Dancing dads
(Sign on security system: Glasgow, UK)
There are still a few shops in Glasgow that exist only on the upper floors of city centre buildings; there is usually an entrance much like the ones for apartment buildings, and then stairs and /or a lift. I noticed this on my way up to a fabric shop on the first floor of Argyle Street – it was making a conspicuous and invasive bleeping noise that immediately made me turn to check on it. It continued intermittently until I spotted the polite handwritten sign tacked onto the offending system itself. I think it’s a security system, but really, I have no idea.
Tonight I am just home from a ‘gig’ in the famous Glasgow Barrowlands ballroom, and testament to that is the fine, ringing tinnitus in my ears. I will fall asleep with it, but by tomorrow, it will have completely disappeared. The ballroom element of its name lends it a whisper of class, but it has been a long time since it has been used for light entertainment and sequence dancing. It plays host to many popular music acts now; some lesser known bands and musicians and often some big ones that aren’t quite big enough for a stadium or exhibition centre. It must once have been a handsome space; the interior boasts two staircases doubled back and merging to lead into the ballroom itself with its barreled ceiling, curving to low walls on either side.
It is an odd venue, but it is my favourite, nestled just next to the Barras market that spills onto the streets every weekend. My friend Ellie and I saw LCD Soundsystem tonight and it was one of the better performances I’ve been to – of any band. I heard that this is their last tour and actually I fully intended to go alone, not knowing who would be interested. Providence must have convinced Ellie to go, and it saved me from nursing a lonely pint and feeling awkward. In the Barrowlands, the women working behind the bar and in the cloakroom are certainly over retirement age and I spotted one decrepit lady clutching coat tickets who genuinely cannot have been under eighty. Speaking of age, an interesting observation we made in relation to the audience was that (around us at least) there appeared to be a surfeit of middle aged men. It felt like we had been hemmed in by a team of dads somehow, a strange occurrence in an electronic music gig, we felt. It was with a sly grin that we heard one of these ‘dads’ say to his friend, “what’s with this place? There’s some guys even older than me here, for God’s sake!”
My overriding memory of the Barrowlands is always the sound, first and foremost, but after that, the proximity of everyone else. Usually there are three tiers of fan; the diehard fans, leaping and pulsing against the stage barriers, desperate to be as close to the singer as possible, then there’s the ones at the back, just relaxed with a plastic cup in one hand, the other in their pocket – occasionally chatting. Then there is the third set that makes up the rest, just standing or bopping away contentedly in the space left over. I was in that section. Of course, there is still a constant invasion of personal space, I sporadically noticed a man’s warm breath on the back of my neck and the discomfort called for some shifting around, but in the process I made the unavoidable move backwards onto someone’s foot. Turning quickly to say sorry, my apology was accepted immediately (by a dad) in the usual gig manner; he blinks for slightly longer than usual, smiles and simultaneously places the flat palm of his hand carefully (as if supportively) on the small of my back. The reply from the toe stepper is a smile. The whole exchange takes a mere second or two and I suppose is an unwritten rule of concert etiquette. I do this too if I am squeezing past people, I lay a hand, ever so gently on their back, like a car pipping the horn, just to let them know I’m there.
By the end of it, I was aware that after an impressive two hour performance, the entire audience was producing a slightly odourous mist of moisture, and we had not eascaped it. If the gig is rowdy enough, it is often difficult to tell exactly who or where the damp has come from. Luckily tonight was not too messy and we waded through the litter of clear plastic cups, kicking them aside like autumn leaves to escape into the crisp night air, the damage ringing in our ears.
– Today Rosie is drawing and stamping in Glasgow, UK –
A perfect rendition of the evening.