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I was definitely more stagger than swagger when I transitioned from the frying pan to the fire during the waning moments of October 26th, 2007. It’s hard to imagine a scenario in which someone would be reading these entries in sequence but if they were they’d know that I had just emerged from a Ween concert at The Docks in Toronto, a show where liberally-poured alcohol and intense live rock and roll had worked me up to a frothy bliss. What my dear reader would not know is that I still had another ticketed and licensed performance to wallow in. Specifically: some dude named Dave Lauzon playing at a some place called Dominion On Queen. I can’t recall where the bar was located.
And while I’ve never been to Dominion On Queen before or since I am of course joking when I refer to Dave Lauzon as “some dude”, though he certainly is that. Dave is one of my bestest and oldest friends and a helluva musician besides, whom I met when he was just a young teenager. I was privileged to watch his vast musical growth from a ringside seat, all the way from his chord strumming days through intense practise that led to him damn near taking over the world with his band nero, and a thousand steps upwards since. I tell you, as open-barred as I was in the closing minutes of my own wedding reception, I can still recall the massive amount of musical strength and confidence Lazer (as nobody calls him) displayed when he sat in with the band for the last song*. When he tore into his solo it was with a tone that was three-and-a-half feet thick.
Anyway, I’m shocked that I can totally remember arriving at the bar on this late evening. The place was swarming with friends and acquaintances from far and near, several of whom were crowded together outside on the sidewalk when I arrived. Inside the pub – I remember it as a pub – Dave stood in the corner and became a one-man solo looping sonic monster from the first note. He kept the roof raised for hours to come, providing an endless outlet for the energy that was still overflowing from the well-juiced hippie-side Ween crowd.
The aftershow seemed like it went on forever. It went on so long I don’t remember it ending. Heck, maybe we’re all still there. That would be weird.
But weirder things have happened.
(I must say I appreciate that the ticket goes out of its way to remind me that we were relegated to the back room like second-class drinkers, that the doors opened one minute before the following day, and further that it was billed as a “Halloween” show, though that may be more of a subtle Ween post-show reference than an overt pre-holiday reference. I sure don’t remember anyone wearing costumes, though these sorts of people dressed oddly as a general rule.
Now, where is Ticketmaster and/or Live Nation with this sort of esoteric semi-useful on-ticket information? Nowhere, I tell you. Nowhere. Just another reason to damn them to corporate Hell, those money-hungry profit-mongering monopolistic heathens. Just yesterday I bought a $35 ticket that came to $47.02 with fees. That’s a markup of…let’s see now…just a smidgen under 35%. And for what? They don’t even print actual tickets anymore. Sheesh)
*It was a soul-melting version of Free Bird (if you can believe that) featuring Lauzon, my great friend and musical partner Doug (we had hired Doug’s band to play the reception), and my other great friend (and former guitar teacher) Wayne. My gosh it was so good. I stood riveted.)
Todd Man Out 