10 January 2006

$3 a Beer - $5 Bucks to Get In

The last concert I attended was right here in Steepleton. There are not many shows held here where they do not sing about Jesus loving all the children of the world so any concert here is a treat. Some young local punks put on a show in an old hall close enough for me to take the Hammer along. Sonja is not much for punk rock shows, she stayed home and studied for one of those exams that is going to help allow me to retire before the oceans rise and the the good people of Dope City stampede the high ground looking for a new place to build a hockey rink.

The Hammer and I circled the hall to make sure everything was cool. The last punk rock show I attended here was crashed by enough police to make me think it was still 1976. Remember when punk rockers were the neighbourhood threat? There were loads of kids milling around outside smoking cigarettes and stuff between bands but no police to be seen. I am not real good at reading posters so I missed the first band or two.

A bunch of heavy metal punks from Grand Cedar started playing after I tied the dog up outside and introduced her to a few of the kids hanging around. The young punk kids around here are first rate. The Grand Cedar kids were called Spread Eagle and they played like the Stooges if the Stooges drank Canadian beer.

Someone at city hall had given the kids a license to sell beer so I pounded a few. One of the kegs was bad but I drank it anyway before getting the better stuff from a bartender I had met in the crowd of the last show I was at. All they were charging was $3 and I had my dog to help me find my way home so I got at it.

After the Spread Eagle had finished up their set of songs about motherfuckers and more motherfuckers I introduced myself to the only guy who looked like he might be near my age in the place. Turned out he was more than a decade younger than me. He had on a Judas Priest jacket. The rest of the audience were about the age my kids would be if I had any.

I told him I had seen the Priest in 1976. He asked, "How fucking old are you?" He thought he was old to be going to such shows. He told me, "But what the fuck am I supposed to do? Go see Celine in Vegas?" I told him I remembered some old characters who used to hang at the Bad Allah who probably had a set of punk rock tunes all lined up for their wakes.

He gave me a couple shots of spiced rum out of the bottle. That really was like the old days of Dope City punk rock.

Next up were headliners the Red Hot Lovers. I got up close to the amplifiers after I finished my beer. I love the sound of loud guitars. They were real good for a bunch of Calgary boys.

On my way home from the show I stopped in the local crackhead park and pissed on the city's shrubs. Both my other dogs would have wanted to piss in the exact same spot I did and probably have gotten some of mine on them. Hammer does not play that game.

Anyhow, I'm happy to still be rockin'.

1 comment:

Horace Finkle said...

Dear Mr. Beer N. Hockey: We should compare notes and see whose name got them beat up more in school.

- Horace Finkle, Teenage Ghost
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