OK, I am very nearly too embarrassed to tell you HOW good a time I had last night.
Sigh. But I shall. Because it was oh, so lovely.
First of all, I was so delighted to go with Milena. She GETS me. I'm grateful that I can name as many people as many people as I can that DO get me; I'm rather strange, actually. But, even out of all those people, I think only she REALLY gets the Simon LeBon thing. Love that. She, like I, came with one mission: to listen, and to gaze, and to dance. (OK, three missions. And to drink some wine. But I'm diluting the point, so I shall proceed.)
We attended the show at the newly renovated Austin Music Hall. It's not done, actually; it's really still got a lot of plywood and taped drywall visible. And, surprisingly, it's not a lot bigger. They added some room on the sides of the upstairs and downstairs, and they put on a smoking balcony and some extra bars, but that's about all that I could see, other than a nifty little starfucker area right over the stage, off to the side. Milena and I briefly considered asking what it would take to sit back there, but decided against it.
Milena and I sat upstairs on the balcony to listen to the opening act, Sara Barielles, a nice young girl lead singer that sat behind a keyboard, Tori Amos-style. She was not as annoying as Tori. (Sorry, Tori fans. Don't stalk me or shred anything that belongs to me, please.)
For the SHOW show, we moseyed downstairs to push ourselves into the madding crowd. Madding it was, too; it was SOLD OUT. We were packed in like middle-aged sardines. I was thankful for the brief shower I had taken before leaving, and glad that my sense of smell is poor enough that I couldn't detect if anyone else had neglected to do so.
The crowd was great. Most were my age, or so; some older, some younger, but mostly it was us. It seemed that most women were showing off their "girls," and many were in terrifying heels. (Mil and I went for comfy and danceable.)
This time and the last time I saw Duran Duran - about a year and a half ago? - I noticed, most of all, the men in the audience. Now, I had me plenty of gay male friends that were into them, back in the day, and yes, there were plenty of life partners there last night, being very cute and latter-day preppy and all that. But, I think, perhaps cutest of all, to me, is the straight male contingent at their shows. These guys - my age - are self-conscious, a bit, at first. Then, a beer or two in, the band plays some kick-ass, danceable oldie like "Planet Earth," or "Rio," and then these big ol', teddy-bear type straight men start bopping around and singing all the words. They make me happy.
The show? Yessss, the show. Was AWESOME. Fuck, it just does not matter that I fell in love with Simon LeBon twenty-four years ago. I. STILL. LOVE. HIM. And he still looks bloody HOT in his tight black trousers. At one point, he did this little dance move with a growl combo move, and I swear to GOD, the frisson I felt might as well have been generated when I was fourteen years old. (I saw Milena whoop at that one, too. It's NOT JUST ME.)
The last show, which was at the Paramount, was a different kind of affair...it was, somehow, more tentative, like they were asking, "Do you all still love us?" and as a result, played a lot of old stuff, and just a bit of new, which was OK, but not anything compared to the oldies. This time, though, it was much more like a rock concert, like their confidence had been restored. And, I will say, the stuff off the new album - that they recorded with Justin Timberlake and Timbaland - was VERY good. Much better than anything they've released since I was in college, anyway.
After the echoes from the encore - "Girls on Film," natch - Milena and I left, glowing, and delighted with our evening. And, yes, WOCA* do not feel as good as they used to, the next morning, after they stay up too late on a school night; however, it was worth every penny, and every minute of missed sleep.
So, in three weeks, I've seen the two greatest loves of my early high school life - Sting, and Simon LeBon. (Which, of course, brings back the question that I wrestled with, back then...Sting, or Simon? But, then I always kinda hated to separate them in my fantasies, ifyaknowwhadImean. I mean, why choose just one?) Too bad I've gotten home so late from these concerts, honey; you could have taken advantage of my nostalgia.
Hey, there's always next time, though...The Cure, Austin Music Hall, June 8? Who's with me?
***UPDATE...As if I NEEDED more proof that he was my soulmate, check out these lyrics from one of their new songs, "Falling Down":
Caught inside its own motion
How I wish it was somebody else instead
Howling at all this corrosion
God, now I REALLY wish I'd asked about the starfucker backstage area.
*Women of a Certain Age. I'm trying to popularize that, over "MILF." Who's a Woca? I'm a Woca! Wouldn't you like to be a Woca too?