Through the Haze....Chapter 1.
The boss has been on me to update the blog more frequently. Between the Facebooks, and the Twitters, and trying to keep things together on the radio...true enough...El Bloggo has been a little neglected.
I'm lifting this idea from my friend Ian, who has Facebooked a spectacular collection of concert ticket stubs and photos from Saint John and beyond. Through countless moves over the years, the one thing I've managed not to throw out or lose is a box of old ticket stubs. Each of them tells a story, and over the next few entries, Gramps Bedell will regale one and all with some of the (hopefully) more interesting ones.
Might as well start at the beginning with the first rock show of any real magnitude that I attended...Spring 1984 in Saint John.
I, along with my friends Brian and Tim, plopped down the princely sum of $7.50 each (2 hours work at Champlain Heights Irving), and piled into Brian's ancient Dodge Rambler. Being underage in Saint John, not exactly a rock Mecca, left us with the prospect of not seeing another rock show for...maybe...ever, so we certainly weren't about to miss this.
Our uniforms, more or less, were jeans and black leather jackets. Brian was going through a punk phase, while Tim and I edged toward the metal side of the street. Tim actually played bass in a band at the time, playing with Razorboy a few years later, and eventually with Trooper and Prism. He looked the coolest of all of us, and probably still does.
We all managed to find musical middle ground with Billy Idol. In fact, every time I hear Rebel Yell, I'm instantly transported back to these days, although it's not the same without the cassette hiss just before Steve Stevens'guitar kicks in, and threatens to blow out the Rambler's rear window.
An outdoor show in Saint John...what are the odds that there might be a bit of fog? Oy. The only way to see anything was to park about ten feet away from the stage, and huddle together with the other tired, hungry (and stinky) masses.
After an unmemorable Pink Floyd tribute, came Teenage Head.
The late great Frankie Venom was sporting a massive black eye, and their bass player didn't even open his eyes from the first three songs of the set. They were loud, full of attitude, and clearly didn't give a crap. In other words, they were perfect.
Being 16 year-old metalheads, though, the main event was yet to come.
I was saying the other day that for all the slagging the 80s seems to take as far as music and fashion (justifiably so, in a lot of cases), the women looked marvelous. I don't think any of us fully recovered from a big-haired, spandexed Lee Aaron from the Metal Queen era. I know for a fact that Tim was never the same.
I've talked to her a number of times over the years, and she could not have been sweeter. I talked to her a couple years back at Casino Nova Scotia, and she still looks unbelievable. This is from the old Q studios in Dartmouth....1991-ish. That's my future wife on the far left...yes, I have a thing for dark-eyed brunettes!