Backstage Pass to Disappointment

Backstage Pass to Disappointment
By Carlie Dole

The backstage door swings open to reveal a collection of musicians squatting on the steps Boags in hand. The lead singer crouches at the bottom, apparently deep in artistic thought. The support band huddles around this former child prodigy soaking in his drunken stupor as an aurora of success to come.

I take my place at the top of the grey wooden staircase, seemingly unnoticed by the bodies I had stepped over.

Suddenly the Drummer of the headlining act looks up, as though I may bring him temporary distraction to his own critical analysis.

“Hey, how’s it going, who are you?”

What do you say to a famous rock star who is surrounded by groupies every show of every tour?

“Well…my friend here knows the keyboardist.”

“Ah k, sweet.”

He immediately grows bored of my presence and I feel disappointed that I had let him down, not being someone more substantial in his eyes.

Our keyboardist connection suggests we head upstairs to the bands’ official dressing room elaborately labeled with one typed A4 sheet of paper.

Shabby grey couches in semi-circle formation surround a coffee table littered with paper, bottles and a clip-bag of Marijuana. My friend takes the initiative to roll a joint from the bands stash and I am intrigued by her lack of inhibitions.

And so the night proceeds in the support bands dressing room. We sit in a circle connected only by the white stick of green stuff and small talk. The lead singer giggles incessantly whilst swigging from a bottle of unlabelled red wine.

On reflection I find that what I expected when I crossed the threshold with my backstage pass was a conversation with a rock star that would instil some wisdom in my young heart. Perhaps I expected these professional entertainers to keep up the act backstage and that is why I walked away disappointed.