The first concert i ever snuck into was out of pure necessity. i had to be there. i couldn't let myself miss it. This may come across as a hyperbole but i must assure you that, at the time, it felt paramount, and in reflection, seems apt. Moments happen once. We may try to replicate them, but they're never the same, and i could not let this particular show slip through my fingers. The fact that i was without a ticket to begin with was entirely my own fault. To this day i still kick myself for declining my friend's offer to grab me one when he went for his. i still don't know what i was thinking, though i have to believe that it was the fates intervening, setting me up for adventure, spicing a great night with weeks of anxiety. Dallas Green, performing a (at the time) rare solo acoustic show out here in the West. At a tiny venue, completely sold out, with exponentially increasing fanfare by the day. i wasn't going down without a fight.
While i don't listen to his music as often anymore, Dallas' voice still sits on my mantle of favourites. Ethereal, vulnerable, dominating. His lyrics sweet, gentle, his guitar lines intricate and melodic. In the year prior to the upcoming show he'd done a few small solo performances in and around his hometown in Eastern Canada. Bootlegs and demos of his side project (his name, Dallas Green, coded as City and Colour) had found their way online, and were devoured by obsessive fans of his band Alexisonfire- a post hardcore group where he wasn't even the lead singer, but one of three.
i'd been listening to those demos on repeat for the better part of a year. It was 2006, and obtaining songs like that was arduous and difficult, but the juice was well worth the squeeze. You had to sift through fan forums, and be gifted the files via emails and links. Any footage of shows were grainy, shot on point and click digital cameras, there was no youtube, torrents had just emerged, hard-drive space on family computers was limited, and online sales for tickets, while they did happen, were still relatively new. Moreover, i did not have my own credit card at that age. When the concert was announced my heart leapt. The performance was booked at a tiny venue, The Mesa Luna, (that hosted independent artists and local shows). Dallas had only released three songs at that point, given the circumstances, the evening promised to be intimate and easy.
Tickets went on sale that Monday, and my friend offered to pick up mine while he was downtown. When i reflect, i think i was afraid of accepting the favour. i've struggled with receiving most my life, and the consequences of which have been ample. Alexisonfire, Dallas's main band, was popular, but only in a niche market. Of those fans, few knew of the side project. There was no way the show would sell out, or so i thought, so, i declined. i'd be heading downtown myself that weekend, planning to buy some records anyways, so there was no rush.
Little did i know a single would be released two days before i could make it to the city. That song, Save Your Scissors, blew up. By the time i made it to the record store the show had sold out.
But i didn't despair.
That's not true at all, i got pretty nervous. Very quickly Dallas Green's solo project eclipsed the popularity of his band Alexisonfire. Over the next few weeks, then months, the single grew and grew until it dominated the airwaves. As it’s favour surged so did the demand for tickets. No one i knew had an extra, everyone wanted to go. i figured that there had to be a ticket somewhere, worst case scenario a scalper. But as the day came closer the probability that those prices would skyrocket increased. My best chance would be to get there early and hope they'd kept a few tickets for the door.
So on the day of the show, i made it to the club twelve hours before opening. i brought a small textbook, and studied for an upcoming exam for hours, and hours, waiting alone. Slowly others trickled and queued behind me. Diehard fans with a shared reverence for such rare, and unexpected performance. Time passed with excited conversation, about the show, what covers may be played, suggestions for other music, film recommendations, and other upcoming concerts. The manager of the venue arrived in the early afternoon. He chuckled at our tenacity, and asked how long we’d been waiting. After some friendly banter i politely asked if there would be tickets at the box office and he assured me there were. i swam in relief.
Around two hours before the show people began to appear in droves, and two lines formed. One for the ticket holders, queued up early for a great spot (in a tiny venue with a capacity of 200), and one for the hopeful. It didn't take long before there were too many people to even entertain leaving and risk losing my place. Be it for the bathroom or food. The staircase leading to the entrance was packed, and the volume from all the conversations echoed and grew. My friend arrived, took my books to his car before joining his line, eager to get in.
Without warning the manager reappeared and began shouting erratically. He said the show would be over capacity, and those without a ticket had to leave, that there was no chance of getting in. His voice was lost to most, which only made him more irate. At the front of the line, as polite as possible, i explained that i understood, but asked if he could make an exception for me, reminding him that i'd been there for hours, seen him when he arrived, and that he'd assured me i'd be let in.
He responded by telling me to fuck off.
The rudeness was shocking. i stood gobsmacked while he repeated himself, and yelled again in my face. All that wasted time for nought. Thoughts raced as i stormed down the staircase leading from the venue to the busy road below, and walked along the endless line of proper ticket holders.
i knew that this was not the end. i would not give up.
i'd performed at the Mesa Luna a few times before and zipped around into the alley to the service entrance. Serendipity answered and a large van pulled up to the back bay doors. The vehicle popped open and one of the opening bands started to load in. With unwavering confidence i asked if they wanted a hand.
Grateful for any help with gear, the drummer didn't think twice before offering me the kick drum. i walked myself up into the venue with my head high and the giant drum held in front of my face. After placing the kick on the stage beside the cymbal stands, i waltzed myself to the upstairs toilets. For the next hour i hid in a stall, with my walkman, and a lot of patience.
In a moment of fury and self sabotage, i graffitied a little manifesto on how furious i was to be booted from the entrance, how appalling the manager had been, and how they would never, ever stop me from my goals. When other people came to use the other facilities i'd fake coughing and made groaning noises to divert inquiry. My illusion was flawless. The door to the bathrooms began opening and closing more frequently, and from beyond it the sound of conversations had built in volume. They must have started taking tickets.
Fear kept me cautious. i'd made it so far, to blow it now, and walk out into staff would be a disaster. Two more entered, and i recognized a voice. i slide the latch on the stall and exited, right as my buddy was washing his hands. He stared at me in shock and we leapt up and down "Holy shit!?! How'd you get in!!??"
We spilled onto the balcony, and i joined a table with a few friends that had been lucky enough to snag tickets. i was elated. After a round of high-fives i zipped to the merch table. Getting in had been easy. Dallas was still a young artist and i made sure to blow what cash i'd saved on his shirts.
Familiar faces stepped to the stage, and The Februarys, the band that had aided my infiltration, began their set. They were fantastic. Amazing players, with clever, strong song writing, all brought home with a surprise medley of Free Falling by Tom Petty. A full sound that cut through the noise of the room and aligned the audience.
Unfortunately, the middle act, Machete Avenue, struggled against the tide of restless fans. A two piece from out East, they were quiet, atmospheric, and drowned out by disinterested conversation. Dallas came onstage to ask for quiet, appalled by the audience's behaviour which only improved by a margin. It was difficult to come to terms with the fact his fans had changed. The majority of the audience were not diehard music fans that had been his base until then. A new, basic demographic brought in from the mainstream by his romantic, poppy single that ate up the airwaves filled up the show. The group's songs fizzled and dissolved amongst the indifferent crowd. As the stage changed over, the excitement that had been lacking returned to the room and built.
Where Machete Avenue floundered Dallas flourished. From the moment he stepped to the stage the angelic timbre of his voice pierced the crowd, and lulled them to a hypnotic hush. There were times where the silence was so loud you could hear the refrigerators hum from the back of the bar, and the heartbeats of the person to your side. His album had hit shelves only two weeks prior to the show and it was clear that i wasn't the only one who'd worn my CD thin. In contrast to the quiet captivation, songs would end in rapture. Everybody knew the words, everyone sang to the rafters.
It's hard to describe the elation i experienced seeing the songs i'd listened to so often off of grainy bootlegged mp3s live, fleshed out, reverberating across a small sea of entranced listeners. i'll never forget the heat of the room, of too many young bodies piled in close to hear the subtle tones of his quiet acoustic guitar. i remember closing my eyes, and opening my heart. Watching the stars arrive above through the venue's glass ceiling while being serenaded amongst friends and strangers by what would become one of Canada's greatest songwriters performing on a stage less than a foot off the ground. A voice. A guitar. A transcendent evening.
It was a life changing show. Not only for the quality and beauty of the music, which to this day i'm still inspired by, but from assurance in self that i discovered. The knowledge that there was always other avenues to get to my destination, that there were ways around walls, so long as i was willing to think outside the box, so long as i was willing to try. An evening of eloquent acoustic music, City and Colour at the Mesa Luna, still, to this date, one of my favourite performances.
Thanks for reading!
Did you like this story?
You can hear way more!! You'll be able to find a telling of the story, as well as the songs of all the performances on an episode of i wuz there, Season Four 2006: Episode 2! Spotify exclusive.
Thanks for checking it out!
Be excellent to each other!
-Mr. Write
PS: Here’s a the song that blew up the whole show…