Can't Wait John Waite

It is a little known secret of Short Punks that all of the songs can be broken down into three major influences: Paul Westerberg, Lou Reed, and....Rick Springfield.

Brian's unabashed, unapologetic, completely sincere admiration of mid-80's top forty hits means that on any given night we can be found at a state fair, municipal civic center, or small club waiting for an 80s pop star to relive his or her glory. It could be The Fixx or Van Halen or Rick Springfield. If the artist is now or was at any time featured on a K-Tel album then Brian's gone to hear it.

So last night we were at the Schaumburg September Fest swatting mosquitoes from our our ankles while we waited for John Waite to take the stage. The only song of his you probably remember if you watched MTV in the mid-80s is "Missing You." And along with a couple hundred people lounging on blankets and tarps with beers and barbecue chicken, Brian and I waited for John Waite. It was a cool and pleasant summer night. The tilt-a-whirl swung back and forth in the amusement park behind the stage and there was the distinct smell of cotton candy and popcorn in the air as we threaded our way through crowds of high school students in their last night of summer glory before the end of Labor Day Weekend.

"I feel like I'm on hall duty again." Brian said as we walked past mobs of teen-agers.
I didn't respond as I looked for the food vendors. I didn't eat dinner and the idea of a bratwurst with mustard was appealing to me.

The field in front of the stage was covered with blue tarps and blankets. Whole groups of people had staked out their five by five foot square with coolers and chairs. Brian and I stood at the edge of the field, holding hands.
"Where are we going to sit?" I asked. We came spontaneously and brought no blankets or chairs.
"I don't know."
To our right I saw a path of green, the last bit of grass showing through the blankets.
"Let's go that way." I pointed.
We stepped over bottles and plates of half-eaten chicken and made our way to the front of the stage.
We found a spot in a crowd standing up front. The stage was bigger than I thought it would be and the front was roped off for VIPs and technical crew.
"So what's the appeal of John Waite for you?" I asked.
"He's awe-some!" Brian said. "I like the stuff he did with The Babys but his last solo album was really good too."
"Okay." I said. Brian continued talking. He described John Waite's early bands, his solo projects, his favorite songs, and I half-listened. I was hungry. The show was due to start in15 minutes.
"I have to go to the bathroom. And I have to eat." I said.
Brian stopped mid-lecture. I have this way of interfering with his flights of fancy that brings him slamming back to earth. Brian often forgets he's hungry, sleepy, or that he has to pee. When music is involved he goes to some other world and he forgets that he's not made of ether. I, on the other hand, always remember that I need to eat.
"I'm hungry." I repeated.
"Do you want me to come with you?" He asked.
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Just wait here."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. I'm sure."
I threaded my way back through the field towards the amusement rides looking for food.
After twenty minutes I came back, a box of popcorn in my hand.
"That's what you got?" Brian asked.
"I only had three dollars." I shrugged.
"Why didn't you say so. I had money."
"Don't worry about it." I licked salt from my lips. "This is good."
And it was good. Standing in line in front of a brightly lit booth swathed in the smell of cotton candy and corn dogs, I was swept back to childhood. I was ten years-old again clutching a dollar bill waiting to buy a caramel apple at the annual carnival in Mt. Morris, New York. If I had money left over, I thought, I was going to try and win a gold fish from the booth where you toss ping pong balls into fish bowls. But carnival games are more expensive than they used to be and there wasn't any change.
John Waite's opener was a the crowning of Miss Schaumburg. A row of giggling girls in burgundy prom dresses stood on stage. I missed the crowning while I was getting popcorn, but I passed them on the way back. They clutched roses and beneath their dresses they wore flip-flops.

It may be hard to imagine, but John Waite can rock. He's got a strong voice reminiscent of 80's anthem singers like Steve Perry and he has good sense of how to push a song with his vocals.
And the band rocked. All solid session musicians with a sense of precision that I could never imagine having myself.
When Brian and I are at a show together, listening to a musician, it's not unlike when we're on-stage playing with each other. I know what he's thinking when he's listening. So conversation has a half-spoken quality, as if you were only hearing one side of it.
"You could do that." I say as the guitarist plays riff.
"Yeah that could work in the new song. And you should do that..." He says.
The drummer just ended with a big tom fill.
"I suck at the big toms. Not fast enough."
"You'll get there."
"How about that?" I say.
The bass player had just played a descending line.
"I do that already."
"Oh yeah."
And then there was a big guitar solo. I laughed out loud. Brian smiled. There's something about those big guitar shredding solos that make me laugh. Brian loves 'em. Every note of them.
"Why don't you do a solo like that?' I ask.
"I couldn't if I tried."
John sang for another hour. Brian watched every movement of each musician.
At the next rehearsal I know what to expect. He'll play 80s sounding guitar lines and he'll expect me to punctuate them like an 80s rock drummer. I'll try, but fail, and then Brian will get bored with major chords and throw in suspended ones and before we know it we'll sound like Short Punks again.
John had one encore. A Zeppelin tune. And he rocked it. The band rocked it. The crowd exploded.
"I wished they had played Zeppelin all night." Brian said as we were leaving.
"I'm sure they wished they could have done that too.""
The fireworks had begun and the night sky exploded into red, green, and purple blooms.
We drove through empty suburban streets and down the interstate back to the city. We skipped rehearsal to go to the show, but in a lot of ways, it was better than rehearsing. If it wasn't for Brian I wouldn't explore musicians outside of my narrow interests of jazz and blues and if I didn't hear guys like John Waite and his band, I would have fewer ideas to work with.
For Brian it's a lot simpler than that -- pop songs make him happy.