Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Blondie and Bandy

Straight-legged Deborah
We went to watch the still magnificent Blondie last night at the spanking new Fillmore concert venue just up the road in Silver Spring. Now that I’ve heard Deborah Harry sing Heart Of Glass live, I can die happy. But that’s not the only reason I can head for dead with a smile on my wrinkling face. For the first time in my life, someone truly appreciated the strange shape of my body.

As the Fillmore only opened last Thursday, the staff are all being extra courteous. They even have ushers outside the bogs holding the doors open for you (though no one said, “Have a nice pee.”). When I came out of the loo, I was browsing the concert posters on the walls, when one of the ushers pointed at my knees with a seriously amazed look on her face. I looked down, expecting at the very least to see a three-headed serpent emerging from my knee cap.

“You’ve… you’ve got such… bowed legs!” she exclaimed.

I laughed and said I’d had them quite a while, and that I was the last of the great British cowboys.

“But... but, they’re great,” she said. “I love them!”

“You love them?”

“Yeah, those bowed legs, I really love them.”

“Listen,” I said. “People have been laughing at these legs now for over 40 years. I can honestly say you are the first ever person to say that they admire them, rather than finding them strange, amusing, or downright hilarious.”

“But I do, they’re great!”

I thanked her for making my day, and she told me to enjoy the concert. Which I did, in many ways thanks to the new venue. They’ve clearly modelled it on the excellent 9.30 Club in DC, but with better views from upstairs, more space, wider bars, a superior sound system, much better access to get in and out, edible food, and staff that don’t think it’s unhip to smile and be polite (and admire your bandy legs). My main criticism of the 9.30 is that many of their staff are still stuck in that 80s indie-record shop sales clerk pall of doom and coolness, as though they were actually in a band themselves and obliged to look like the weight of the world had fallen alone on their sensitive song-writing shoulders.

Only complaint about the Fillmore: beer prices are astronomical at $10 a plastic glass. But you can always fuel up at McGinty’s during Happy Hour around the corner. Blondie, meanwhile, aren’t touring on nostalgia alone, they’ve actually made the effort to write some new songs, most of which held up well against the ancient hits. Like a decent pair of bandy legs, though, those old songs are still holding up after all these years.

7 comments:

AMD said...

I was hoping for a punchline involving Deborah Harry turning out to be the staffer complimenting the shape of your legs, topped perhaps with Workaway Indie Mom making a pragmatic and potentially wet dream-fulfulling suggestion...

Gorilla Bananas said...

She must have had a dwarf fetish. Has Debbie Harry still got it?

Stay-At-Home Indie-Pop said...

Yes, GB, she still has an amazing voice.

AMD, this is a family blog, I can not imagine what religion causes you to harbor such depraved thoughts. Tsk, the filth you get on the internet these days.

Anonymous said...

9:30 equals somewhat indie. The Fillmore is a chain owned by Live Nation. They have the original in San Francisco, and outposts in Detroit, Miami, and Charlotte of all places.

Mark Sanderson said...

Ten bucks a beer, sheesh! It pays to smuggle in a hip flask. Although that level of preparation does have its draw backs - after a certain age it's really quite embarrassing to reprimanded by staff on unlicensed alcohol.

nathan3e said...

Favorite Debbie Harry/Blondie moments.

1) Seeing Ms. Harry coming out of a Krispy Kreme in Chelsea, smiling.

2) Seeing Blondie at the Guthrie in Minneapolis in 1999, very visibly not getting along on stage. It wasn't Jane's Addiction nearly coming to blows at First Avenue tense, but it did add tension/urgency to the show that cannot be faked.

No Good Boyo said...

Those legs akimbo were your trademark back in Britain, usually seen in silhouette as you headed into the setting sun and as far from work as possible.

It could be Mongol ancestry, not just overlapping membership of the Kesteven Cousins Club.

Do you ever feel a hankering for raw meat, warmed under a saddle. Do you think trumpets sound better played from an impaled throat? Do libraries and towns just get you down?

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