11 July - Blondes & Blondie

A catch up with a friend who takes me to see Blondie at Apollo. Whilst we wait for main act and chat to an agent, we find ourselves backstage in search of a space where my friend can have a fag. This eventually involves walking all the way to ‘outside’. But I cannot help noticing that Clem Burke has his own dressing room. I thought the feud was only with Frank Infante and the other one (hey don’t expect me to remember pop trivia quiz to the extent of naming exacts line ups). On the way we meet the manager, who looks like obligatory NY record biz oldie with cigar, dodgy shirt (though he may well have paid top dollar for it) and obligatory Jewish complexion. He’s sacked previous agent recently and current one only got the call a few days ago and they’ve not met yet. I guess this is a case of where having a good reputation works in your favour. Agent is the agent for one of the biggest bands of last few years. Personally I’ve never understood how he does it but he’s nuts or plays at being nuts and we all have learnt over the years that artists like to have at least one clownish looking and acting person in the entourage. Plus he usually is not as hated as ‘the record company’ so they can have a laugh with him. Anyway I digress. (these will be words on tombstone by the way). On the way out of backstage I cross a lovely looking and sharply dressed man coming out of the loo. He checks my ass but we’re moving too fast to make any connection. He could be in the band? Except that no, the band does have 3 more spring chicken-like members but he’s not of them. He’s an audience member therefore but I can’t be doing these things shortly after returning from top holiday with beloved. So I watch the gig.
They all look healthy. We’re impressed. We notice they've spent zero money on a backdrop or impressive lighting. A Motley Crue show this isn't. More cash for them to store away. After all old punks must have signed crap record deals at the time and probably get very low royalties.
Debbie is a glamorous pensioner. Great face. How much work??? Hard to believe she only spent a few grand. Halfway to Demi Moore' s amount more likely. I strain to see what footwear she’s sporting and am surprised by the Superga style flat pumps. Am disappointed (did I mention we saw Supergas for €800 on sale in Capri? Serpent. They were more expensive than the crocodile model which looked like fake leather to me. Truly horrid). Back to the show. It’s slick, the crowd love it, some arrangements have been pleasantly updated and it’s not as tinny as on the old records. I like Rapture, They spoil it by covering the Beatles Please Please straight after Denis Denis (ok what was the title?) and we have to wait till the last song to hear Heart of Glass. But we’re happy. However, nothing anyone will ever say of these oldies returning to the boards will ever convince me that it’s done for anything but the moolah. I do also wonder why there are so many young people in the audience which is a bit chivvy but altogether not a bad/unattractive audience. I text the clever BF who replies saying that ‘it would be like us in 1978 going to see the Velvet Underground. The young want to learn’. Ahhh he’s smart. I reply saying I go out with him cause he’s a professor and I’ll give him some special rapture later on. And remember I can’t sing.

The only other revelation of the evening is that an old contact has been managing Amy Wino! Wow. That’s a good, if stressful gig. He was always the big, silent type and wonder how he’s coping, she must be a motormouth. Then again think he’s married to another Jewish girl so must be used to it.