It’s my un-party, and I’ll cry if I want to…

Ahhh admit it, you know the words to the poptastic hit made famous by Lesley Gore from back in 1963, or its other various forms which include a cover by Drake and Rhianna in “Take Care”. Or maybe the American Metalcore version by Motionless in White? With their additional lyrics “Die if I want too?” on their track “Necessary Evil”? Of course you do.

This brings me nicely to my point in hand, it actually was my party. Well kind of. Being a November baby I celebrate my birthmas in this month and have celebrated this occasion over the years with parties in nightclubs, bars, catching legendary performers – The Prodigy, (No Tourists Tour 2018), Alice Cooper (Spend The Night Tour 2017). This year I spent the day in at home, drinking copious amounts of rum and coke and binge-watching music documentaries. The contrast is stark, however I am a happy bear. Don’t get me wrong, I miss the pounding in my heart of live, ridiculously loud and heart-trembling bass, but the inner optimist in me is beginning to revel in this new life. I shall explain…

While we gloriously sugarcoat the good old days when we could do stuff with rose-tinted heart-shaped glasses, there are so many aspects I don’t miss. Rock City toilets for example. Only those with a strong stomach dare enter, the mix of two-pint beers and drunkenness make for a sorry state. I feel for the ladies who spend all night in there selling lollipops and the like. Don’t get me started on The Emporium Nightclub; I will leave that one there, only to say Rock City would be an upgrade…

There is more I don’t really miss about gig life, I don’t miss being five foot two and always, always being stood behind the tallest person in the venue. Don’t ask me how but they find me then barge past me to stand that close, I wonder if we should exchange phone numbers.

I don’t miss the smell, sweaty and nasty, being in a club and seeing someone I know who has been in the mosh pit. They smell like one and that is from across the room, they make eye contact and oh dear god no they are heading over for a hug. It is too late, I try not to breathe, smile and wander off to find air.

I don’t miss the queues. The night even begins with one to get in. An hour in the cold and people who know people have joined the queue ahead of you, as you try not to get too annoyed five of their mates have joined the joiners. Finally in the venue and there’s a queue for the cloakroom yey! Ok, in you go and get a drink from the bar? Good luck with that, its 5 people deep and no one ever knows what they want. Who needed to see any of the support acts anyway?

My personal favourite pet hate is trying to remember where you were stood in a gig or festival, after a loo trip or bar run, now trying to find your mates in low lights while holding plastic cups filled with beer and bouncing bodies are everywhere, at seven pound a pint trying not to cry when Betty Knobhead decides to start a mosh pit and you realise why the floor is so sticky. Still, fourteen pounds for two empty plastic cups, bargain!

And more than anything, the expense! It is an expensive hobby. A friend and I booked tickets for Hip-Hop “Insane in the Brain” band Cypress Hill back in 2018 – the tickets were £60, the hotel (the gig was in Leeds) was £120, so that was £180 not including train tickets food, drinks, taxi to the venue and back to the hotel. The gig was fabulous but the cost of a trip abroad, and the band were barely on stage an hour.

All these reasons swirled around my head as I sat on my comfy(ish) sofa on my birthday, as I poured myself a drink without having to queue, from a bottle of rum that barely cost me twenty good old pounds with mixer, with a lemon wedge plonked in for good luck. In a club that money could barely stretch to two rounds, and I had whole lotta rum for my money. Bargain. The only tall weirdos that will get in my view are not really that tall and already live with me. There’s no sweaty encounters with drunken acquaintances and the restroom is free of gross uninhibited strangers and features a clean porcelain toilet to use at my desecration. This is the life!

My conclusion is this, while ‘Rona has changed every person’s life this year, we have to find the silver lining. I have enough gig experience to tide me over, I can wait, it ain’t gonna be forever, and while I wait I try and look at the positives. Don’t get me wrong, as soon as this is over I will be at ALL the gigs, festivals, raves et al, but until then, pass me a drink and I will party at home in my pyjamas. Of course, I am still watching Netflix but what else have I to do?! Christmas? That’s sorted – bring it on, no unnecessary family trips and extra time in my pants singing “It’s my parrrrrrttttehhh!” Oh, by the way you are not invited…

LD

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