| ...... |
We rolled into Kamloops, driving from Victoria with Def Leppard blaring from the speakers all the way, at 3:30 p.m. on the day of the concert. We checked into the hotel, threw our stuff in our room (no Leps here; the place was booked for—get this—a miners’ convention on Saturday and the Rocky Mountaineer railroad tour group on the Sunday), then hiked down to the arena to take our chances at a glimpse of anyone famous. We found more than we expected. A couple of monster trucks carrying stage equipment were there, and so were the tour buses. I mean the tour buses; 4 of them, huge, gleaming white and licensed in Mississippi. Mississippi? Here we were in Canada, confronted with a British rock band’s tour convoy that was licensed in the US. It’s a small world. Two were parked at the staff entrance at the back of the arena. We kept a respectable distance, but no one was around save for a lone fan from Hope, who was staking out the first bus from the top of the path. Ter was a few paces ahead, closer to what turned out to be the fabled Attack Bus. I say this with all certainty because Terri came around the rear of the bus and found herself face to face with Joe Elliott. They both spooked; he shot onto the bus and she blundered away to gasp at me, "That was Joe Elliott!" Stunned by the sight of a legend in the flesh, I replied, "That’s right." Hm. Dilemma. Ter was in shock, but I figured he couldn’t stay on the bus forever so, without a conscious thought and less of an idea of what to do once I had him, I headed back to the bus. He’d just come out again, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed—and possibly had—shaggy as hell and not taking an interest in anything but the coffee cup in one hand and his luggage in the other. I croak, "Excuse me?" He ignores me. 2 arena goons appear. I follow Joe around to the front of the bus; he still ignores me. His head is down, eyes averted—not interested. He might have been had I been able to say his name, but I choked. I could not for the life of me get a three letter, single syllable proper pronoun from my brain to my mouth before it was, to quote a lyric, too late. He and the goons disappeared through the door and I, a player in the gold medal game, was left holding the silver. I mean, I’d seen the man for real and at close range, which I had hoped to do though I never expected to. Fantasy clashing with reality was what caused the freeze, I’m sure. Terri is walking off her shock. She’s survived eye contact with a completely unprepared rock star; the image I got from her description was of confronting a cougar in an urban environment. I chat with the fan from Hope, then Terri comes to claim the disposable camera we’ve forgotten we brought. Off she goes to snap a few pictures of the bus. Only security has been beefed up since our muffed terrorist attack on Joe, and a guy approaches her to ask what she’s up to. "You know," he says, following the script, "no one has shown up, yet." Terri, who resents the assumption that blond hair, big blue eyes and a winsome smile must make her gullible, gives him a wry glance and says, "I beg to differ. I’ve just seen him." (Can’t you hear the capital H?) Bettered but not beaten, the guys smirks. "You’re just taking pictures of the bus?" "Yes," she says. "Just a few of the bus." He relents, but asks that she come no closer as they’ve been told by the Leps’ people to keep everyone away. Terri agrees, grateful that the camera was not confiscated. Those eyes and that smile also come in quite handy. We wandered around to the side of the arena and parked on the stairs for a bit. Train track runs parallel to the property; the CN station is practically next door. On the far sided of the tracks is a park, and a trio of the Kamloops Mounted Patrol was scouting the area, riding a black, a chestnut and a skittish bay. I remarked to Ter that maybe the bay sensed the approaching train. Ter looked at me and said, "That’s not a train. Those are drums." Sure enough, the soundcheck had started. Holy cow. The stairs are vibrating on the downbeat. Then the bass starts thundering, the guitars starts wailing and Joe starts howling. "Promises" first, "Two Steps" next, and an unexpected bonus: "Let It Go". It took us a couple of seconds to figure out the last one, as it’s fairly common knowledge that "Promises" and "Two Steps" are the soundcheck numbers. Joe threw in a few bars of AC/DC too—we heard "You Shook Me (All Night Long)" just for the heck of it. We came away from that feeling pretty happy. For three songs, we had the Leps all to ourselves and it was really cool. Way more than we’d hoped for, and a good start to the proceedings. Our seats at the show were better than we’d imagined. We were on the aisle of row 7, 20 feet from Phil’s side of the stage, right by the in/out gate. Floor seats are not an option when your best friend is five foot four—this became a problem in Vancouver—so we always try for the best seats in the bowl. Internet, as we discovered in Vancouver, is not always the way to go. Anyway, there was loads of leg room here, no idiots across the aisle, and 4 empty seats between Terri and her nearest neighbour. We were pretty much isolated in our little pocket. There was a row of folks in front of us who downed three beers apiece before Ricky Warwick appeared to open the show. They turned out to be pretty good, except that the guy directly in front of me eventually earned the nickname "Mr. Fisty". Malvin came out to introduce Ricky and told a little story about their last visit to Kelowna, when Phil’s bag had been stolen by "a fucking crook" called Billy Elliott (a distant relative of Joe’s, no doubt). Ricky was actually pretty good; 5 songs with naught but a guitar and Viv’s backup on the single off the album. I saw Viv come out of the gate prior to joining Rick onstage; cast in silhouette, he was small and very slender, with curly hair that had me wondering, "Who’s the girl?". Rory must be back in school, as Ricky’s beer was brought out by a simpering bimbo instead of a fifteen year old kid. And what is it about a rock band that turns a normal young woman into an 80s reject from an early Bon Jovi video? Her intro was negligible, but since her radio station sponsored the group, she had to step up and do her thing. I thought Judy Jetson hairdos and off the shoulder sweaters went out with the birth of Nirvana. Wrong-o! During the break, the PA played the Stones, AC/DC, Motley Crue (I think), then during Queen’s "We Will Rock You", a roadie comes up and plants a white mike stand centrestage. Ter nudges me. "The boss’s mike stand," she says. It’s almost 8:30 p.m. Gary Glitter’s "Rock ‘n Roll Part II" is playing.. Then the lights dip and "Disintegration" starts up. The crowd follows suit. The lights dim. I look to my right, to the in/out gate where people are emerging from the belly of the arena: Phil, Rick Allen . . . and Joe, "the Lion King" Elliott, moving fast and faster so that he leaps up the stairs to hit the stage running. Sav and Viv are already there (where the heck did they come from???); Sav’s hair is white ash and moppy, but he’s looking fit and fine, woo hoo. But Joe is the king and that’s not easily denied. They started with "Let It Go", a high-octane rocker from the High N Dry album that set the pace for the whole show. Funny thing about the lyric for that song; it’s flagrantly sexist and sexual and, sung by a 20 year old, makes me roll my eyes. Sung by a 44 year old man, it should be embarrassing. It’s not. It’s a testament to Joe’s charisma that he can belt it out and have grown women (well, 2, anyway) shaking at the knees. "Rock Rock" was next; not my favourite song, and I hoped they would drop it in favour of "Stagefright" in Vancouver. "Make Love Like a Man" was a hoot, ‘cause it sort of picks up where "Let It Go" leaves off. It’s a top 5 favourite of mine and gave me great joy to sing backup with the boys—and Joe’s solo on the last line was mesmerizing: he held a single note for so long and so steadily that you started screaming with him. To anyone who claims he’s losing his voice, it was proof that he’s not. He can still hit and hold those notes. Then they did "Bringing’ on the Heartbreak", straight off the album and slipping into "Switch 625", which gave Sav his moment in the spotlight, centrestage, alone with the throbbing bass before the guitars kicked in. Rick’s drum solo at the end was blistering. What do you say about Rick Savage? I am never prepared for how beautiful he is in the flesh. Pictures don’t hold a candle to the real item, and that’s not to say that his photos aren’t breathtaking, because they are. He’s just got a face that 3D elevates to celestial. And he flirts with the crowd, teasing and sashaying around the stage, lifting his hair from his brow and pumping those hips—that move he makes when he’s not actually playing, when the bass gets pushed aside and the weight gets braced on his near thigh . . .yikes and thud. I’d smuggled a camera into the show but was afraid to bring it out too soon in case it got snatched, otherwise I’d have blown the whole film on Sav’s occasional forays to our side of the stage. Phil was great. He lost his shirt by the fifth song ("Foolin’) and played the rest of the set in his black jeans and big boots. He cuts a cool figure as he plays, and we were close enough to catch the light glancing off the gold rings in his ear. He’s so joyous; he waves and hi-fives and thumbs-ups the crowd—he makes you feel like he’s playing for you alone and the hell with the other 9,999 fans in the crowd. Viv, unfortunately, retains his "new guy" status and, for me anyway, lacks the fire and flair for performing that Phil has. He’s a good, solid guitarist, but I’m usually looking around him for a glimpse of Phil, Sav or Joe. Speaking of Joe, you’d think that such a powerful start would signal a steady decrease of energy as the show progresses, but the man only gets stronger. His voice gets ragged toward the end, but his aura becomes a corona that blazes ever closer to supernova; it’s a dazzling reversal of physical law. Heh. Maybe that image of immortality is no image, after all. He singled a guy out prior to inviting—er, ordering the crowd to join the band on "Two Steps Behind"; he pointed that long index finger at a face on the floor and said, "What’s wrong with you? You’ve done nothing since we came out here!" Then he grumbles, "He must have got in for free." Moving on, he tells the crowd that, for the next song, he wants us all—"Even you," he growls, aiming that fingertip a second time—to join the band. Fortunately, I know every syllable to every song, so it’s no hardship to obey His Majesty’s command. He spent the whole show storming from side to side of the stage, orchestrating the audience response, and by God, when he looks at you and lifts his arms skyward, you scream for him. You’ll do damn near anything for him, he’s that strong a force of nature It’s almost a breather when he steps back for a guitar solo. Terri spied him during such a moment, taking a second while out of the spotlight to spread his arms along the bank of Marshalls behind Phil to stretch his spine and arch his neck. I sort of glimpsed the silhouette, but Sav had wandered over and when that boy smiles, lightning flashes. Sitting by the offstage antics is a great spot to get an idea of how the staff operate during a show. I caught Malvin and Phil’s guitar tech in the funniest exchange—during "Now", little Malvin and this big Norwegian-looking guy poured themselves a drink, toasted each other, tossed the cups aside like Greeks at a wedding, then indulged themselves in a hilarious heartfelt embrace. My disposable Lep song is "Women", but I sang along anyway, because the hook is infectious and Joe was cruising for layabouts again. I’d have snapped a contraband photo of Sav and Rick on the drum riser during the "Rocket" bridge (Joe sang a riff from the Who’s "My Generation". No "Radar Love" in ‘LoopsL )except that Mr. Fisty in front of me chose that precise moment to punch the air, thus eliminating my view. Punch this, buster. During the intro for "Rock of Ages", Joe talked a bit about their first step on Canadian soil 20 years ago, saying if they’d known it would be this good, they would have come sooner. Then a shirt gets flung up on stage. Joe pads over, checks it out and says, "You guys a have a great sense of humour. This shirt says ‘I slept with Def Leppard and all I got was this lousy t-shirt’. The sad thing is that a guy threw it up here. That’s too fucking weird!" Then he got Rick to do the intro for "Rock of Ages" and we all sang backup for him again. He said the crowd was great; halfway through the set, he praised us for already outshouting the previous night’s gang in Prince George. He wanted us to be the loudest Canadian crowd so far—a challenge, he added wryly, at which Prince George "failed miserably". We must have impressed them; when they reappeared for the encore, Sav stepped up and said we’d been amazing, which set off another round of mindless screaming. He almost got hauled into the crowd during one of his hand-holding efforts, and lightning flashed again when he grinned. He and Joe are the moon and the sun, you know. Equally mesmerizing for totally different reasons. After the encore, when the band finally left the stage (they spent so much time waving good bye and Joe blowing kisses that I feared Malvin would have to get the hook), Terri was hanging out by the railing at the out gate as they trooped by. Phil sprang up to hi-five the guy a step down from her, then Joe glanced up, caught her eye, smirked enough to punch the legendary dimple in his left cheek, and sauntered out of sight. Until Tuesday.....Vancouver here we come! |
 |
 |
| Here’s the Sunday set list: Disintegration Let It Go Rock Rock Make Love Like a Man Bringin’ on the Heartbreak Switch 625 Foolin’ Hysteria Too Late for Love Slang Four Letter Word Promises Two Steps Behind Now Women Rocket (w/My Generation) Photograph Animal Armageddon It Pour Some Sugar on Me Rock of Ages Encore: Love Bites Let’s Get Rocked |
 |
| ..... |