ghostsinthegrooves.com

I’m 16 years old and I’ve got a driver’s license. My first real taste of freedom. I could go anywhere but, honestly, I’m afraid of going East of the western suburbs. I’ve got a part-time job flipping burgers which keeps a couple of bucks in my pocket. I’m socially aloof, friendly with my peers from a distance. I spend a lot of my time listening to music and reading about the people who were making that music. I am a Rolling Stone loyalist. If I’m not learning about my rock star idols, I am fantasizing of being one myself or at least knowing them.

Before I got my driver’s license, I honed my skills as a wheel man by spending one afternoon each week sitting on our Toro tractor. The lawn might have been nice to look at but I dreaded the 4 hours it took to mow. To make it slightly enjoyable I would listen to my heroes on my headphones and get lost in daydreams. Those long rides on the tractor were spent with the Eagles, the Stones, the Cars, the Doors, Fleetwood Mac. The daydream I would get lost in usually was along the lines of being their manager and trying to control the chaos that was cocaine and rock stars.

Now that I’ve got my driver’s license, I have the ability to travel to a spot that can inform me about more of this world I’ve been dreaming about. I hop in my car on an August afternoon and cruise into Wayzata, my de facto hometown though my family currently resides a little farther west. My destination on this day is “Down in the Valley” — the local record/head shop. They are a purveyor of counter-culture. Bongs, bongos, oversized posters, and a huge selection of CDs. I peruse the music selection, choose a couple of new discs to expand my mind, pay, and head toward the door.

Then something catches my eye: a 3×5 index card tacked to the wall.

FIRST AVENUE PRESENTS:
“Monday Sept. 7 — A Special Evening with The Black Crowes

8 PM — 21+
Tickets @ The Electric Fetus & Down in the Valley”

MY MIND EXPLODES!

The Black Crowes are my favorite band. A funky mix of modern southern rock infused with jam band vibes and a free-thinking flair. I mentally catalog all the details from the index card and head home.

I have to be at that show.

At 16 I’m a seasoned concert goer. And not the standard, buy my ticket at the box office and show up, no, my first concert was the Rolling Stones, and I bought my ticket from some guy who posted an ad in the newspaper, who I then called and arranged to meet outside a seedy bar in downtown Minneapolis. The ticket was in the 7th row, and I paid a small fortune for it.

This one has got a little different flavor to it though. Firstly, it’s at 1st Avenue, the club that used to be a bus station and was made legendary by Prince. Secondly, it’s 21+. Hmmm, that’s an obstacle but, obstacles are meant to be overcome. I figure I can talk my brother, Hunter, into going, he’s 22. I don’t bring it up to him that night though, I need to do a little research first.

I know that you might be wondering about now, just where the parents are in this kid’s life. They were around, around in a big way and they have always encouraged me to have rich experiences. I realized through years of observation that there was a certain formula to best go about informing my parents of plans/schemes that I was working on. I go to my dad first, try to catch him when he is sitting in the driveway having a cigar. Start with a little idle chit chat, maybe about fishing or the Vikings, feel him out his mood and demeanor a bit. Then when the moment is right, I make my move.

“Yea, I think Hunter and I are going to see the Black Crowes” I say.

“Where are they playing?” He asks.

“First Ave. Next Monday.”

He looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “Isn’t that bar? They going to let you in?”

I tell him “Ahh, as long as I’m with someone over 21 it shouldn’t be a problem. That’s why I’m getting Hunter to go with me”.

The eyebrow softens a little and the grin of a Cheshire cat creeps on his face. He then says the two things that he says anytime I tell him what I’m up to.

“Well, be smart and have fun.”

The key is to always tell him the plan, never ask permission. Once I ask, he then feels he has an obligation to think through the possible outcomes of said plan. My father is a smart guy and if I’m asking him for permission, he’s going to know that my plan has a hole in it. He likes creative thinking as long as it’s legal.

Alright, dads onboard. Now to sweet talk my mom. The same principles applied in my approach to her, wait until she is relaxed, maybe working on a crossword puzzle on the three-season porch in the evening. Mom was going to be a bit harder sell than dad though, so I do something unexpected to curry a little favor. Usually, it’s along the lines of washing dishes after dinner or washing her car. Once I divulge my plan to her and make sure she knows that my brother is going to be there, she doesn’t seem too excited about it, but she doesn’t say no. I get up and start to walk back in the house. Just as I’m through the door I hear her getting ready to change her mind.

“Did you say the concert is on Labor Day?” She inquired.

Argh, I know where this is headed.

“Yea, Monday night.” I reply.

“Well, isn’t that a school night? School starts the next day. Do you really think that’s a good way to start the year?”

“Well yea, it’s gonna be awesome to tell everyone about it and also, it’s the first day of school, nothing happens on the first day. Plus, I’ll be so tired after the first day from the concert the night before that I am assured to get a great night’s sleep and will be extra well rested when the real work starts on the second day of school.” I tell her.

I can’t believe I just put that line together on the spot. I see her face soften and I know before she opens her mouth that I’ve got her blessing back.

She says, “Alright but, you better be sure to start the school year off well”.

Phew! Parents out of the way. Now the real work begins.

I pull out the phone book (yes, we did use those) and look up the number for First Avenue. I’m nervous as I dial the number, it feels like I’m calling someplace that doesn’t suffer fools or people that aren’t hip. In my mind I know that when someone answers and I ask how someone under 21 can get into that show they are going to know I’m not supposed to be there, that I’m not hip, that I’m fake. When I finally get someone on the phone I’m told if I come with a parent or legal guardian I will be allowed in. To me this sounds promising and worth the risk. If I say my brother is my legal guardian when we show up, how strongly are they going to try and disprove that claim.

Now, I need my brother to get into this idea. I lay my cards on the table right away; I NEED him to go in order for me to go. He is into the Black Crowes, and I offer to pay for his ticket. He agrees even though he is a little hesitant about the scheme.

Hunter is a pretty solid brother to have. We’ve always gotten along well enough, but we are different in just about every way. That’s to be expected with a near six-year age gap but the differences just start there. We don’t look much like brothers, I’m 6’2 and weigh about 140 lbs. He’s 5’6 and probably about 150 lbs. And while he lives at home and is attending a broadcasting college in Minneapolis, he is not someone I seek advice from or talk to about life experiences.

A couple days later I drive to “Down in the Valley” in Wayzata to buy tickets. “I need two tickets to the Black Crowes” I say. “Oh, sorry man, we are sold out.” SHIT! My mind starts racing, how can this be sold out?! My plan was in place; my brother was on board. There has to be a way to get tickets. I’m just about out the door when I hear a voice behind me. “I can call the Golden Valley store and see if they haven’t any left?” I turn around and stammer out “uh, yea, that would be cool”.

I’m in luck, the Golden Valley location still has tickets. I get in my car and drive directly there. $42.50 later and I feel untouchable because all the pieces to the puzzle have fallen into place.

Monday, September 7th. Tonight is the night. I can barely get through my day. It’s the last day of summer vacation and I’m having to get myself together for school the next day. I am so amped up for the concert tonight. Most of the day is spent hanging around the house with a non-stop rotation of Crowes cd’s blasting on my boombox. My energy feels like it must be palpable to anyone I speak to. I’m moving fast and can’t sit still. I wonder what they will play, what they will wear, what music they will take the stage to. I wonder if my scheme is gonna work, if I will be let into the club, what the club is like inside.

At about 7pm Hunter yells upstairs “Hey, are you ready to go”? Ha, if he only knew, I have been ready for hours. We tell our parents we are leaving and head out the door. We hop in Hunter’s car as he’s driving to the show. As we cruise the freeway into Minneapolis we’ve got the top down on Hunter’s convertible. With the wind rushing by, my excitement level is creeping higher and higher and still is tempered by the fact that the biggest hurdle of this whole scheme is yet to come.

We park a couple of blocks away from the club. As we make our way from the parking ramp over to 1st Ave we go through our story one more time. The pitch is simple, that our parents have passed away and that Hunter is my legal guardian. When we get to 1st Avenue we take our place at the back of the quick moving line. I’m nervous. For as sure as I was while concocting this ruse it’s now in this moment standing in line that I think this has to be the dumbest idea I’ve ever had. Who is really gonna buy this story?!

“IDs please” I hear a voice say while I’m looking down.

I look up to see a large bouncer standing over me and eyeing me up. I snap out of my negative thoughts and comply. He takes a look at it. Before he says anything, I start spewing out our cover story. He looks up from the ID and tells us to wait there for a minute and he walks away. He comes back shortly with a woman with a nose ring.

“Have fun.”

“Follow me.” The nose ring says.

We follow her inside. At the box office our IDs are checked again and I tell them the cover story. The guy grabs a black marker and tells me to hold out my fists. I do as he says, and he takes the black marker and draws a giant X on the back of each hand. It’s a clear sign that I’m underage. “Enjoy the show” he says, and hands are IDs back to us.

That’s it! It worked! We are in.

We walk away from the window and begin to snake our way through a mass of people to get into the main room. As we enter, my eyes glance towards the stage but it’s blocked by a large projection screen showing a football game.

I’ve never been in a nightclub before. Having only been to arenas and stadiums to attend concerts before I feel as though this is real, where dreams are born. It is crowded though, there are no seats anywhere, just open space to stand.

Hunter and I wind our way across the club and over to the merch stand. I need to buy a t-shirt to commemorate seeing my favorite band. I look up at the t-shirts hanging on the wall. A small piece of paper is taped up next to the shirts that reads “Sorry your city is not listed on the shirt”. A little disappointing but it won’t deter me. I make my purchase and slide it over the shirt I’m wearing.

Hunter says we should try to make our way down to the front of the stage now because to try to get a good spot. I agree and we start snaking our way through the crowd. I feel a little bad asking people to move so I can get closer to the stage, but no one seems to have an issue with it. We end up in the middle of the floor about 3 rows back. The air is a thick mixture of cigarette smoke and Nagchampa incense.

We stand there talking and watching the football game when suddenly the house lights go down and the screen starts to go up. The anticipation that I have built up for this moment at this concert has been building for weeks. I believe I am feeling true elation, my skin is covered in goosebumps, I am cheering and whistling along with everyone else in the club.

The screen ascends into the ceiling.

My eyes are glued to the pitch-black stage.

This is it.

Then the lights come on perfectly timed with Rich Robinson hitting the opening notes of “Remedy”.

There they are, The Black Crowes.

Chris Robinsons heroin-thin frame struts the stage in white bell bottoms, a long-sleeve shirt, and a top hat with a red feather. Glitter sparkles all over him.

The crowd surges, fists pump. We hold our ground. I’m dancing, yelling, lost in the music.

They play for two hours, say goodnight, and exit the stage.

We cheer in appreciation.

Hunter and I make our way to the exit and into the Minneapolis night.. I’m floating.

This concert was everything.

It’s after midnight when I crawl into bed. School starts in six hours. But my mind is replaying every second of the night — every note, every flash of light, every movement on that tiny stage.

I had dreamed about this world for so long.

Tonight, I was in it, and I can’t wait to go back.