Take Me Away, To A Place Where Good Times Roll

I am 35 years old, at Malkin Bowl on a sunny Saturday night. I’m exhausted. I feel as though I’ve been here forever, waiting for Great Big Sea to take the stage. I’m already cynical and unfair. The crowd is old. Balding men love Great Big Sea. When did this happen? I’m not ready for this realization: that these are the same people who were young, dancing next to me at Great Big Sea concerts 10 years ago. They are old because we are all old.

Even the band is old and I’m rocked by this. They’re pulling songs from my past, as fresh and vibrant as the early concerts, when I pushed my way up front, hoping for a bead of sweat to fall on me. It seems strange to be here in the present with this music. So strange, I find it hard to stay, my mind abandoning the doped up throngs of middle-aged men and peoples’ parents bobbing up and down, hands in the air.

Suddenly I am 24 years old. I am lying on my bed clutching the album he gave me. For time it comes, and time it goes, it makes the strongest tree to bend. It is bittersweet and painfully ominous. I can practically see whatever it is that existed between us disappearing into the night. Love is leaving and I’m dealt the crushing blow of powerlessness, the searing pain of lost love. Kings and Queens have no defence, time brings all things to an end. It is new and cruel and awful and it hurts, it hurts to be alive.

I am 25 years old, huddled at the top of Zobor Mountain while the wind and rain whip around me and lightning streaks across the Danubian Plain. In my pack I have the remnants of the care package I travelled so enthusiastically into the city to collect from the border guards just this morning. Tears and raindrops are running down my face, soothing the new, fist-sized bruise that is throbbing under my eye. I can't bear to return to my sterile room with its ghosts and demons. I prefer to stand alone on this mountain, numb to all but the storm and the grinding of my tapedeck playing the only music the border guards left me. And I was feeling so alone. I was looking for someone or thing to remind me of my home. What I wouldn't give to have somebody nod or wink at me. I am so scared. There are eyes and ears in the walls, strange men lurking in the shadows, fists and shouts that my injured soul can't understand.

I am 26 years old, hurtling through the pitch black night, my sister in the passenger seat. We are driving to meet the rest of our family, already on vacation at Redstone Lake. Midnight has passed long ago and we are delirious with caffeine and chocolate. I've got a smile on my face and I've got four walls around me. Got the sun in the sky all the water surrounds me. My car is zipping across the bridge at Fort Irwin, so narrow it seems that we are skimming the very surface of the water. There are no other cars around. We have the radio turned up full blast, the windows down all the way. We are sharing this moment before our lives branch out and take different directions. At the end of the day, you've just got to say it's alright.

I am 28 years old, standing at the front of the church that raised me, carefully positioning my dad's guitar, his fishing rod, his favourite ball cap, a picture of us. Soon initial bliss will pass, this precious time might be your last. His best friend is telling stories of their childhood, family legends of Newfoundland capers, brand new boots that 'fell' into the outhouse, disappearing bicycle tires and schoolroom pranks. I am full of tears and laughter and comfort. Tried to think of what to say, when words came he'd already gone
I am 30 years old and I've downed nearly 750mL of Raspberry Stolichnaya in the past five hours. Today I was fired. My staff has come to my home and we are having a wake. The room is full of drunk, angry, loud people having a hell of a good time. I've always said 'all the rules are made for bending'. And if I let my hair down, would that be such a crime? Luke and I stand on the balcony and rant. He tells me he is quitting tomorrow - he does. Sean tells me he is going to kick some ass at that place - he does. Sarah tells me she's going to poke endless fun of the VP - she does. I wanna be where nothing needs to matter. It's enough. What a lucky unemployed bitch I am.

I am 32 years old, a bonafide adult in a black suit and heels that I will later regret. I'm standing behind a bank of microphones feeding lines to Canada's 22nd Prime Minister as he shares his opinions on the softwood lumber issue with the press gallery. The lines are mine, but I agree with approximately 0% of what he has to say. I am embarrassed and frustrated and sick of spinning garbage I don't believe in. The Premier glances over, frowns a bit, considers my set face, leans over and whispers "didja have the egg salad or the tuna?" As long as the rivers still run to the seas, hey lucky you, lucky me.
A jolt to my chair from an overzealous fan brings me back to the present. The crowd is shouting for an encore. Great Big Sea, I imagine, is hanging back until it’s just the right time to deliver. Their return to the stage coincides with my return to the present and the venue fills with a roar. Teebs rubs my back and bounces on his toes. Here, and now. The band sings: It's all brand new and it shines right through…

NOTE: This is not a review, so please don't berate me, yell at me, email me, complain to me, question me or otherwise BUG me for not getting the set list right and yadda yadda. If you want a review, go read someone else's blog. Also, the concept for this came from an as yet unpublished article I wrote about another band, but friendship and sweet memories have made me hesitate about tossing that one out to the public (GT, if I ever change my mind about that, you'll be the first to know).