Last night was the long-awaited Fiona Apple concert at
The Backyard, an outdoor venue just a short drive from our abode.
First, for anyone thinking of seeing Fiona Apple, consider this. Either pick a venue with general admission as we did, or get seats close enough to see her face. Otherwise, you are missing 80% of the performance. And do not underestimate her popularity. If you are lucky enough to attend a general admission venue, be prepared to be packed in tight.
We took our place in line before the doors opened at 6:30 so we were fortunate to be among the first several hundred in the gate. I grabbed us a couple of beers and we took our position as close to the stage as possible, about 15 feet back. I had no idea we would soon be locked into position.
One thing we always enjoy about seeing a band for the first time is predicting what the audience will be like. Being in our mid-40s I expected the crowd to be mostly late 20s to early 50s. As we stood in the throng, txrad was first to comment: "I have ear piercings older than most of these kids."
I felt like I was at some large high school function where I didn't know anyone. The upside was that the bar areas were pretty much guaranteed to offer short lines with a crowd this young.
This is Austin, Texas in July. It could have been worse, much worse. But even with temperatures in the low to mid-80s, it was extremely uncomfortable standing in a mass of 98 degree bodies, all exhaling more hot air.
The air was thick and heavy. The occasional aroma of pastrami, patchouli, and Mexican weed would drift over us.
David Garza opened the show. The great (dare I say, "Fiona-esque") songwriter and guitarist was popular with the crowd. Next up was Damien Rice, an Irish songwriter who was worshipped immensely by the youngest in the crowd. I was not familiar with his music, only his name. But anyone who writes about dicks, sex, and masterbation with such eloquence has my vote of confidence!
Damien Rice was so popular that I became delusional and held some hope that the crowd would clear away from the stage after his set. I could not have been more wrong. As soon as his band left the stage, I felt the crowd tighten. My highly-coveted 6-inches of personal space suddenly became 2-inches, and the heat index soared. I murmurred farewell to any hope of having a 2nd beer or a pee unless I wanted to forfeit my prized position.
txrad, being a North Dakota native, doesn't share my heat tolerance, me being a native of the sweltering deep South delta, just across the river from where Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil. However, it was a bit much, even for me.
Fortunately, it was a short wait before Fiona and her band took to the stage. txrad managed to suffer through about 3 songs before retreating to the rear of the amphitheatre for air. Fiona was contorting and wincing, and complaining of the heat. Her magnetic allure proved too much for even me. After an hour of the humid funk, the uncomfortable uncertainty of what Fiona was going to do next, and the raging teenage hormones around me, my libido was tied in a tight knot.
Plus I was absorbing too much angst and becoming irritable. Little did I realize, that was the show.
I mistakenly decided to plow my way out of the mayhem.
I located txrad who seemed to be enjoying the concert more from a distance. He enjoys watching people as well so he was in his element. He told me he had watched two lesbians humping, and had also seen someone hauled away on a stretcher.
But from this distance, Fiona was merely a blur with a familiar voice. I had lost my connection. I began to crave that which I had willingly abandoned. The crowd from our new vantage point was also far less involved. They were hearing the music but certainly were not witnessing the performance. For those people, I'd recommend saving the $50, buy Extraordinary Machine with the DVD footage for $15 and enjoy it for hours. For me, the whole point of seeing Fiona is to experience the brilliant suffering and agony. It was there, in abundance, for those willing to be lacerated.
I'll let you see me,
I'll covet your regard
I'll invade your demeanor
And you'll yield to me
like a scent in the breeze
And you'll wonder what it is about me
It's my big secret -
Keeping you coming
Slow like honey, heavy with mood
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