As we huddle around the island bench eating dinner, I regale/bore the kiddos with tales of my youth … and it’s come back to bite me.
The eldest has expressed a strong desire to see a band called Hospital Pass … or something … let me check with my mate Google … ah, Radiator Hospital … at the Chippo Hotel on Friday night.
The conversation was prefaced by the words “You know how you used to go to gigs when you were underaged …?”
According to The Chippo website “Philadelphia’s Radiator Hospital have released a small mountain of tapes, EPs and official albums. Evolving from a solo vehicle for Sam Cook-Parrott’s lovelorn hissy bedroom recordings into a fully locked-in band line-up projecting in high definition. Their most recent release, “…Plays The Songs You Like” (2017) rips through 16 melodic blasts of devotion, yearning, and reflection on the songs in the background that shape our worlds; a collection of songs not only about how songs themselves affect our lives, but how the same song can mean wildly different things to different people and how that meaning can change over time.”
I dunno, give me Pete Murray any day. But I’ve belatedly realised the kindness my parents showed through their indulgence of my teen musical obsessions. It’s funny, you remember your parents as being hardliners, yet their actions tell a gentler story.
As you’re probably aware, I fell madly in love with Neil Finn when I was 13, so my parents went through five years of concert hell until I was legal.
My dad spent many hours on the phone to various 18+ venues begging them to let me in. As a result, I saw a couple of gigs from lighting booths, which turned out to have a pretty awesome view.
Dad also had many experiences with scalpers outside gigs, bargaining for tickets, then having to endure loud nights at the back of concerts while I bopped up the front.
And then there was the infamous final Split Enz gig at Speers Point Park during my HSC. Everyone else’s parents banned them from attending because they needed to study. But Mum donned her powder blue cardie, blew into the random breath testing bag outside the entrance and braved the mosh pit with me.
Well, as moshy as a Split Enz pit gets. Tim Finn was quite startled to see Mum’s grey hair in the front row.
I suspect the eldest would not approve of me being in the front row of Radiator Hospital.
The website says it’s a strictly over 18s gig. The eldest is wondering whether being 5ft 10in and looking older than 15 will get them through the door. I dunno, I doubt it. Maybe in my day, when licensing laws were a bit slacker.
But they’re very strict about that sort of thing these days aren’t they? Do they allow kids into a pub gigs if they’re accompanied by a parent?
I’ll give The Chippo a call today and suss it out.
Not that I feel any desire to sit in a pub watching Radiator Hospital until midnight on Friday. I had much gentler pursuits in mind. It’s not even my custody night with the kids …
I am such a push over.
Song of the day: Radiator Hospital “Our song”