Everyone has an artist or some other guilty pleasure that they don’t like to admit they have (or had). Barry Manilow anyone? Of course, I proudly say I’m a Fan-ilow! Ricky Martin? Si, si, si! But there was this one time… I’m still kind of… … It’s a story I really don’t like to tell… but maybe today is the day to break the stigma…
In my defense, he was extremely popular. And it was the 80s — liking some questionable music was the norm, right?
My friend Tricia and I, frequent concert-goers that we were, decided to buy tickets to see him. She picked me up (convenient having an older friend with a driver’s license, you know), and off we went. The show started at 8. Unfortunately, we sat in traffic until about 8:45.
We finally made it to the venue, parked, and began the long trek from the ends of the earth parking lot to our seats. We could hear one of his biggest hits floating through the air as we approached then as we climbed the steps to our balcony seats. Once we got comfy, he sang another hit then walked off the stage.
Forgetting he was the opener, we waited for an encore. When the headliner came out, we looked at each other.
“Do you want to stay?” she asked.
So off we went.
The opening act… … …
was Michael Bolton.
Hey, at least we didn’t like the headliner… Kenny G.
This post is part of the Blogging A to Z Challenge. My theme is Musical Memoir. Each Monday through Saturday, I explore personal memories through my love of music, inspired and coordinated by the letters of the alphabet. Join in the fun and participate in the challenge, or leave a comment and enjoy some conversation. Thanks for reading. Peace.