giving the full rock star vibe to the small-time performance. The show ended and we were allowed to ask for autographs. Guess who was first in line.
At that very moment, I remember thinking that I didn’t have enough things for the band to sign. I should have brought posters or bought a second CD in case something happens to this one. A bundle of excited nerves, I handed over my CD and introduced myself to Brett. I probably just said my name and nothing else, afraid to throw too many words out there at the same time, in case they got jumbled. He said it was nice to meet me and then in a quick panic and sheer brilliance, I thought at the time, “Can you sign my shirt too?!” Of course he did, what a nice guy, to take the time to sign a barely developed girl’s chest. Then he saw I had a camera and offered to take a picture. O-M-G. We posed for a picture and then it happened. He pinched my ass.
Now, if a guy today, even a popular musician did that, although I’d be flattered, I’d have the presence of mind to say, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I didn’t. I glowed. Since we were just fifteen, my friend’s Mom waited outside for us and I bounced around outside, in the car, at home and for a month following exclaiming “He grabbed my ass, it was awesome!” I can only imagine what my Dad was thinking. I clearly looked underage too, all big cheeks and innocence. And by big cheeks, I mean the ones on my face.
I don’t have children, but I’d be torn about whether or not I’d let them go to something like that. Experiences like that as a whole, minus the groping, don’t happen often. It spurred a nearly ten year concert spree that I am currently still paying off, which included hundreds of concerts and memories that always make me smile and that I’d never give back.
(Don’t worry Dad; this experience never turned your little girl into a groupie.)