Craig Cooper's recollection of a Pixies concert is a little fuzzy. Photo / Craig Cooper
OPINION:
A 20-year-old I know was at a gig in Auckland not that long ago, with his father.
His dad disappeared into the crowd during the first song, heading for the mosh pit, and left his son behind.
A few minutes later, the young man was wondering where his father had got to, when his dad appeared on the shoulders of two younger concertgoers a few metres away.
In my defence, for some reason, a couple of young 1.9 or two-metre-tall fans with long hair and beards took an instant liking to my scruffy, medium-length hair and beard, and lifted my 1.8m torso up. And then let it go after realising it weighed 105 kilograms-plus.
They looked like Vikings. I looked as pathetic as you might imagine I looked.
An hour or so later I was elbowed heavily in the chest by a punter who had decided she wanted to get out of the mosh pit - quickly.
I was already nursing an injured arm, after an e-bike accident.
The next morning, there were a few bruises. The 20-year-old was missing, wearing my pants (long story).
What possesses a 50-something-year-old man to put himself in these situations?
I’d blame a mid-life crisis, but having had one or three, I don’t recognise this as one.
Besides, how does the habit of a lifetime qualify as a mid-life crisis?
For me, the sweat-soaked adrenaline melee at a concert is a happy place, and I can trace it back to a quartet of 60-somethings who play at Black Barn next month.
The Dance Exponents were from Christchurch, but somehow found themselves at the other end of the country at a Kamo High School dance in the mid-1980s.
It was one of my first introductions to live music. They were tight, fun, and on stage for a good time - not a long time. I became an unapologetic fanboy.
There may have even been a summer when I thought I was Jordan Luck.
Same hair. Same clothes.
In 1990, I landed in London, and was gutted to find out they had just left after I ran into an English girl, who dated a friend of the band.
I didn’t get the full story - it was late on Saturday.
“Are you going home now? Well, I guess it’s late,” I conceded.
She wanted an early night - apparently, Sunday was for washing and doing the hoovering, and talking to her friends on the telephone.
I nearly didn’t make it back to New Zealand a few years later, but luckily a reverend let me on the plane (long story) and I was able to fly away. I remember how blue the sky was, and nearly didn’t make it to the airport.
My driver vanished, gone forever in another car.
The Dance Exponents, meanwhile, had dropped the ‘dance’ back in NZ and were cutting up a storm on the live music circuit. Sweaty, loud, boozy joy that soundtracked a summer or two for thousands of Kiwis.
Albeit, it was an awkward few years, after I discovered my best friend’s best friend loved me too.
“If only I could die and love you still,” she lamented. A little dramatic, but it ended on good terms - we opted to say goodbye, even though we were blue. She still doesn’t know what she put me through.
(That’s why I’m telling you.)
I heard a few years later she had gone overseas and got lost in Poland.
Sad, but you know what, you’ve got to know your own heart.
Anyway, if anyone can tell me whatever happened to Tracey, I’d love to know.
- Craig Cooper is a former editor of Hawke’s Bay Today who writes a weekly column, Reverse Spin.