Dates With the Elderly

As most everyone that knows me is aware, I'm pretty much a total music geek. To this day, I buy quite a bit of music, still go to an occasional concert, and still enjoy finding new music to listen to in my spare 15 minutes a day. Frequently my love of music rubs my wife the wrong way, mostly because I enjoy some pretty noisy bands and she'd rather me spend the money on a more suitable family hobby. To both, I say "Balderdash."

Over the course of the last 15 years, one of the bands that I've followed pretty actively is called Guided By Voices. I became aware of GBV in 1994 when they were sort of the "next big thing" in indie music. Their songs were short, sounded like they came straight out of England circa-1966, and were frequently recorded using the highest fidelity portable tape recorders and wax cylinders available. In other words, they were gloriously noisy.

Over the years, I'd estimate I've seen GBV over 30 times, in part because they're from Dayton, OH which is relatively close to home, so they play in Indianapolis frequently. Erin and I famously spent our New Year's Eve in 2004 attending their "final" concerts in Chicago, an event which lasted about eight hours in total, spread across two evenings.

So imagine my excitement when someone offered GBV a fat wad of cash to go back on the road for one last round last month. I was thrilled at the opportunity to see a band that I love, one last time, so I plunked out $80 for a pair of tickets to a show last week in Bloomington, IN. I heard rumors that the guys in the band weren't necessarily excited about going back on the road, something I didn't really get at the time.

In retrospect, I should have known that buying two tickets was a mistake. After the middle-of-the-night extravaganzas in Chicago a few years ago, I was pretty sure that getting Erin to join me was an impossibility. But if there's one thing Erin detests more than GBV, it's waste. So when we were unable to unload my extra ticket last Friday night, she joined me for the concert.

The whole experience turned out to be a little weird for me. First, as we walked to the club, I noticed that Erin was wearing very hipster sneakers. I commented as such, and she replied "I thought they'd be comfortable, but I really should have brought my orthotics." Discussing your shoe inserts pretty much kills any hipster vibe you might be trying to cultivate.

Prior to the show, we ducked into a cute little restaurant for dinner. I opened my menu and found words like "sprouts," "tofu," and "curd." More like "crud," says I. Somehow wifey had lead me straight into a vegetarian lair. With waters already on the table, I began a sprint for the door, only to hear our malnourished waitress try to yell, "But we have salmon!"

After informing Erin that I wanted a burger on a bun with just a smidgen of blood pooled on the plate, we made our way to a place which not only served me just what I wanted, but did it with a 64 ounce beer. Perfect for concert going.

After dinner, we made our way to the club where we found seats along a wall with a good view of the stage. No way were we standing for three hours. GBV came out and sounded fine, but it just felt...weird. The guys in the band are all over 50 now, and you sort of got the feeling that they would have preferred to be relaxing at home. Plus, I'm not 21 anymore. I kept thinking to myself, "How is it possible that it's 11pm, and they're just starting? I'm exhausted."

In the end, Erin left about an hour in to wait things out at Steak 'n Shake. I left after the main set, missing, as I later found out, about an hour's worth of encores. But for the first time, that didn't bother me. I was tired, I wanted to get home before 3am, and I didn't want to spend the rest of the weekend tired and grouchy.

We got home to the empty house (the kids were with grandparents), Erin curled up with her orthotics, and I plopped into bed and watched a little bit of PBS. And you know what? I was fine with it. I have great memories of all of those concerts, and I still love the music, but I'm suddenly aware that it's 2010 and not 2000. And it's time for somebody else to be 21.