Page 41 of Ex in the City
‘When was the last time I saw you?’
Dylan laughs.
‘Okay then, we’re setting off in the morning, I’ll message you the details,’ he says.
‘Great,’ I reply. ‘Do you mind if I hang out here for a bit before I go home? I can’t face having it out with Rowan. I can sneak back once he’s gone to bed.’
‘Yeah, of course,’ Dylan says as he squeezes me again. ‘Stay as long as you like.’
If it were up to me, I’d never move again.
20
I’m almost embarrassed to admit it, but it’s been years and years since I last attended a gig. I’d never consciously thought about it but, when I walked away from the music industry, I walked away from everything I associated with it – which included going to gigs.
I used to go to several gigs a month – I’ve got tinnitus to prove it – but I needed a clean break, to leave all the mess behind me, so I just stopped going to gigs. I was more selective about the music I listened to too. It is the silliest thing but, when you’re friends with bands, or get to know too much about them, it can basically ruin their music for you, if you find out things you don’t like about them, or come to associate their songs with bad times in your life.
For most people it’s fine, you can listen to any music you want, and unless some big scandal hits the news you will be unaffected by the personal lives of those you admire musically. Being there, peeping behind the curtain, you see too much. The wholesome image so many bands and musicians project to the public is a stark contrast to the behind-the-scenes reality. I remember meeting Plastic Rap (back when they were at theheight of their fame) for the first time. They had a massive female following – pretty much women of all ages too. Their entire persona was built on being good boys, loving their girlfriends, and embracing a squeaky-clean image. Unlucky for me, I had the icky privilege of witnessing first-hand that they also liked to embrace their fans, behind their significant others’ backs, and the ones I saw didn’t exactly look old enough to be making good decisions for themselves.
I suppose I was no different to those girls (just much older, even ten years ago), I wasn’t immune to the allure of the fame and hype. When I started seeing Luke, I hoped he might turn out to be different from the rest, because I’d known him before he became properly famous, and he always seemed like such a great guy. But he wasn’t – he probably never was – and his band soon dropped off the face of the earth. Well, that’s what happens when all you care about is getting off your face and into the pants of any girl you can, your music career heads down the toilet. We love to see it.
Plastic Rap, frustratingly, have managed to hold on to their pristine image, still making appearances on TV shows or going viral with social media posts. They continue to peddle their wholesome lives – and maybe they’ve changed, now they’re all married with kids – but it still makes me queasy whenever I catch them on-screen.
Hopefully, these days, it’s harder to get away with all that stuff, and new bands are better across the board.
Tonight we are checking out a punk rock band called Agents of Animals, with Dylan and the boys, to see if they seem like a good fit for a support act on the tour. Honestly, I was like a kid on Christmas Eve, as I was getting ready for my first gig in forever. I wore clothes I already owned, but I put them together differently, in a way that made me feel more like the old me. A black leather miniskirt, a hot pink cami, and my trusty leatherjacket. Teamed with a pair of high-heeled boots, and a heavy dose of black eyeliner and red lipstick, it’s amazing how much like the old me I feel right now.
I knew almost right away, when the five-piece band came out on to the stage, that they were perfect. They remind me of a younger version of The Burnouts, in a way. Unapologetically loud, fun and totally themselves.
The atmosphere inside the venue is electric – it’s only now that their set is winding down that I’m realising just how much I have missed live music. I’d forgotten everything about it, but it’s all coming back to me, all at once. The air is thick with sweat, and stale beer, and my feet are stuck to the floor, and I’ll probably be covered in bruises tomorrow from the lively crowd, and I’ve loved it.
Oftentimes, on tour, the gig was only the start of the night. Depending on where we were, what we were doing – if we needed to drive through the night and things like that – the gig itself would be like the pre-drinks, and we would almost always end up either having a huge party in the hotel, or we would hit the clubs. Tonight, seeing as though this isn’t a tour, so no hotel or bus to think about, someone suggested we go to a club after and everyone said yes. Honestly, it was almost scary, the way it happened, so naturally, like none of us had ever had a day away from it.
So now, here we are, at a London club, for the first time in forever. I laugh to myself, as we arrive, because it is after 10p.m. You forget that, when you’re in your twenties, that’s a perfectly reasonable time to start your night out. These days, pretty much any time after 8p.m., the only thing I’m getting ready for is bed. I had made peace with a lifetime full of evenings where all I drank was tea, and the only thing I put my butt on was the sofa. Now that I’m single, and in places like this again, I need to find my (old) feet.
Everything still feels like a fever dream – and the colourful, strobing lights in the club aren’t exactly helping me convince myself otherwise. The bass is turned up so high I feel like my heartbeat has synchronised with the music, the floor vibrating up through my feet, swirling around in my chest, and as the neon lights cut through the air, shining on us all, making everyone look like a surreal multicoloured version of the person they are outside, in the real world, it only makes things feel more surreal.
Our cluster of tables sits in a prime spot – near the bar and the toilets and, oh my God, do I sound like an old woman right now? It’s also a great spot for people-watching. Everyone on the dance floor looks so young and carefree. I was going to say I wish I was on what they were on, but someone did try to sell me some of what they’re on in the toilets. I’ll stick to getting my buzzes in the usual way – by triggering a panic attack – thank you very much. I’m with The Burnouts – Dylan, Mikey, Taz, Jamie – as well as our new friends from Agents of Animals, and we’re all having a great time.
The drinks are flowing like there is no tomorrow – and given that The Burnouts have actually experienced ‘no tomorrow’, you would think they might take it a little easier. I guess everyone is just excited, giddy to be back in their old lives. I’m keeping an eye on Dylan, who has had a few beers, but doesn’t seem to be drunk. I admire his restraint because the old Dylan would’ve been off his face since breakfast.
A tall, slim woman with long brown hair and a glittery green dress does a double take as she passes our table. She glances around the group, recognition in her eyes as she looks over each of the guys. Of course, just like the good old days, her final sights are set on Dylan.
With palpable excitement, she makes a direct approach, giving life to a flirtatious scenario I’ve witnessed countless times. Dylan responds with his usual charm, showing polite interest.
‘You’re Dylan King,’ she tells him.
Good one. He’s never heard that before.
‘I am,’ he replies. ‘Hello.’
She chews her lip as she looks him up and down. I suppose, like me, his new look is a shock to her too. There are no photos online of the new and improved Dylan King and, even if there were, I imagine it packs way more of a punch in person.
‘I’m such a big fan of yours,’ she tells him. ‘Big, big fan.’
‘Thanks,’ he replies. ‘Always nice to meet a fan.’
‘Are you single?’ she asks, cutting to the chase.
