The wife dried, I called Holly. Much debating ensued. I pleaded for Gillian and Bright Eyes. I had already forsaken Gillian twice, three times was too much. Plus, when would she ever play with Bright Eyes again? Plus, they are playing at the Ryman. You can’t ask for a better place than that.
I was outvoted. Holly gets all giggly and goofy and googly eyed at the very mention of the name "Ryan Adams." Having a chance to see him outside the baggage of Nashville had her comatose. The wife, not being a huge fan of either opted for the closer to home route.
I’m sorry, Gillian. Really I am.
The doors at the Brown Theatre opened at 6, so we arrived about 4:30. We weren’t the first. Fanboys and girls abounded.
As a general rule people tend to annoy me. As a solid, never-bending absolute truth, fanboys piss me off (well, excepting one.) I get fandom. I get solid adoration of an artist. I simply cannot understand slovenly devotion to a single musician. As we stood in the lobby waiting for the doors we had to stand the asinine fanboy conversations. One boy claimed he would not befriend anyone who was not a Ryan Adams fan. Another made the bold proclamation that the Eagles were better than the Beatles and the Stones, though all three really sucked and Ryan Adams blew them all away.
Someone please school these boys.
In ways the fanboys shaped my entire concert experience. We landed a seat in the third row, center, and the hardiest of fanboys were in front of us. I couldn’t help but gauge their reactions and observe their behavior.
Paula Cole started the show. I’ve never much cared for her music, but she carried herself well. The voice wavered from time to time, but the band backed her up sufficiently and it was a good time. After some new songs and some very awkward talk where she proved herself way to aware of her time out of the spotlight and the audiences indifference to her comeback, she simply nailed “I Don’t Want to Wait.” I had never liked the song before, but it shimmered and glowed in this night.
The fanboys sang along, their faces tinged with irony and scoffing laughter. I may not like Paula, but I respect that she can write her own songs and have the balls to get up and sing them. With feeling.