Many people would be more excited to see bands like The Script, Muse and the Foo Fighters nowadays. I have absolutely no time for them. Most of my favorite music doesn't come from today; a clear evidence of that is the fact that I am still a vinyl buyer - I have bought some real gems in the past that wouldn't even be issued on CD anymore.
Well, one of my favorite bands is Blondie. I have loved them since I was seventeen; I came across them in the crummiest of ways.
During that school year, I had virtually no life. I used to get with this Australian girl called Scarlett, and she was very sweet, she was one of those girls who talk a lot, and that suits me fine, cos sometimes I just like to listen. Anyways, apart from her, I used to go to a drama group but never did much apart from studying to get enough points at the Leaving Cert for the college course I ended up doing. My father had this box of tapes that hadn't been listened to in years. I never really found anything that interested me much, but that is how I learned to listen to albums properly whether they were good or not, and really helped me shape a varied taste in music.
Anyways, one of those tapes was this blank tape with no case and no title on it. On the morning of my first exam, I threw it in my walkman and headed towards the school.
A phone ringing, once, twice - then Debbie's voice, in a monotone howl, beginning to express a bored frustration at a boy that wouldn't answer her call. The music kicked in a few moments later, and it was punk, with a raw guitar sound, exciting rhythm section and a poppy keyboard.
It was only when it got to Heart of Glass that I realised it must have been Blondie; I had heard the song before, but of course I thought Blondie was the name of the girl and not the name of the band. Furthermore, because back then I had no wide access to the internet, I didn't know much about them and thought other people wouldn't have either, so I treated them like some obscure discovery I had made.
I listened to that tape so much that it fuelled my dreams of starting a band - and I would do it for the first time only a few months later.
For the next while I kept carrying that walkman in my bag because it was the only way I could listen to Parallel Lines. Imagine my excitement when, a few months after I discovered them, I heard that they would come to Galway for the arts festival, to celebrate the anniversary of the release of that album!
Back then I had no money. I also used to fight fiercely with my parents - I still do, but around that time their money was my only money, though I hated to ask them for it. The ticket cost about 40 euro. I grind my teeth and clenched my fists and asked my parents for the money. I was surprised when they agreed to get it for me.
After buying the ticket, I walked to the town square where my friends were and could not think straight. I sat under a tree, opened the envelope and stared at the ticket for at least half an hour, ignoring anyone that tried to start a conversation with me (although that's not something I rarely do!) My heart was broken when only a few days later, after coming home drunk and an emotional mess, my parents informed me that we would be leaving for 'official family reasons' to go to Italy on the day of the concert.
It seemed like they had done it on purpose. I would be forced to go on this Italian trip and miss a band that had become one of my favourite and one of the most important for me. I had begun to consider Debbie Harry the most attractive woman that ever lived, and even started to mimic a lot of her stage poses in my band's gigs - which sounds stranger than it actually is.
2008 turned out to be a terrible year - I was frustrated by college and so disappointed by it that I dropped out for a month, my love life was absolutely half hearted and forgettable, my parents and I fought every day and I had to give my Blondie ticket away to a friend, sure that I would never get another chance to see them again.
Three years later, a few months ago, I open up the papers, and read what I thought could never have happened. Blondie to play the same venue, at the same festival. I stared at the article with eyes wide open...
In three years, my love for Blondie had only increased. I bought their records, I found out more about them, and my love for Debbie Harry became one of those facts that most people know about me. I learned to appreciate Chris Stein's amazing guitar skills, Clem Burke's exciting drumming (with stick flying in the air during performances) and admired the band's guts in letting themselves be influenced by genres like disco, reggae and rap a well as being a kick ass pop punk band before pop punk became utter shit (ahem, from Green Day to the bloomin' Jonas Brothers).
...I got up off the seat and for the first time in weeks realised how great it was to finally have money.
Holding a ticket in my hands, I remembered what it had felt like three years ago. A week from the concert, I was a nervous as if I would have played on stage with them. I got so excited I genuinely thought that as soon as I saw the band walk to the stage I would either start crying (like Take That fans in the early nineties) or just faint (Beatlemania style). I hoped one of my very few true friends would come to the gig with me, but when it got to the day, and the butterflies in my stomach had multiplied, it was clear that if I was going to go with a friend, I would have to pay for the ticket - which is what I ended up doing. Now at least I would be safe...somewhat.
We avoided the weak support act and got in just as they finished. We had to wait half an hour before the band looked like they were about to walk on. But guess what...I missed them walking in! I was bursting to go to the toilets, so I left, thinking there was no chance they would walk in while I was in the toilet if they hadn't done so yet.
I think that's what saved me. Blondie had already started playing Union City Blue when I made my way through the audience. Debbie had wonderful platinum blonde hair and wore a pair of cheap sunglasses. Chris looked like Andy Warhol's long lost brother (mind you, a look he is probably going for). Clem Burke still looked like Clem Burke, plus a beer belly - but the sticks were still flying in the air.
My jaw had automatically dropped. I had prepared myself to a disappointment. These guys are hitting their seventies - Debbie is 66 for crying out loud. Well, the gig hardly reached the one hour length I think (either that or it just seemed short to me) but they were in top shape. They even did a killer cover of You Gotta Fight For Your Right to Party, they had the place shaking...I mean, these guys are hitting their seventies.
At the end of their encore, Heart of Glass (Debbie walked on, much to my relief, saying 'we can't leave without playing Heart of Glass). This is where my brain started playing tricks on me. After I sang every single word in the song, Clem started started the huge build-up leading to the ending and I stared in awe, amazement and devotion at one of my heroes, Debbie Harry. Almost without knowing it, I found myself blowing her a kiss in the most traditional of ways while she looked in the general direction in which I was standing, before just as I had finished, I dropped my eyes almost embarrassed ('did I really do that? I thought...'). When I lifted my eyes up again, I swear to god, she was still looking over at us, and blew a kiss in what I though was my direction!! I don't know whether my mind was playing tricks on me, it probably was - but that was a moment that kept playing in my mind for the next days, and still has be staring into space whenever I think about it.
I stood around the area for more than an hour trying to get an opportunity to meet the band. Bought the t-shirt and the buttons. Stood around the backstage area and some bimbo who looked about fifteen started screaming at the truck driver that she loved Blondie without knowing that Blondie was the name of the band, which got me real mad - four years ago I didn't know better either...
Everyone gave up, my friend had long gone. I realised I was the only one there when the last security guard walked over to me and said in a tone that was far from friendly:
'I hope you're waiting for lift!'
'What's it to ya?' I replied, equally annoyed (I'm always annoyed at people throwing sarcasm in my direction, especially when a bunch of punk new wave rockers I greatly admire are only a few feet away from me and that woman is the only one preventing me to see them...).
'Look, we can't go home until you leave, so I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait for your lift somewhere else'.
I swear I wanted to punch her right in the face, but she looked like she could have had me easy, and the last thing I wanted to do to spoil my night was to end it getting beat up by a girl... haha.
I stood behind a tree not too far, waiting for Blondie's Beat the Street truck to pass by. But after waiting for a very long time, I gave up... It wasn't gonna happen.
You have to understand, I have been to many gigs before. But none had been more important to me than this one. On September, I am going to see Brian Wilson, and that will probably top the most important gigs list then. But seeing Blondie meant a lot to me on so many levels, most of them personal. Most people came as fans on the band, I came as a rock and roll frontman wannabe who was once greatly inspired by their music before I even knew who they were. A lot of people would have thought Debbie extremely attractive back in the day, but I find everything about her appealing to this day - I don't see why I shouldn't either. And while most of the people I know went of wanted to go to Oxygen, for a weekend of non stop music on three stages, all I needed was an hour concert with three of the original members of Blondie to feel like I had been to the most important gig I had ever been to.
That's how much I loved them.
