For Linda, From The Guns N Roses Concert…

Friday is fun because it's about music. And there's a playlist.

Readers know, this newsletter goes out three times a week and Friday’s the regular for riffing on music. (Ahem, pun actually intended – you should intend all puns, or else not attempt them). 

Today’s one is a little different – though there’ll be a playlist (there’s always a playlist!) and it is still music-adjacent.

Last night, we attended Guns N Roses at Wellington’s Sky Stadium. And by we, I mean me and my darling boy, Oscar. He’s been written about more than I ever intended, and possibly more than he has ever wanted – thanks would go least of all to Mr. R. Williams there.

Oscar is 11. And he loves music. He loves Guns N Roses. He has been a fan of the Appetite For Destruction album for a few years already, and that’s the single best album by the band. All fans would agree. And even people that don’t really like Gunners would usually slyly nod in the direction of that record still. It might sometimes be grudgingly, but respect is given. That album is a milestone for the era. And it has endured.

I was Oscar’s age when it was released. It blew my mind. I still listen to it now – and when I do, I think about how one of my rare Intermediate school punishments was to write out the school rules a dozen times over a weekend. And so, when I did it, putting it off until Sunday morning, I sat and blasted the Appetite album three times through. It felt like a little act of defiance. In trouble for something, and listening to some real bad boys while I penned my mea culpa. Yeah.

Geek!

So it was fun to be at the show with him, a hit of nostalgia for me, and a great stadium-gig experience for him. We’d been to Queen a couple of years ago. (But for so many reasons that feels like half a decade now at least).

Guns N Roses was a brilliant concert. Better than I thought it might be, actually. (And a full review is coming – for paying subscribers – later on, after this…)

But there was something really special that happened. Something that, as a parent, you just love to see. The kindness of strangers. Sometimes they don’t even know they’re offering such a gift. Even if they do, they do it because they care, and not for the kudos.

Midway through last night’s show, a woman came over and asked me if I’d chosen to bring my son along, told me I was a cool dad for doing so, etc. And then she directly started talking to Oscar. As an only child he’s used to engaging with adults. And he was holding his own, mentioning the songs he was still hanging out to hear.

She told him he was handsome. And he smiled tentatively. She carried on. “You’re a real cutie, you’re beautiful – you make sure you remember that”.

Well, he was beaming. And I watched as he really grew into the compliments. I think it was that last bit that hit hardest, the reassurance and the reminder – “remember that”.

It was instant for me. The hit of confidence he received. We should be kinder to strangers more often, huh.

Ahead of the show, we had rushed into the McDonald’s across the road. I’m no fan of Maccas, but I’ve done my time there. And sometimes it is the right convenience in the right spot. In this case its geographic location sold us on a before-gig snack.

Oscar told me outside that he was never having a Big Mac ever again. And I asked if he had lost the taste for them.

“No”, he explained. “The kids at school all call me Big Mac, so I’m only going to have a cheeseburger from now on”.

The woman at the concert asked my name and I told her. She again reckoned I was probably a cool dad. She asked Oscar’s name, and he told her. She repeated her compliments to him. And they shared a wee dance, a high-five, some fist-pumps. It was just good-natured concert chat, and a bit of the rock-fan bonding. You go to a gig at a stadium, and you are a community. It takes all sorts, and includes all types, but the tribe is ultimately one. And it’s wonderful. We are all there for the right reason, hopefully. We’re there because the music speaks to us. We want to be reminded of the magic.

I leaned in and asked this woman her name. “Linda”, she said.

“Well Linda”, I said, over the top of yet another of Slash’s perfect solos, “Thank you for what you said to my son tonight. You’ve made him – and me – very happy, and I really appreciate your kindness”.

She said, “I was a geek at school. We find ourselves eventually, we find other geeks eh, but don’t you think it’s sad we don’t find them at the time. We might walk through school alone, but we eventually find ourselves, and we can see the other geeks. We know”.

Oscar asked us what we were talking about, and I said that we were talking about school days.

Linda leaned in and told Oscar, “I was a geek at school and people picked on me”.

“People pick on me!”, he said. So fully engaged. So trusting. So willing to connect and so comfortable because of everything Linda had offered, because of how she had presented herself.

So, thank you Linda. From the bottom of my heart. You helped make an already memorable night all the more special.

You seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the gig too. So I’m very happy about that. We’ll likely never speak again, nor see each other. But we’ll have those tiny few moments inside that stadium, those songs that endure pulling us together and allowing us to share in the music, and then share of ourselves.

Music is beautiful. And I’ll never forget that. It has held me in its sway since I was six or seven years old, maybe younger, but certainly since then. Concerts have been in my blood and stirring my soul since I was 12 or 13. Having dialogue about and around music has been a passion of mine for the best part of 25 years. At least.

Last night was beautiful. And we’ll never forget it.

And so here’s this week’s playlist. Also beautiful, I hope. Well, it’s got some gems for you to discover  no doubt, some songs you already know too, I’m sure. And maybe it works in the way it’s assembled here, or provides a few new starting points and old reminders for more music, more dialogue and more magic.

Happy weekend to you all, dear readers.