AN OPEN LETTER TO MY FRIENDS WHO DIDN'T SEE TRAVIS AT IRVING PLAZA
Dear __________,
I'm sorry you couldn't make it to the Travis show at Irving Plaza, Friday, May 12. I'm sorry that you had plans or didn't feel like coming into the city or didn't want to brave the sold-out crowds. (Don't worry about the money for the ticket. I sold it to someone who really wanted to be there.)
You've done this before. You missed the Guinness Fleadh that year Van Morrison played and missed a wonderful, black-and-tan-soaked day. And remember how you laughed at me when I told you I ordered an import album from Australia? An album that I claimed was wonderful? I remember how you mocked me, mentioned my propensity for hyperbole. Then, six months after I recommended it, you listened to "The Man Who" and the mocking suddenly disappeared.
This morning, I actually feel sorry for you. Really. Because all too often, you see bands after they're big. You feel blessed to get those seats in the 400 level of Madison Square Garden. You feel blessed to squeeze into Giants Stadium. You feel blessed just to be in the building.
But you don't get to appreciate what it's like to be there early, to be a part of something before; before the scalpers charge $250 a seat; before you spend two hours on the phone with Ticketmaster; before the greatest hits album and the lawn seats and the fans who think the song they just heard on Z-100 is the best song the band ever recorded.
You miss the energy in this little room. You miss the sight of the heavily disaffected VIPs from Dreamworks standing on the tables, leaning over the balcony, and applauding wildly after every song. They didn't sit and preen and blow air kisses to one another while chatting on their cell phones tonight. And maybe you don't realize just how significant that truly is.
I wish you could have been able to say you saw them that night they hit the stage with "All I Want to Do Is Rock" and somehow, most of the audience knew the song, even though it came from their debut album that sold about a hundred copies in the States. I wish you could have been able to say that you saw them walk out to the screams of an adoring crowd. You also would have been able to say that you saw a band that earlier in the evening walked unnoticed through the crowd and had to tell the bouncer that they were Travis before they were let into the VIP area.
Had you not decided to get drunk with your friends, you might have stood next to me and about half a dozen camera crews (including our Japanese friends from NHK) and you might have been completely overwhelmed by Fran Healy's silky voice and you might have found yourself singing "Writing to Reach You" with so many others who didn't mistake their wives for a hat.
You might have watched a band sometimes compared to Radiohead give a performance that would have given Thom Yorke the bends. You might have seen a band play songs from their entire catalog. You might have seen them blast through a fantastic hidden track ("The Blue Flashing Light") from their new album, and cover Joni Mitchell's "River" during the encore.
I know you laugh at my enthusiasm sometimes, and that's okay because, frankly, your ignorance saddens me and your fear of taking chances depresses me. I gave you the chance to see the best small club show of the year (I know it's only May) and you didn't leap at the opportunity.
I'll try not to gloat. I'll try not to remind you the ethereal feeling in the room when the band nailed "Driftwood," guitars and voice and drums all coming togetherÂ… But I hope that next time you put everything aside: your plans, your drinks, your fear of the Lincoln Tunnel and smoky rooms. Because if you do, you just might not miss a show that will be not easily be forgotten by those in attendance.
Maybe then, you won't miss a chilling performance of "Why Does It Always Rain On Me" and you'd be able to laugh with me at the irony of that song and the downpour you stood under while waiting on line to get in that night. Maybe then, you'd get to hear Fran talk about New York and the "mad taxi drivers" and how much they enjoyed the city.
Ten years from now, you'll be one of the 25,000 who will claim to have seen them in the Spring of 2000, just like you saw U2 at the Red Rocks and Bruce at the Bottom Line. You'll probably try to buttress your claim by reminding me that Leona Naess opened the show in her hometown with a wonderful set that included terrific performances of "Charm Attack" and "New York Baby." But I'll know you weren't there.
Tonight ended up being another night when I held the extra ticket, but you were the one who ended up with the empty bag. The last song I got to hear was "Happy" and you know what? I was. Very.
Sincerely,
Roy
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