After months of strong-arming, our friend H [not to be confused with my H]agreed to go to last night's Tim Finn show with me. It was to have begun at 8. We stood in the rain until about 8:15, at which point the venue finally saw fit to let us in. The opening act (about whom there had been no publicity) came on at 9. She was quite young and quite lovely, with a beautiful voice and sweet lyrics, an acoustic guitar and one of those harmonica holder things. I was envious of her skills, until she decided to play Blackbird [note to fledgling performers: it's never a great idea to cover the Beatles, particularly a song as well-loved as Blackbird. For future reference, you may also want to consider staying away from Zeppelin and/or Stones covers. Just looking out for you, my lumplings.] and started it over not once but twice, saying each time, "Wait. Sorry. Let me start over. Sorry." Then there was a syrupy-sweet, twee song about a roadtrip with a boy, in which each of them is lonely "but we've got love in our hearts" and which also rhymed "Louisiana" with "eating a banana." She introduced this song to the mostly mid-50's-aged audience (for whom, by the way, the venue thought it would be a good idea to set up folding chairs. FOLDING CHAIRS. At THE TROUBADOUR.) by saying that she was going to play "a really, really cute song." At that point I texted H with a request: "Kill me." (As it turned out, his phone was nestled against a pack of gum in his pocket, so after about five minutes I leaned over and mentioned that perhaps he should check his phone for text messages.)
Once the adorable lass left the stage (after begging to be able to play "just one more" -- good night, really?), it was not too much longer until Tim came on. AT TEN-THIRTY. He was quite jolly, in the highest spirits I've seen yet. Which unfortunately meant his intensity was quite diminished. I don't know, maybe it's just that the thrill is gone. I had a great time, but there was something lacking?
And then some woman shouted out, "Message To My Girl!" which prompted me to say loudly and rather rudely, "That's NEIL, you idiot." H. was amused and disappointed, both, as he had been threatening all along to request Neil's solo work; he felt the uninformed woman had stolen his thunder. (I found all of this very disrespectful. I am very protective of my harem.)
At any rate, when the show was over, at midnight-ish, H summoned up the strength to offer up, "That wasn't too bad."