And then the concert ended, and end of story, right? No, this is where my story gets started. We stand up and the crowd files out and Lee says "I gotta go find Don Law. Come with me." Now, I was no stranger to backstage and I was no groupie. Like I said, I was there in my punked-out leather biker jacket, my hair all spiked, my makeup ridiculous and I wore fishnets and a mini and a Sex Pistols t-shirt with more holes in it than fabric, safety-pinned together within an inch of its life. It was pink with blue letters on it that said Never Mind the Bollocks. Not your typical Little Feat jeans-and-long-hair combo. So Lee brought us backstage, stood me in a corner, and said wait here.
Not the thing to do to a girl when you want to get her into bed, cowboy! But he disappeared so fast that all I could do was wait there. And that's exactly where the band members decided to make their post-concert backstage appearance. First it was the bass player, then the drummer, and soon I was surrounded by Feats taking notice of my garb and get-up. Luckily I wasn't easily starstruck: I'd been mistaken for a band member myself more than once and even had someone follow me around asking me for an autograph assuming I was Patti Smith one day, so I knew how to behave. Bass player looked at me, leaned over, read my Clash button. "Complete control, huh?" he said with a pretty lascivious grin.
"Down, boy." It's easier to talk to people when you don't want anything from them, and that night was no exception. All the time I was pretty peeved at Lee for just leaving me there: who knew how long his little conversation with the Big Guy was going to take? I was a captive audience, had nowhere to go, no way of getting home. I thought for a little while that it would serve him right if I palled around with the band enough to head off with them. It wouldn't have been the first time, although usually the tech guys were more my thing. The thing about being backstage was always this: it might start out as a small and intimate party, but eventually the groupies showed up. And the Little Feat groupies were skanky. I mean, disgusting. The minute Lowell George showed up, this chick jumped on his back like he was going to carry her around piggy-back style, her arms around his neck, and wouldn't let go. One of my most priceless memories of those days is the pleading look he shot me -- me, of all people -- trying to get her off his ass. I'll give him this: he was a hot shit. If I had a small abiding love for the band before, that one look made me love them a whole lot more. My hey, let go, get off him didn't even register with her but eventually some security guy came over and peeled the broad off him and kicked her out.
I don't know how long Lee was gone. It was probably only a half hour or so, but it felt like longer. I have to tell you that the guys in the band were all so nice. So nice. After I explained that my boyfriend (I wasn't above abusing the circumstances, I guess) with was off talking to Don Law, they were respectful and flirtatious but hands-off, even if I kind of wished they hadn't been. They were sweet, but I wasn't a groupie and they couldn't sway me. My earlier dismay at being left alone backstage at a place like the Civic Center faded soon enough and it proved to be a memorable cap to the concert.
Eventually Lee showed up and took me home. He stayed as long as I let him but eventually, from my chair in the living room, my eyes wouldn't stay open and he realized he wasn't going to be asked to stay the night so he took his leave. It was our last date, but I didn't mind. He'd given me a night to remember, even if it wasn't the way he would have chosen. He was actually a pretty good guy after all.
A few years later when I was living outside Boston and my rock-and-roll days were no longer an everyday reality, Lowell George dropped dead of a heart attack.
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Two of Two
Date: 2008-10-25 08:03 pm (UTC)Not the thing to do to a girl when you want to get her into bed, cowboy! But he disappeared so fast that all I could do was wait there. And that's exactly where the band members decided to make their post-concert backstage appearance. First it was the bass player, then the drummer, and soon I was surrounded by Feats taking notice of my garb and get-up. Luckily I wasn't easily starstruck: I'd been mistaken for a band member myself more than once and even had someone follow me around asking me for an autograph assuming I was Patti Smith one day, so I knew how to behave. Bass player looked at me, leaned over, read my Clash button. "Complete control, huh?" he said with a pretty lascivious grin.
"Down, boy." It's easier to talk to people when you don't want anything from them, and that night was no exception. All the time I was pretty peeved at Lee for just leaving me there: who knew how long his little conversation with the Big Guy was going to take? I was a captive audience, had nowhere to go, no way of getting home. I thought for a little while that it would serve him right if I palled around with the band enough to head off with them. It wouldn't have been the first time, although usually the tech guys were more my thing. The thing about being backstage was always this: it might start out as a small and intimate party, but eventually the groupies showed up. And the Little Feat groupies were skanky. I mean, disgusting. The minute Lowell George showed up, this chick jumped on his back like he was going to carry her around piggy-back style, her arms around his neck, and wouldn't let go. One of my most priceless memories of those days is the pleading look he shot me -- me, of all people -- trying to get her off his ass. I'll give him this: he was a hot shit. If I had a small abiding love for the band before, that one look made me love them a whole lot more. My hey, let go, get off him didn't even register with her but eventually some security guy came over and peeled the broad off him and kicked her out.
I don't know how long Lee was gone. It was probably only a half hour or so, but it felt like longer. I have to tell you that the guys in the band were all so nice. So nice. After I explained that my boyfriend (I wasn't above abusing the circumstances, I guess) with was off talking to Don Law, they were respectful and flirtatious but hands-off, even if I kind of wished they hadn't been. They were sweet, but I wasn't a groupie and they couldn't sway me. My earlier dismay at being left alone backstage at a place like the Civic Center faded soon enough and it proved to be a memorable cap to the concert.
Eventually Lee showed up and took me home. He stayed as long as I let him but eventually, from my chair in the living room, my eyes wouldn't stay open and he realized he wasn't going to be asked to stay the night so he took his leave. It was our last date, but I didn't mind. He'd given me a night to remember, even if it wasn't the way he would have chosen. He was actually a pretty good guy after all.
A few years later when I was living outside Boston and my rock-and-roll days were no longer an everyday reality, Lowell George dropped dead of a heart attack.
I couldn't help but cry.