Emphatic was first to take the main stage and was a very pleasant distraction
Having finally delivered my goods, I made my way back to the rail, which was getting harder and harder to see due to the building crowd. As soon as I was back in position, I sent a tweet to Mark, tagging Myles, thanking him for coming out to see us and hoping they enjoyed their toys. It was also a message to my back-up crew on Twitter that they could stop hounding the guys to come and see us. I know AB dreads the shows I go to given the number of tweets they get regarding our presence there.
A few minutes later, my phone rang with a private message. I assumed it was Andree or another friend congratulating me on making my delivery, but it turned out to be from Myles himself. Sarah saw the look on my face and leaned over to read it with me. “Hopefully we will connect after the show:)”
Good God, we started smiling like WE had just seen the most adorable pug on earth. I tried to be subtle about sending a private message to Andree that he had contacted us, but my shit-eating grin could not be concealed. I also sent a tweet back to Myles (mine are public, his are private, so our friends quickly caught on) thanking him and assuring him that we would not leave before we found him or he found us.
It was a promise we fully intended to keep.
Standing behind us there was a young man with an Alter Bridge shirt. Sarah also had an AB fan to her right, Angie. It was SO hard not to spill the beans about that unexpected DM. So we chatted with Nate and found out it was his first AB concert, having discovered them last year. He had fallen HARD for their music and was already studying Tremonti’s instructional DVDs for playing guitar. He told us he was just hoping he might get a pick—nothing more—just a pick. Sarah and I exchanged glances, knowing there was a Tremonti pick in my pocket. I waited a bit, and we told him a few stories of meeting the guys. He was easily impressed, bless his heart, and vowed right then he was not going to leave our sides the rest of the night in case we got lucky again.
There was no question anymore—this was a deserving fan. I reached into my left pocket and fished out the Tremonti pick. “Ernie tossed this to me earlier as he prepped the stage. It’s one of Mark’s.” His eyes grew the size of saucers. I gave it to him.
He resisted, unable to believe anyone would willingly give away a pick from AB. What he didn’t realize was how many picks we each had at home in our collections. I could already see this was going to be a tough set to get picks from, with the wind blowing towards the stage and the security guards not very good at giving the goods to the person they were originally aimed at. He took it like a piece of gold (or a communion wafer!) and just stared at it.
A few minutes later, my phone rang with a private message. I assumed it was Andree or another friend congratulating me on making my delivery, but it turned out to be from Myles himself. Sarah saw the look on my face and leaned over to read it with me. “Hopefully we will connect after the show:)”
Good God, we started smiling like WE had just seen the most adorable pug on earth. I tried to be subtle about sending a private message to Andree that he had contacted us, but my shit-eating grin could not be concealed. I also sent a tweet back to Myles (mine are public, his are private, so our friends quickly caught on) thanking him and assuring him that we would not leave before we found him or he found us.
It was a promise we fully intended to keep.
Standing behind us there was a young man with an Alter Bridge shirt. Sarah also had an AB fan to her right, Angie. It was SO hard not to spill the beans about that unexpected DM. So we chatted with Nate and found out it was his first AB concert, having discovered them last year. He had fallen HARD for their music and was already studying Tremonti’s instructional DVDs for playing guitar. He told us he was just hoping he might get a pick—nothing more—just a pick. Sarah and I exchanged glances, knowing there was a Tremonti pick in my pocket. I waited a bit, and we told him a few stories of meeting the guys. He was easily impressed, bless his heart, and vowed right then he was not going to leave our sides the rest of the night in case we got lucky again.
There was no question anymore—this was a deserving fan. I reached into my left pocket and fished out the Tremonti pick. “Ernie tossed this to me earlier as he prepped the stage. It’s one of Mark’s.” His eyes grew the size of saucers. I gave it to him.
He resisted, unable to believe anyone would willingly give away a pick from AB. What he didn’t realize was how many picks we each had at home in our collections. I could already see this was going to be a tough set to get picks from, with the wind blowing towards the stage and the security guards not very good at giving the goods to the person they were originally aimed at. He took it like a piece of gold (or a communion wafer!) and just stared at it.
“I am never leaving your sides again. I love you ladies, and if you ever need ANYTHING the rest of your lives, you just ask, and I’ll do it for you!” Not an offer we get every day. But the look on his face was worth it all.
So then I told him about Myles’ message—and that it could lead to something, or nothing. But when we left after the set… He immediately said, “Don’t worry; I am not leaving your sides.” We had definitely made a friend.
Black Stone Cherry put on a KILLER set, as usual
The crowd, by this time, had grown to resemble a large can of sardines opened and left in the sun for too long. It smelled, there was NO room to breathe, and skin pressed on you from every direction. Without the rail in front of us and a glimpse of open space in front of it, I’m not sure I could have withstood it for as long as we had to to get to AB. Though the day was waning, the heat was only rising, and it was long past possible to leave for more water. One ass-clown security dude, when we asked for water, started piercing holes in the caps with his pocket knife and squirting water into peoples’ faces—usually their eyes. I’m no expert, but I do not think that it is possible to rehydrate sufficiently by having water squirted in your eyes. He wasted more than a dozen bottles that way.
During the final break before AB, well after I’d taken my last hit on my inhaler, things started looking a little fuzzy. My knees didn’t seem to be working normally. Sarah asked if I was okay and I told her that even if I fainted, the crowd pressure should be more than adequate to keep me on my feet. I don’t think that reassured her. We HAD scored one warm bottle of water from a younger security kid before Black Stone Cherry but it was long gone. I needed air. No fucking way I was going to go unconscious just as my boys took the stage.
I took off my fedora, no longer caring what my matted hair looked like underneath it, and leaned over the rail to fan myself. It did help, but I could tell my body temp was well over the norm, and things just kept getting fuzzier around the edges. A different security guard caught my eye and asked if I was okay. Not time to be proud. I shook my head. Without hesitation, he handed me a full, ICE-COLD bottle of water. I was ready to have his children. That water was like a liter of fluids going right into my veins, and brought me back to life. I split it with Sarah, who was just as hot and dehydrated. Now, we were ready.
To be continued...
So then I told him about Myles’ message—and that it could lead to something, or nothing. But when we left after the set… He immediately said, “Don’t worry; I am not leaving your sides.” We had definitely made a friend.
Black Stone Cherry put on a KILLER set, as usual
The crowd, by this time, had grown to resemble a large can of sardines opened and left in the sun for too long. It smelled, there was NO room to breathe, and skin pressed on you from every direction. Without the rail in front of us and a glimpse of open space in front of it, I’m not sure I could have withstood it for as long as we had to to get to AB. Though the day was waning, the heat was only rising, and it was long past possible to leave for more water. One ass-clown security dude, when we asked for water, started piercing holes in the caps with his pocket knife and squirting water into peoples’ faces—usually their eyes. I’m no expert, but I do not think that it is possible to rehydrate sufficiently by having water squirted in your eyes. He wasted more than a dozen bottles that way.
During the final break before AB, well after I’d taken my last hit on my inhaler, things started looking a little fuzzy. My knees didn’t seem to be working normally. Sarah asked if I was okay and I told her that even if I fainted, the crowd pressure should be more than adequate to keep me on my feet. I don’t think that reassured her. We HAD scored one warm bottle of water from a younger security kid before Black Stone Cherry but it was long gone. I needed air. No fucking way I was going to go unconscious just as my boys took the stage.
I took off my fedora, no longer caring what my matted hair looked like underneath it, and leaned over the rail to fan myself. It did help, but I could tell my body temp was well over the norm, and things just kept getting fuzzier around the edges. A different security guard caught my eye and asked if I was okay. Not time to be proud. I shook my head. Without hesitation, he handed me a full, ICE-COLD bottle of water. I was ready to have his children. That water was like a liter of fluids going right into my veins, and brought me back to life. I split it with Sarah, who was just as hot and dehydrated. Now, we were ready.
To be continued...
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