A Sister Lost, A Sister Gained: The Black Crowes At The Fillmore Part 2

Before we purchased our tickets to the Black Crowes show, my wife and I briefly discussed if we should invite anyone else to join us. In the past, we were more than happy to pick up tickets for others and collect later. But we've gotten stuck with tickets more than once and other times we found ourselves feeling like we were trying to talk someone into seeing a show. One of the worst feelings for a music lover is to find out that you've dragged someone to a concert that they aren't enjoying. Worse yet is to find out after the fact.

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A few years ago, my wife and I planned on seeing Pearl Jam on their stop in Fresno. This was a pretty big event for our town and I mentioned it to my wife's sister Janet. Janet is my concert buddy for shows that my wife has no interest in, usually featuring bands with a harder edge. She had just started dating her future husband Scott and she figured that the show would be a good double date. So I picked up six tickets in total as my buddy Chet and his wife would join us as well. Chet and Jen would have to meet us at the show, so the rest of us went out to dinner before the show and got to know Scott a little. Now, I had assumed that since Scott and Janet had so readily agreed to join us at the show that they were both fans of the band. It turns out that Scott may have done what all men do in a new relationship; he said "Sure, that sounds cool".

After dinner, we piled into the car and headed to the Selland Arena. We had nosebleed seats and the sound in the cavernous building wasn't that great, but if you knew the material you could forgive the acoustic shortcomings. The show was plenty loud and full of energy. The crowd was into it and I was impressed with the band and the varied setlist. Afterwards, walking to the cars, the six of us agreed that it was a great show. Weeks later, I find out that Scott really wasn't into Pearl Jam and, in fact, didn't enjoy the show at all because he's tone deaf and could not discern anything what with the volume and harsh acoustics of the Selland Arena's cinderblock walls. As it turns out, he's into modern country music and not so much the rockin' stuff. Ahh, I thought, country music is to a tone deaf person as a wheelchair is to a paraplegic, so I could see where the caustic blast of Pearl Jam could be like sitting through Civil War-era dentistry.

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In the days after securing the tickets for the Black Crowes show, we would tell our ticket buying story in passing at backyard parties and other summertime activities. Weeks later, out by Scott and Janet's pool, the story came up and Janet commented that it was too bad that it was sold out as seeing the band in a small venue sounded really cool and they would have loved to join us. It turns out that the Black Crowes happen to be sort of a common ground for the two of them. They each even owned a few Crowes CDs before they met and now they were Community Property, strewn about their CD drawer amidst scratched up Metallica and Clay Walker discs. Scott overheard the story while floating in the pool and began a running joke about how we don't invite them anywhere anymore and how great it would have been to see the show. All joking aside, my wife and I really enjoy their company and this truly was a missed opportunity. Janet seemed especially bummed out. I felt bad too because I've always wanted to show her the Fillmore because I know she'd dig the place for it's vibe and historical significance to the music world. As it would turn out, I'd hear from her later unexpectedly.

Jean, another of my wife's sisters heard the story and asked if she and her husband Scott (whose last name is Keno, which I use to avoid confusion with Janet's husband Scott. Besides, it's a fuckin' cool sounding name--the lucky bastard!) could meet us up in San Francisco for the weekend, sans the show. We thought that sounded like a blast. I figured we could all get up there Friday night and have dinner, party a bit, and then have Saturday afternoon to goof off in the city. The wife and I would split off to the concert after dinner Saturday night and then possibly meet up with them after the show for a nightcap. It was agreed upon and I made an additional reservation at the beautiful (and conveniently within stumbling distance of the Fillmore) Radisson Miyako Hotel on their behalf.

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Time Marches On!

(The summer headlines spin at you like in a 1940's film noir sub-classic:)

Janet And Scott Get Married--Rev. Hazy Tony Officates

Red Sox Lose In Anaheim; Game Hard To See From 3rd Deck Behind Foul Pole

Fresno Man Falls Down At Ozzfest, Says He Will Write About Incident Online

A Beer Drinker's Guide To Camping On The Central Coast Of California

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On the Friday before the show, we drove up to San Francisco to meet Jean and Scott, who had the opportunity to leave earlier that day and check into their room. We made good time up through the Central Valley and seemed to have caught some sort of tailwind on Highway 101 into the city. One of the joys of my life, going back to when I was a child, is checking the dial (or scanning, in the modern terminology) for local radio stations when I travel. When I'm in a familiar city like S.F., I usually remember certain station's frequencies and when my wife and I got into San Jose, we picked up the signal for KFOG. I have fond memories of KFOG as being somewhat of a free-form station, where the DJ picked the music. Now, the station is featuring an Adult Album Alternative format, playing modern adult contemporary hits alongside classic rock standards while throwing in "deep cuts" from time to time and it seems that the jocks still have a little wiggle room to toss in an actual request or something they found lying around. With the depressing state of modern day corporate-run radio, dialing in KFOG is like pizza day was in elementary school after four days of "What's Under The Gravy".

On that Friday courtesy of KFOG, I first heard the advance single of the Rolling Stones' "Rough Justice" from the impending album, A Bigger Bang. We were jockeying for pole position along 101 just north of the airport, swooping and diving along the four-lane Death Race 2000 track like a WWI Flying Ace. Call me Snoopy, motherfuckers! This Toyota Sopwith Camel can outmaneuver the best you've got to offer. The dirty riff and Jagger's energized voice was like a slap in the face to a boxer at the beginning of the 12th round. We divebombed onto the surface streets of Baghdad By The Bay (term stolen from the late great Herb Caen) and pulled into the horseshoe shaped lot of the Miyako.

We checked in and called Jean and Keno from our room. Soon, they were on their way to our room from the streets of Japantown. A knock on the door signaled the beginning of the end; they came in like the month of March, what with the whole lion and lamb reference. Smiles all around as Keno, like a vaudeville magician with a rabbit and hat, pulled a six pack of bottled Sapporo from a brown paper bag. We all cracked one open and toasted to the night. And to the unknown events of the night.

Next: The Troublemaker Kitty: Black Crowes At The Fillmore Part 3