The weather was
the only thing that was dreary. The crowd is energetic and excited to be there.
Everyone is social and the small talk passes the time well. Talking to random
people in line I learn I'm not as big of a fan as I thought. That...or I am
living my life all wrong. The majority of these people have been following
Frank Turner from show to show since he flew into the states. One group
followed him from Boston, another from Greensboro. The cute girl in line next
to me came down from the Carolinas, the black X's on her hands still not
completely faded, refusing to wash off from the last show. The ones I'm most envious of however are the
group that is following him on a cruise to the Bahamas. What I wouldn't give to
be able to drop it all and travel the globe with a band, going on cruises and
traveling city to city and experiencing this on a nightly basis. I can't help
but think that these people have life all figured out. This crowd had already
given me the Almost Famous vibe, but the parallel was cemented in my head when
a young guy excitedly approached the venue with his friends quoting the movie.
"It's all happening!" Suddenly I have visions of Frank on someone's
rooftop shouting "I am a golden God!" though I don't think that's
entirely his style.
I met Frank earlier
in the day. He's my kind of rockstar. He moseyed on down the road with a
dog-eared book in hand. He quite clearly had been reading it everywhere he
went. He casually walked right past his tour bus and over to me and another fan. We were the only two at the venue at that point and he greeted us warmly. After he
departed back to the bus I couldn't help but wonder what book he was reading.
"From the Gulag to the Killing Fields" edited by Paul Hollander"
he told me later that evening when I asked him on Twitter for the title once
the rest of the crowd started wondering as well. Earlier in the day when we
spoke I asked about his own book and he admitted to me that he didn't even own
a copy of it himself, so none available to be sold tonight. I'm told that
despite the lack of a U.S. release of the book at this point, I can find it for
my Kindle at Amazon.ca.
This will have to do until I can get my hands on a hard copy. Given his
propensity for writing, his apparent thirst for knowledge, and his general
outlook on life I can't help but have high expectations for the book. Frank has
the demeanor of a man who has shed every ounce of bullshit from his life and
spends every second of his time simply being happy. Why wouldn't he? That's the
life of a rockstar isn't it?
Back to the
evening, we're finally let into the venue. The atmosphere inside Underbelly is
fantastic. Everyone is really relaxed and friendly. The walls are all brick,
decorated by hand paintings of completely random things. A psychedelic Ewok
adorns the wall by the merch stand. An emergency backup light is disguised by a
painting of a frog. (The eyes are the lights, clever). A projection screen
plays a strange and seemingly random video on the wall behind the bar. I'm not
sure what to make of it, but it seems fitting. I would later find out that the
video was simply Netflix, silently playing a movie called "The
Painting". As I mentioned, it works for the atmosphere. Chandeliers and
lanterns up high provide dim lighting, setting the mellow mood. The style of
the venue is hard to describe, if I had to give it a shot I'd call it
industrial southern punk. The bar offers an assortment of mixed drinks, and
craft and locally brewed beers. I give the bartender the benefit of the doubt
and have him choose my drink. He slides me a beer of which I've already
forgotten the name, but it makes you understand the argument for craft beers
over the usual suspects. I'm a fan, even if I can never order it again thanks
to my bad memory.
Perhaps my
favorite part of the hour between doors and the start of the show is the
mingling. It's an eclectic group, from so many different walks of life parts of
the country or beyond, and yet we all share an unspoken connection. I can't
quite place it; it's a mindset maybe, a common mentality or demeanor. Whatever
it is, I feel comfortable around these strangers. I've noticed many amazing
tattoos and struck up conversation about them. The nerdery in this place suits
me well. A girl sharing a post with me shows off her new tattoo, still wrapped
with plastic. It's a half sleeve devoted to Star Wars. The rebel logo atop her
bicep flirts with her shoulder, while a mural of sorts with C3PO and R2-D2
rests at the forefront. Another girl shows off her Flash tattoo and her friend
The X-Men logo. Others show me a variety of things from Dracula to dream
catchers, doves to dandelions; each with their own story. In retrospect it's a
shame that Frank didn't play his song "Tattoos" it'd likely have went
over incredibly well here. As the first band begins to wrap up their sound
check, myself and the masses move collectively closer to the stage. It's that
time.
The opening act
is a local band by the name of The Weighted Hands. I had never heard of them,
but they quickly made a fan out of me. They kicked off the show with a
punk/folk rock sound that instantly brought the crowd into the show in a way
that I've never seen before from an opening act. A 5 five piece rock outfit
complete with a violinist and an occasional harmonica thrown into the mix. They
have a humble stage presence. Maybe it's because this is their hometown, but
they seem as though they climbed out of the crowd and started playing. No one
seemed to know them, yet everyone danced along, and by the 3rd chorus of their
last song the fans were singing along. It only took two songs before I knew I'd
be buying their CD after the show. The wonderful thing about finding a local
band that you really dig is that they'll be doing shows in your area more than
anywhere else. I know this won't be the last time I see them perform. I've
already marked the date for their next show in my calendar. 
Following The
Weighted Hands was an artist by the name of Billy the Kid, a soulful female punk rocker
that exudes charisma and an irresistible charm. By the end of the first song
I'm impressed, infatuated even. She speaks between her songs with the presence
of a stand-up comedian, making it impossible not to smile as she transitions
from song to song. By the end of her set I'm more than infatuated, hell, I
might be in love. She speaks of being from Canada. Whatever harm Justin Bieber
has done to Canada's music scene, Billy makes up for tenfold. Not only was I
sure to buy all of her CDs after the show, I made it a point to meet her
personally and see if she's every bit the person that she is the performer. She
doesn't disappoint. It turns out she's a painter as well and a bit of a
philanthropist. Artists like Billy help to quell my inner cynic. She has a hell
of an inspirational story behind her; she's the poster child for following your
dreams no matter the obstacles. I don’t have the luxury of knowing if I’ll
see her again soon like I did with the first band, but I certainly hope to see
her many more times. 
It's typically
at this point of a show that the night feels it's longest. You're waiting for
the headlining act to take the stage, everyone is positioning for a better spot
near the stage, people are cranky, and fans are ready to fight for a spot close
to the stage. This isn't the case tonight. Never in the hundreds of shows
that I've been too have I seen this large of a crowd all getting along so well.
We all sing along with what seems to be a Fleetwood Mac best-of album playing
between sets. We dance and sway and laugh and joke. The vibe is an
unconquerable happiness and intensity bubbling up with anticipation for the
final act. The lights go dark and we erupt. Frank takes the stage and 20
seconds later the entire crowd is bouncing, swaying, swinging, and dancing.
Wherever you were standing before the song started, it's safe to say you're
somewhere else by the end of it. It's a friendly frenzy. The song was written
for just this occasion: "A few precious hours in a space of our
own, And when the band comes on, the only thing I really know: I wanna
dance." Everyone in attendance seemed as though they were home, it was a
sense of community like I've never seen or felt before in a crowd of that size, Frank included. As happy as everyone is to be at the show, Frank seems just as happy to be performing.
I've long had a
love for live music. There is something visceral about the whole experience.
You feel the bass thump in your chest, the ground rumbles beneath your feet.
Your body runs hot no matter the temperature. You don’t just hear the music,
you feel it. The person next to you is a complete stranger, yet somehow life
has brought you both to this exact place at this exact time as you sing along
together like old friends. The artists who wrote the songs you love are
standing 10 feet away, singing directly to you. You feel a sense of freedom amongst hundreds
or thousands of people that you rarely even feel when you're alone. You sing at
the top of your lungs, your fists pump to the beat. You dance, without
thinking, even when you know that you are a terrible, rhythmless dancer. It's a high without the drugs. It’s the
feeling people describe when they talk of religious experiences. This is the
sound that has the power to raise a temple and tear it down. Rock and Roll is
my religion and this show was my baptism. This euphoric rush that a good rock
show gives you, it is an experience that I’d search for from dive bars to big
music festivals. That’s the beauty of Rock and Roll, of any type of music
really… The right lyric, the right chord, the right beat, it can grab hold of
you and take you somewhere else entirely. That feeling could turn up anywhere.
You might find it from a band at a big music festival. You might find it from
the street performer strumming an acoustic guitar outside of the gas station.
Maybe you’ll find it from a random stranger in the car next to you belting out
their favorite song at the red light. You might even find it from trio of acts,
from three different countries, sharing a stage on a foggy Thursday night in
downtown Jacksonville, Florida.
