Kings of Leon

"Just cuse you feel it, doesn't mean it's there."

-Radiohead, There, There





Opening at the cafe job sucks very much. Starting at 9 a.m., I endure eight hours of mind numbing hell with only thirty minutes off the clock for lunch. Wednesday the 23rd of September I didn't get home until 4:30 and not seconds after entering my apartment, I cracked a Heineken and chugged it down. I grabbed another and finished it in three swills. It was just one of those days (increasingly, everyday at that job was). Sure, it's never a good idea to binge drink but this was fucking Kings of Leon! I would be damned if I wasn't in rare form for this one.

Abby was coming over at 5:30 and the show started at 8. Things had been great between us ... for the most part. I was never smothered, there was no pressure, and it wasn't anything too serious, just the way I like it, to start out at least. However, lately things had changed. She seemed unsatisfied with our fairly casual relationship. I felt she was beginning to want more than I was currently willing to give. Sometimes she felt she was "wasting her time" and even implied I was just using her for sex. I didn't feel I was. I liked her and enjoyed our time together, whether we were or were not in the bedroom. I have learned from trial and error that the best relationships start slow. We didn't know each other before we started dating; people need time to feel each other out. But she made me feel guilty none the less, which is never pleasant, especially when you've done nothing wrong. As you can imagine the daily demands on my time increased; more inopportune texts, unwanted innuendos, and unnecessary conversations.

I wasn't unhappy. As a matter of fact, most of the time we hung out, things were great, but when we were apart she grew needy. There were strange undertones in our correspondence from afar. At times, the spark just didn't seem to be there. I didn't know if I could see myself being her boyfriend. She was older than me and in a very different place in her life. Making things more ambiguous, we both had crazy work schedules and were lucky to find time once, maybe twice a week to see each other. But by agreeing to go to the concert, I conceded to giving it one last try. She probably didn't realize it at the time, but it would be make or break for us, in my mind. After the show if I didn't know if I wanted to be with her long term, I never would. It was time to shit or get off the pot.

When she arrived, I was working on my fourth beer. She was wearing tight faded jeans and a khaki corduroy jacket over a white low cut tank that showed of her shapely and supple breasts. Her straight, shoulder length light brown hair was down, except for a small braid that wrapped around like a headband. It was cute in a 60's flower power kind of way; very appropriate for a concert. In addition, she was sporting her almost perfect smile and her big frosty blue eyes radiated with excitement. She always wore little or no make-up and had that natural beauty that all men secretly love. We packed the bong full, toked it dry, and had a few more drinks over some tunes and conversation with my roommates.

I had persistently offered to pay her the $45 for my ticket (or at least the last $20 I had right then) but she continually refused. She said she wanted to treat me, which I would never ask or expect her to do. Abby was the most selfless person I have ever met ... to the point it became a flaw. She put others ahead of herself disproportionately. Stories she told me, and phone conversations I overheard led me to believe she was in fact a doormat.

Occasionally, you have to put your foot down. Even Mother Teresa, or her closest associates, had to be selfish to get what they wanted done, done. Orphanages don't build themselves. Capital must be gained, ground must be broken, and problems will always arise. I'm sure somewhere along the line, whether she knew it or not, the great saint, the nicest person ever to grace God's green earth, put herself (or her orphans' interests) first. She was more than kind but certainly not naive or a push over. This is a very dramatic comparison, but I think you get my point. Abby was very nice but often soft. Sometimes in life you have to stand up for yourself and be hard. She often, unintentionally, made it easy for people to take advantage of her kindness.

Recognizing this, I always did my best not to be the one to prey on her weakness, but it was difficult at times. If someone offers to pay your tab, then wants to make you dinner and smoke you out on their pot, it's hard to say no. Anyway, we agreed that I would put all the concert drinks on my credit card. Besides, I had a backup plan. Filling my flask from a half full fifth of Jim Beam, left over from a random weekend when friends were in from out of town, I was now ready to rock. My buzz was strong. I felt very stoned (Abby had brought amazing pot as usual) and was approaching drunk after six Heinies. I had Tony drive us in my car since it was quite a hike to the Shott.

"Just don't wreck it, " I told him with fake conviction.

"How did I know you'd say something like that," he replied shaking his head.

The line of cars on Olentangy River Road was long and stationary. We decided to hop out and walk the last three blocks or so. The gathering masses were quite a hodgepodge. There were high school hipsters in skinny jeans and flannel, college kids in Buckeye gear, 30 somethings in Saturday night bar cloths and every combination in-between. Filing into lines at the gate, they asked the women to step to the left, men to the right. I had the flask tucked into the small of my back, just below my belt line. When it was my turn to be checked, I could feel my palms begin to moisten; my heart rate increased. I lifted my shirt as low as I could without being asked to lift it higher. The elderly woman felt my pant legs and patted my back, right where the flask was hidden! I thought I was done for.

"Are you wearing a belt?" She asked me accusingly.

"Yes maam," I said in my most humble tone. I then flashed her the buckle to prove I was in fact, wearing a belt. I'm not really sure why I did this but at the time it felt like the right thing to do. It was enough to pacify her. She waved me through. Disaster avoided. I bought a $7 thirty two ounce Coke and promptly poured half of it into the toilet. After mixing my cocktail I was ready to go.

We found our seats after some searching. They were awful. Literally, five rows from last row on the upper level, on the far left of the stage. Nosebleed is an understatement. Not paying the $45 didn't seem like such a bad idea anymore. Oh, well, at least I was out on the town with a pretty girl, about to watch one my favorite bands (top five must sees) perform. Things could always be worse. I could be at the dentist or, gasp, working. it was after nine and no one was playing. We later found out the warm up band, which I won't even dignify by putting their name in my blog, only played three songs and then announced they were too sick to go on. Good thing we didn't get there early.

The lights fell at 9:30 as the rock gods made their stroll onto stage. The Followill brothers Nathan (drums), Caleb (vocal/guitar), and Jared (bass) formed the band with their cousin Matthew (lead guitar ... also a Followill) in Nashville, Tennessee sometime in 2002. They cranked out Crawl and the crowd went wild. I noticed they didn't have a very elaborate set up, as far as arena shows go. Maybe eight guitars, a few pedals, some jumbotrons, minimal lights, and standard arena speakers; somewhat sub par for a venue this size. If your going to sell out an arena and fill it seats with people, you need to fill the air with lights and sounds. I wasn't convinced they had through the first couple tracks. However, they didn't dick around at all while blasting through their first set.

Shredding very nicely, Matthew was employing their now signature guitar bends, which made my ears happy. Taper Jean Girl and Fans, two of my top KOL songs, rocked out extra hard. watching them perform, I couldn't help but think to myself, I could never wear jeans that tight. How do they get them off after sweating it out all night under the massive lights? They probably just cut them off. Not a big deal to the current kings (no pun) of rock; they could afford to buy every son of a bitch there a pair if they wanted to. I still wouldn't wear them.

"Last time we were in Columbus we played for 2,000," Caleb told the crowd. "There's a hell-of-a-lot more people here tonight." Try nearly 20,000.

Looking around the aforementioned crowd, it was easy to see that some were more hardcore then others. It was an interesting mesh. Everyone knew the new songs but only the 'real' fans knew the old songs. This is the price any band pays when they finally make it big after enjoying moderate success. It's a high wire act; you want to climb the ladder, gain new listeners, take more risks, chase mass appeal, but you also don't want to alienate the people who helped you get there, through the leaner times. They act as the safety net, lest the mainstream spits you out and your mega stardom fades to black. The guys seemed to acknowledge this, saying some had been following them for a long, long time. As they said this, they gestured towards the rabid fans bouncing around on the floor level.

"Thanks for bearing with us," Caleb continued. "We've been sick ... we all got some kind of cold, swine flu, bird flu. maybe an STD mixed in there, hell I dunno know." At least they kept playing and fulfilled their obligation.

"Anyway ... if any of you know the words, please feel free to sing along."

They launched into Sex on Fire. Every woman in the building screamed and may or may not have touched their vaginas. I turned to Abby to see if she had. I also wondered if she was enjoying herself. Most of the show she seemed only mildly entertained, even poutty. She shared my first mixed drink but wasn't interested in drinking anymore. I guess the poor seating had been a bigger disappointment to her than me (probably because she paid) and I got the feeling she wasn't as into KOL as she made herself out to be. She was definitely a 'new fan'. I was beginning to get the feeling the only reason she bought the tickets was because she knew I wanted to go and didn't have the money. Later, she confirmed my suspicions; the familiar feeling that she was trying to buy my favor began to set in.

Personally, working on my third bourbon and Coke, I was having a ball. Don't Knock It was the best performed song all night. Abby didn't like the BnC much or my joke about not 'knocking it' until she tried it. The band seemed to have found their stride by then and everything was clean, loud, and on point. They came out for an inspired encore, full of trippy lights and even a little impromptu jamming on Knocked Up. They closed out with Use Somebody, and the crowd was in hysteria. After that they said their good byes, the lights came on, and we followed the swarm out.

It was an absolutely perfect night, about 70 degrees with a light breeze. After being in the hot and stuffy arena, the air felt amazing. We decided to walk home. It wasn't a short distance but by the time we got close to my apartment it was only 11, so I talked her into going to Surly Girl for a drink. We drank Columbus Pale Ales until they kicked us out around 2:30. She paid the tab while I was in the can, even after we agreed I would pay. This was definitely past bothersome now and moving on to full-fledge annoying, but my mind was too foggy to verbalize how I was feeling. I had the sinking suspicion we weren't going to last much longer.

I was sick of her doormat tendencies and not letting me buy ... ever. I mean she had a better job and made more money, but dammit, it was emasculating having her always pick up the check; like a sugar momma. I was also leary of her growing needs. My doubts about our future had only been reinforced when it was all said and done. No matter how much fun the show had been, the writing was on the wall.

We feasted on D.P. Dough calzones, on me (Bacon, chicken ranch is amazing). By the time they were gone, I was pretty much going down for the count. Sleep would overtake me soon. we attempted to fool around but soon passed out in bed with all our cloths on, including shoes. Any 'talk' about our future would have to wait for another day.


-J.R.