Midnight in the Garden of Rock and Evil

OK, so I know Stacy did an excellent religious themed Jay Farrar post recently and this makes me look like I am, like, totally ripping her off but ... there were great forces at work last night. I need big concepts here people.

Rock is a jealous god. There are rules, and if you break the rules you get punished, as is only right and proper.

The most goldenest of golden rules is this: be up the bloody front.

I transgressed. Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.

Rolling Stones, Telstra Stadium Sydney. 55,000 plus people. Last night. I was in the middle which was good, half way back just behind the most expensive tickets which seemed like it would be OK. On the arena floor, which turned out to be bad. On tip toes all night I barely saw anything on the stage itself. A few glimpses of Mick has he careered insanely around, an odd spotting of Keith and Ronnie weaving it together, which I desperately wanted to see.

It was short notice between when ticketing arrangements were announced and when they went on sale. The only way to really get the seats I want is to queue up but I really couldn't take the day off work to do it. Last night, I was thinking "I should have quit my frigging job entirely to get that ticket!" It would have been worth it!

So I made do, and lied myself into believing it would be OK. I have sinned in thought, word and deed.

So I felt a bit down about it for the first third of the gig (set list)-- although the music was hawt, especially You Got Me Rocking. Oh, and Dead Flowers! That was a treat (and more than fulfils by itself the Americana quotient required for a HickoryWind post.) And It's Only Rock 'n' Roll. And Tumbling Dice, and bluesy Nightime with Lisa Fischer having the entire stadiuim in the palm of her hand. Oh, OK. So the entire first third was bloody brilliant rock and roll.

But, I saw as through a glass darkly. Indeed, I saw not at all. My heart was heavy, the spirit of rock was wrestling in the garden of my soul with the serpent of sucky seats.

During Keith's two songs alot of people inexplicably sat down -- the god of rock won't let those trangressors off scot-free either, mark.

But as the heads parted, I saw I had been given a second chance. The heads parted and I could see Keef, perfect and alone in the spotlight.

I could see! I could see! Verifuckingly, I could see.

Miss You just wouldn't quit and I've been possessed by it all day today. There were some annoying girlie girls next to me and I thought I might have kicked over their Bundies and coke so I looked down for a few seconds.

When I raised my eyes -- a vision! The small stage had worked its way to the centre, still too far away but at least I could make out human figures and even some detail.

I have read the scriptures and I know Honky Tonk Woman is often played on the small stage and I was not disappointed. With that the switch was well and truly flicked and the rest of the night was ecstatically wonderful. One moment of transcendance was all that I needed, lifted out of myself and my seat -- I was delivered.

Special mention of Paint it Black -- aaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh! The first Stones song that ever entered my life and shook me up, lo almost a score of years ago, and I didn't even know it was the Stones who did it. Mysterious ways.

The god of rock has given me much. But it was not given to me to have a sense of rhythm. With Mick and crowd clapping I can keep time, just about. As soon as it is just me I lose it entirely and flap about randomly. I am, truly, the Anti-Charlie Watts.