The life of a fake rock journalist is lonely sometimes. I've been rattling from gig to gig alone, just me, my cigarettes and my notebook but not tonight. By the time Pavement came out for their encore I'd had enough of solo time so I split, flagged down a taxi and made it over to The Annandale in time to see the end of The Drones' set. I didn't have a ticket so I just marched straight through the doors, around the bar and through the black curtain to side of stage. Spencer was standing there leaning against a partition and grinning like a goon. Lyndal was shooting the band and The rest of The Holy Soul were standing in line nodding their heads in unison, Madam Squeeze was out dancing with the crowd.
Spencer cheered when he saw me, held up his arms and made room for me beside him. I don't think I would have gotten away with such a spectacular level of sneaking in if Spencer hadn't just played support for The Drones about an hour ago. Luke from The Laurels was there and Loene Carmen looked like she had just snuck in too. I stuffed my earplugs back into my ears and let my eyes wander over the crowd. The Drones were cranking out their new version of stadium rock and the crowd was going just a little mental right down at front of stage. The huge speaker stacks were moving the air in my lungs for me and for the first time in months I thought now this is really something. After the show we all headed upstairs to drink, smoke, talk and watch that crazy old man named Doc stand on his head in front of a giant mirror. I forget sometimes how unbelievably lucky I am not just to see all these bands but to be there, right there, side of stage, front of stage, backstage, just there.