Last night we went to see Letz Zep (Zeppelin's biggest tribute band). It was the second time I've seen them and somehow this time I wasn't as stunned and as excited. Probably because the whole fascination with the fact they are guys who base themselves on Zeppelin, dress the same and play the same music has worn off, because I've seen it all before. Nevertheless, they were good as always, and they're brilliant musicians, and going to a venue to see a band play Zeppelin music is bound to be good anyway. If you close your eyes or look to the side for a bit, for a moment you can believe it's really them. We got a mention, and I got a song sung to me and a hand holding on-stage moment, and there were several other scenarios happening which I wont talk about on here.
At the end of the gig we hung around for a little while by the bar when all the lights go on and everybody else has cleared off (as always). And they came waltzing over to us. Imagine this scene right, you're in a dingy old rock n' roll venue, you've just been at a (pretend) Led Zeppelin gig for two hours, it's the end of the night and you're at the bar, and you see a tall man with long blonde curls, a shirt, and denim flares walk over to you from the corner of your eye. Then they all start gathering round. So we're there surrounded by the band trying to make small talk and sound witty and exciting. We ended up there until 1:30am, as we were asked by the band to help them carry their gear to their cars up the hill. So there we are walking up a hill carrying guitar cases and drum kits, then for the next two hours we were chatting. The drummer managed to save us from being attacked by chavs, we had some vodka and we talked about all sorts of random chit-chat. Then they left, after the drummer hinted for us to go back to his so called 'mansion', bless him.
Ha, I must make myself sound so pretentious, I'm not. I'm not writing this to gloat about my fake Led Zeppelin adventures in the Kent countryside. I'm writing it because I'm hoping that whoever reads this would actually be interested in what I've got to say. And would enjoy reading stories about my wannabe 1969 lifestyle, because it's the closest most people will ever get. Sigh.
At the end of the gig we hung around for a little while by the bar when all the lights go on and everybody else has cleared off (as always). And they came waltzing over to us. Imagine this scene right, you're in a dingy old rock n' roll venue, you've just been at a (pretend) Led Zeppelin gig for two hours, it's the end of the night and you're at the bar, and you see a tall man with long blonde curls, a shirt, and denim flares walk over to you from the corner of your eye. Then they all start gathering round. So we're there surrounded by the band trying to make small talk and sound witty and exciting. We ended up there until 1:30am, as we were asked by the band to help them carry their gear to their cars up the hill. So there we are walking up a hill carrying guitar cases and drum kits, then for the next two hours we were chatting. The drummer managed to save us from being attacked by chavs, we had some vodka and we talked about all sorts of random chit-chat. Then they left, after the drummer hinted for us to go back to his so called 'mansion', bless him.
Ha, I must make myself sound so pretentious, I'm not. I'm not writing this to gloat about my fake Led Zeppelin adventures in the Kent countryside. I'm writing it because I'm hoping that whoever reads this would actually be interested in what I've got to say. And would enjoy reading stories about my wannabe 1969 lifestyle, because it's the closest most people will ever get. Sigh.
No comments:
Post a Comment