Erasure concert - second half
So, in my last concert post, when I left off Erasure had just finished dedicating and singing Breathe to Karen.
In this entry, you will read about our backstage visit, and Karen's reaction, and my two regrets of the evening.
I had a very detached feeling through most of the concert. In retrospect, I believe this was due to two things. One was that I had been running so hard at home between the packing and working so hard at the clinic, and I was feeling burnt out. When I left for Chicago, it felt like unplugging from the rest of my life, if only for a few days. The second reason was that no matter how awesome it was to be present and listening to Erasure live, I kept thinking that soon we would be able to meet them. Like Karen, Erasure has been my favorite band by far for years, and I always daydreamed about meeting them in person. And like Karen, I never in a million years thought it would actually happen. The thought of such an unlikely event actually happening combined with my already-unplugged feeling made the entire evening rather surreal.
I stayed plugged in long enough to remember a promise I had made to a friend, though. My friend Scott (lj user=pied_piper70) is also an Erasure fan, and recently lost his wife to cancer in February. He is also an accomplished musician. "Chains of Love" has always been "our song"...just for the two of us. It is impossible for me to hear it and not think of him, and he has serenaded me with it twice with his guitar.
Last year at the Nightbird concert, when Erasure began playing "Chains of Love," I decided to call Scott so he could hear it. Last year, I dialed his number and held my phone in the palm of my hand. Of course, I couldn't hear a thing, so I had no idea if he actually picked up, or if he would have a very strange voice mail waiting for him. On the way home in the cab, I decided to call him again to find out if he had heard it.
"Hi. This is Michael. Please leave a message at the sound of the tone." Well, crap on a stick. I had gotten Scott's number wrong, and some dude named Michael out there was probably very confused. When Scott heard about it, he laughed.
And of course, I promised to retry my phone call if/when Erasure played "Chains of Love" this time around. Again, I couldn't hear a thing from the phone. Again, I called Scott the next morning, and he had been able to hear the music...and he said he cried.
After an encore of "A Little Respect," Michael came down to fetch us. We climbed the stairs to the dressing room, with a few pauses to let Karen catch her breath. Between the pain and her abdominal swelling, she had a tough time of it, but managed.
We were greeted not just by Andy and Vince, but by the whole band. They promptly offered us seats, and we chatted for a bit. Karen was just absolutely glowing...I'm sure I was too, but since I couldn't see myself, I don't care too much about that. But seeing Karen so happy was heartlifting.
I will say this once: Part of me was terribly afraid that Vince and Andy, who I admired for years, would turn out to be deluded, egocentric jerks blinded by fame. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Andy and Vince were extremely down-to-earth, kind, and friendly. In fact, everyone who I have had the pleasure of meeting that has been associated with Erare was fantastic, and I am very appreciative and grateful to all of them. It is a wonderful feeling to know that the people who you admire on the camera are just as nice when they're out of the spotlights.
Vince and Blake chatted a bit about music, and Yaz. Vince told him that he must have been about two years old when Yaz was around.
Andy offered us all beverages...water, pop, beer, etc. We all declined. "Well, I'm going to have a beer!" Andy said.
After about thirty seconds I had a "What the hell am I thinking?!" moment. The lead singer of my favorite band just offered me a beer and I turned it down. What the hell? My stomach was a bit jumpy from nerves, but I decided I needed to have a beer on principle alone. After all, it must be a rule out there somewhere...if you pop star boyfriend offers you a beer, you better damn well drink it.
So Andy fetched me a Stella. I was still a little in shock that Andy Bell of Erasure had just fetched me a beer, and asked Blake to take a picture just so I could prove to myself later that this actually had happened.
See? There it is. And yes, I saved the bottle. Yes, I know that's weird. Bite me.
Vince and Andy signed things for all three of us, and they also signed my red Union Street tshirt. When I was holding the shirt for Andy to sign, he instructed me on how to stretch it out, and called it "a wee little thing."
I gave Vince and Andy the thank you cards we had prepared earlier in the evening. I know they weren't much, but it felt appropriate to give them some small token of our appreciation.
I mentioned that I had two regrets from the evening. Well, now we're about to hit the first one. After I gave in and asked for a beer, Andy did the proper host thing and re-offered one to Blake and Karen. Blake has never had an alcoholic drink in his life, and Karen's liver was 85% tumor, so both of them murmured polite no-thank-yous. And Andy, again being the proper host, said, "Are you sure? It's no trouble at all."
At this point, my mouth decided to detach itself from my brain, and before I knew it, I was uttering the words, "What's the matter, Karen? Can't your liver handle a drink?" Karen chuckled a bit.
Now before you go thinking I'm a complete asshole, you have to understand that Blake and Karen had a very honest, direct way of talking about Karen's disease. They joked about it quite often. In fact, not an hour earlier in the lobby of the theater, Blake had told Karen to shut up or he'd punch her in the liver...and both of them laughed. Karen told me earlier that night that after she died, instead of sending Blake signs in white roses or ladybugs, she was just going to send him whores.
So when I teased Karen, it wasn't out of place as far as the three of US were concerned at all; it was just another joking exchange. But as soon as the words popped out of my mouth, I had a moment of sheer horror. "Great," I thought. "Now I'm going to forever be known by my favorite band as the dying chick's asshole friend." And since there was no way to gracefully explain or retract the joke, I had to just let it slip away and fade into the wall.
After about 15 minutes of chatting, pictures, and autographs, Michael said we needed to wrap things up. We said our goodbyes, gave our thanks, and left. Michael took us down the stairs, and Karen was reuinited with her wheelchair. We went outside and looked for a cab to hail.
And here comes the part of the story where I tell you about my second regret of the evening.
When we were looking for a cab, there were still a number of people from the concert milling about the sidewalk, smoking. As we came up, they naturally turned to tactfully check out the girl in the wheelchair. Blake hailed a cab, and Karen stood up so Blake could fold the wheelchair up and place it in the trunk.
I was well aware that there were about twenty sets of eyes looking at us, and that there were probably twenty thought processes silently going, "Dude...the wheelchair chick just stood up.
Knowing those eyes were upon us, it took every ounce of restraint I had not to smack Karen in the forehead with the palm of my hand, faith-healer style, and shout out, "HEALED! WITNESS THE POWER OF ERASURE!"
And that is my second regret of the evening. I told Blake and Karen about my supreme act of resistance in the cab, and they both agreed that I totally, absolutely, should have done it.
We got back to their hotel, and decided to have a bite to eat. We made arrangements to go to the Museum of Contemporary Art the next day, as all three of us are huge fans of that particular museum, and became members last April. After a short dinner at a nearby restaurant, I grabbed the rail back to the apartment for sleep, knowing I'd see them the next day.
Unfortunately, the rest of the story was not so happy. Karen, who had had some pretty major bloating issues due to her albumin level, and when my cell phone showed Blake's number the next morning, I picked up the phone expecting him to say, "Meet us at the museum in 45 minutes." Instead, I learned that Karen had fared far worse overnight, and after a call to her oncologist's office, she needed to go back to Rockford immediately and most likely be admitted.
So I never got to see them the next afternoon. I got a little choked up after Blake and I hung up, because I hadn't realized the night before was the last time I'd ever see Karen. But after a few minutes, I began to realize that it was probably much better that way. Karen was never one for big goodbyes or a death march of visitors, and if it was the last time I got to see a friend, it was a hell of a last way to see her. Happy, glowing, sharing one of the best nights of my lives...that would be a great memory of her. I only wish that others had the opportunity to have that great of a last experience with a friend. Sure, I was disappointed that I wasn't going to be able to spend the day with them, but this way my goodbye was the goodbye between friends who would see each other soon.
I didn't know at the time that I would see her again shortly before she died. While I am glad I got to be there and I'm glad I got to see her, part of me wishes that I hadn't. She looked so different from when I had seen her just three short weeks earlier. I'm glad I was able to provide Blake with a bit of friendship and support, and I'm glad I got to say hi to Karen, but a dark part of me wishes that my last memory of her would have been hugging and saying, "I'll see you tomorrow!" at the hotel after the concert.
I left by bus for St. Paul on Saturday, and on the way up, I listened to a lot of Erasure. I listened to Breathe. I stared out the window. I felt the weight of my return to normal life and all my pending tasks like a lodestone around my neck. I cried.
On Monday, I called a florist and arranged to have a bouquet of wildflowers sent to Tonya and Tracey from myself, Blake, and Karen. I had gotten to thank Michael, Vince, and Andy in person for all they had done, but I felt strongly that these two women were left out. They were left at home while their husbands (Vince and Michael) were away, and I know that Vince hates being on tour. This whole chain of events happened because Tracey and Tonya opened their hearts to us, and I am forever grateful that that one isolated cause led to a night of joy for Karen.
I instructed the florist to write on the card, "Thank you for everything. We have no words. PS - Hope the flowers aren't too stalkerish." The person who took my order had a heavy accent, so hopefully she got the message right. I spelled out "stalkerish" and everything, so here's hoping.
Last week, I listened to Breathe again. I found that instead of the bitterness and beauty I heard in it as I wept on my way home, I found myself filled with joy at the memory of such a wonderful event in my life. I don't think I'll ever be able to listen to that song again without thinking of Karen, and without feeling joyful.
A few entries back, I mentioned Orson Scott Card's writings. Another thing that he wrote during one of his book introductions is how he thought that the true creation of a story happens not when the author writes, but when the reader internalizes the book and makes it part of their own story. He fervently hoped that readers who he touched would think of his work as a new creation that the two of them made together.
Now this may sound corny, but I don't think there's any possible way for me to think otherwise about Breathe. Erasure took a song, and I listened to it that night, and through that process, the song changed. It is a new thing, a collaboration, between myself and the band. Every time I hear it, I will marvel at the way this song came into creation. Better than any remix, that song has a unique meaning in my life now, one of joy, one of celebration.
We make beautiful work, Erasure and I.
Unfortunately, you know th rest of the story. Karen was in the hospital for over a week, came home briefly, and was readmitted last Monday. She died early Sunday morning. Because I was at work during the time of Blake's post and was unable to check Livejournal, I actually learned about her death first through email correspondence with Tonya, who has become a silent yet avid reader of Blake's. When I read her email, my first thought was relief. My second thought was, "My God. Karen continues even now to touch lives."
This whole night came about because I sent an email to Erasure thanking them for everything that they gave me over the years. Because of them, I had the joy of their music, two dear friends in my life, and memories from the Nightbird concert that helped lift my spirits when Karen was so ill in December. And in thanking them, they gave me more to be thankful for...the unlikely friendship of Tonya, a new night of memories, and a new song.
In this entry, you will read about our backstage visit, and Karen's reaction, and my two regrets of the evening.
I had a very detached feeling through most of the concert. In retrospect, I believe this was due to two things. One was that I had been running so hard at home between the packing and working so hard at the clinic, and I was feeling burnt out. When I left for Chicago, it felt like unplugging from the rest of my life, if only for a few days. The second reason was that no matter how awesome it was to be present and listening to Erasure live, I kept thinking that soon we would be able to meet them. Like Karen, Erasure has been my favorite band by far for years, and I always daydreamed about meeting them in person. And like Karen, I never in a million years thought it would actually happen. The thought of such an unlikely event actually happening combined with my already-unplugged feeling made the entire evening rather surreal.
I stayed plugged in long enough to remember a promise I had made to a friend, though. My friend Scott (lj user=pied_piper70) is also an Erasure fan, and recently lost his wife to cancer in February. He is also an accomplished musician. "Chains of Love" has always been "our song"...just for the two of us. It is impossible for me to hear it and not think of him, and he has serenaded me with it twice with his guitar.
Last year at the Nightbird concert, when Erasure began playing "Chains of Love," I decided to call Scott so he could hear it. Last year, I dialed his number and held my phone in the palm of my hand. Of course, I couldn't hear a thing, so I had no idea if he actually picked up, or if he would have a very strange voice mail waiting for him. On the way home in the cab, I decided to call him again to find out if he had heard it.
"Hi. This is Michael. Please leave a message at the sound of the tone." Well, crap on a stick. I had gotten Scott's number wrong, and some dude named Michael out there was probably very confused. When Scott heard about it, he laughed.
And of course, I promised to retry my phone call if/when Erasure played "Chains of Love" this time around. Again, I couldn't hear a thing from the phone. Again, I called Scott the next morning, and he had been able to hear the music...and he said he cried.
After an encore of "A Little Respect," Michael came down to fetch us. We climbed the stairs to the dressing room, with a few pauses to let Karen catch her breath. Between the pain and her abdominal swelling, she had a tough time of it, but managed.
We were greeted not just by Andy and Vince, but by the whole band. They promptly offered us seats, and we chatted for a bit. Karen was just absolutely glowing...I'm sure I was too, but since I couldn't see myself, I don't care too much about that. But seeing Karen so happy was heartlifting.
I will say this once: Part of me was terribly afraid that Vince and Andy, who I admired for years, would turn out to be deluded, egocentric jerks blinded by fame. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Andy and Vince were extremely down-to-earth, kind, and friendly. In fact, everyone who I have had the pleasure of meeting that has been associated with Erare was fantastic, and I am very appreciative and grateful to all of them. It is a wonderful feeling to know that the people who you admire on the camera are just as nice when they're out of the spotlights.
Vince and Blake chatted a bit about music, and Yaz. Vince told him that he must have been about two years old when Yaz was around.
Andy offered us all beverages...water, pop, beer, etc. We all declined. "Well, I'm going to have a beer!" Andy said.
After about thirty seconds I had a "What the hell am I thinking?!" moment. The lead singer of my favorite band just offered me a beer and I turned it down. What the hell? My stomach was a bit jumpy from nerves, but I decided I needed to have a beer on principle alone. After all, it must be a rule out there somewhere...if you pop star boyfriend offers you a beer, you better damn well drink it.
So Andy fetched me a Stella. I was still a little in shock that Andy Bell of Erasure had just fetched me a beer, and asked Blake to take a picture just so I could prove to myself later that this actually had happened.
See? There it is. And yes, I saved the bottle. Yes, I know that's weird. Bite me.
Vince and Andy signed things for all three of us, and they also signed my red Union Street tshirt. When I was holding the shirt for Andy to sign, he instructed me on how to stretch it out, and called it "a wee little thing."
I gave Vince and Andy the thank you cards we had prepared earlier in the evening. I know they weren't much, but it felt appropriate to give them some small token of our appreciation.
I mentioned that I had two regrets from the evening. Well, now we're about to hit the first one. After I gave in and asked for a beer, Andy did the proper host thing and re-offered one to Blake and Karen. Blake has never had an alcoholic drink in his life, and Karen's liver was 85% tumor, so both of them murmured polite no-thank-yous. And Andy, again being the proper host, said, "Are you sure? It's no trouble at all."
At this point, my mouth decided to detach itself from my brain, and before I knew it, I was uttering the words, "What's the matter, Karen? Can't your liver handle a drink?" Karen chuckled a bit.
Now before you go thinking I'm a complete asshole, you have to understand that Blake and Karen had a very honest, direct way of talking about Karen's disease. They joked about it quite often. In fact, not an hour earlier in the lobby of the theater, Blake had told Karen to shut up or he'd punch her in the liver...and both of them laughed. Karen told me earlier that night that after she died, instead of sending Blake signs in white roses or ladybugs, she was just going to send him whores.
So when I teased Karen, it wasn't out of place as far as the three of US were concerned at all; it was just another joking exchange. But as soon as the words popped out of my mouth, I had a moment of sheer horror. "Great," I thought. "Now I'm going to forever be known by my favorite band as the dying chick's asshole friend." And since there was no way to gracefully explain or retract the joke, I had to just let it slip away and fade into the wall.
After about 15 minutes of chatting, pictures, and autographs, Michael said we needed to wrap things up. We said our goodbyes, gave our thanks, and left. Michael took us down the stairs, and Karen was reuinited with her wheelchair. We went outside and looked for a cab to hail.
And here comes the part of the story where I tell you about my second regret of the evening.
When we were looking for a cab, there were still a number of people from the concert milling about the sidewalk, smoking. As we came up, they naturally turned to tactfully check out the girl in the wheelchair. Blake hailed a cab, and Karen stood up so Blake could fold the wheelchair up and place it in the trunk.
I was well aware that there were about twenty sets of eyes looking at us, and that there were probably twenty thought processes silently going, "Dude...the wheelchair chick just stood up.
Knowing those eyes were upon us, it took every ounce of restraint I had not to smack Karen in the forehead with the palm of my hand, faith-healer style, and shout out, "HEALED! WITNESS THE POWER OF ERASURE!"
And that is my second regret of the evening. I told Blake and Karen about my supreme act of resistance in the cab, and they both agreed that I totally, absolutely, should have done it.
We got back to their hotel, and decided to have a bite to eat. We made arrangements to go to the Museum of Contemporary Art the next day, as all three of us are huge fans of that particular museum, and became members last April. After a short dinner at a nearby restaurant, I grabbed the rail back to the apartment for sleep, knowing I'd see them the next day.
Unfortunately, the rest of the story was not so happy. Karen, who had had some pretty major bloating issues due to her albumin level, and when my cell phone showed Blake's number the next morning, I picked up the phone expecting him to say, "Meet us at the museum in 45 minutes." Instead, I learned that Karen had fared far worse overnight, and after a call to her oncologist's office, she needed to go back to Rockford immediately and most likely be admitted.
So I never got to see them the next afternoon. I got a little choked up after Blake and I hung up, because I hadn't realized the night before was the last time I'd ever see Karen. But after a few minutes, I began to realize that it was probably much better that way. Karen was never one for big goodbyes or a death march of visitors, and if it was the last time I got to see a friend, it was a hell of a last way to see her. Happy, glowing, sharing one of the best nights of my lives...that would be a great memory of her. I only wish that others had the opportunity to have that great of a last experience with a friend. Sure, I was disappointed that I wasn't going to be able to spend the day with them, but this way my goodbye was the goodbye between friends who would see each other soon.
I didn't know at the time that I would see her again shortly before she died. While I am glad I got to be there and I'm glad I got to see her, part of me wishes that I hadn't. She looked so different from when I had seen her just three short weeks earlier. I'm glad I was able to provide Blake with a bit of friendship and support, and I'm glad I got to say hi to Karen, but a dark part of me wishes that my last memory of her would have been hugging and saying, "I'll see you tomorrow!" at the hotel after the concert.
I left by bus for St. Paul on Saturday, and on the way up, I listened to a lot of Erasure. I listened to Breathe. I stared out the window. I felt the weight of my return to normal life and all my pending tasks like a lodestone around my neck. I cried.
On Monday, I called a florist and arranged to have a bouquet of wildflowers sent to Tonya and Tracey from myself, Blake, and Karen. I had gotten to thank Michael, Vince, and Andy in person for all they had done, but I felt strongly that these two women were left out. They were left at home while their husbands (Vince and Michael) were away, and I know that Vince hates being on tour. This whole chain of events happened because Tracey and Tonya opened their hearts to us, and I am forever grateful that that one isolated cause led to a night of joy for Karen.
I instructed the florist to write on the card, "Thank you for everything. We have no words. PS - Hope the flowers aren't too stalkerish." The person who took my order had a heavy accent, so hopefully she got the message right. I spelled out "stalkerish" and everything, so here's hoping.
Last week, I listened to Breathe again. I found that instead of the bitterness and beauty I heard in it as I wept on my way home, I found myself filled with joy at the memory of such a wonderful event in my life. I don't think I'll ever be able to listen to that song again without thinking of Karen, and without feeling joyful.
A few entries back, I mentioned Orson Scott Card's writings. Another thing that he wrote during one of his book introductions is how he thought that the true creation of a story happens not when the author writes, but when the reader internalizes the book and makes it part of their own story. He fervently hoped that readers who he touched would think of his work as a new creation that the two of them made together.
Now this may sound corny, but I don't think there's any possible way for me to think otherwise about Breathe. Erasure took a song, and I listened to it that night, and through that process, the song changed. It is a new thing, a collaboration, between myself and the band. Every time I hear it, I will marvel at the way this song came into creation. Better than any remix, that song has a unique meaning in my life now, one of joy, one of celebration.
We make beautiful work, Erasure and I.
Unfortunately, you know th rest of the story. Karen was in the hospital for over a week, came home briefly, and was readmitted last Monday. She died early Sunday morning. Because I was at work during the time of Blake's post and was unable to check Livejournal, I actually learned about her death first through email correspondence with Tonya, who has become a silent yet avid reader of Blake's. When I read her email, my first thought was relief. My second thought was, "My God. Karen continues even now to touch lives."
This whole night came about because I sent an email to Erasure thanking them for everything that they gave me over the years. Because of them, I had the joy of their music, two dear friends in my life, and memories from the Nightbird concert that helped lift my spirits when Karen was so ill in December. And in thanking them, they gave me more to be thankful for...the unlikely friendship of Tonya, a new night of memories, and a new song.