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date >> 08-14-2003

the event >> black pearls listening party and concert

location >> the house of blues - anaheim, CA

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memoir by me


Thursday night I returned to the scene of the crime -- The House of Blues, Anaheim -- the venue where I first saw Eric Sardinas perform, almost a year ago. The evening's planned festivities included a Listening Party for Black Pearls (the new CD) at 8 PM, to be followed by a live performance at 10. I'd made arrangements beforehand to bring a camera, so my first stop (after winding my way through the fanny-pack-and-walking-short-bedecked revelers of Downtown Disney) was at the Will Call window, to pick up my photo sticker.


Standing at the window was a silver-haired gentleman, who appeared to be engaged in an intense discussion with the HOB employee behind the glass. As I neared, I understood why. The HOB employee was insisting that, in order to attend the Listening Party, one must be "on the list." (A worrying development, to be sure, since I most certainly wasn't.)


"That's not right," I said, entering the debate uninvited. "Eric Sardinas' Official Mailing List has been sending out announcements and reminders about this event, and nowhere did they mention needing to be on any 'list.' They said to be here at 8 PM for the Listening Party, and voilĂ , here we are."


Nothing got resolved (it never does), so the silver-haired gentleman left to get in line with the other fans already waiting in the queue. I signed the necessary paperwork, picked up my sticker, and joined them.


Saints be praised! The Yellow Jackets actually started letting people into the club. Disaster averted. (I still can't help but wonder how many fans who showed up early for the Listening Party were turned away by HOB staff.)


The Listening Party was to take place on the balcony/terrace/patio/whatever-you-call-it, so I hustled up there (since it was past 8 PM). I don't know what I was expecting. Actually, that's not true. I do. I was expecting the album to be (if not blasting) playing at sufficient volume to be heard and enjoyed. No such luck. With the exception of the area where Favored Nations Entertainment (the band's record label) had tables of goodies set up, the volume of the music was so low on the balcony that I had to strain to hear it. It didn't help that a guitarist was playing on the street outside, with his amp pointed right at The House of Blues. I wandered around, trying to find a spot where I could hear the album, and eventually settled on the FN area.


Favored Nations had laid out handbills advertising the new album, CD samplers of songs from the label's 2003 releases, a clipboard to preorder Black Pearls, and one to sign up for the FN mailing list. I asked the Favored Nationals working the table if it would be alright for me to set out handbills about this site, and they said it would be fine. So I did.


Behind the tables were a cardboard flat advertising Black Pearls, and a cardboard standup from Washburn advertising the Eric Sardinas Signature Resonator Guitar (ES20). I asked Favored National John when the guitar was going to make its debut, and he said that he thought it was already available. I told him that it wasn't on the Washburn site, or for sale on any of the major music instrument e-tailers. (It still isn't, as far as I can tell. I wrote to Washburn with an inquiry weeks ago, but they have thus far not deigned to honor me with a reply. Charming.)


As the balcony began to get crowded and noisy, the FN area was no longer a good spot to listen to the album (there was no good spot), but I stayed there anyway, because it was in the shadows. Paul Loranger and Mike Dupke showed up in turn, each taking a few minutes to chat with me (they are very sweet with their fans), then Emma (a freelance photographer hired by Favored Nations to document the event) brought the whole band over to take pictures in front of the Black Pearls flat. I surrendered my dark corner, and slipped away.


I wound up at the table of Dawnene and Stephanie (I hope I'm getting their names right), two stylish ladies whom I had never met, but liked immediately. They put me at my ease for the first time that evening. We chatted, we joked, we swapped Eric Sardinas stories, and they even helped me put out flyers inside the club as it got closer to show time.


Then I saw fireworks.


Seriously. I saw actual fireworks. I was talking to Dawnene and Stephanie, when suddenly I heard what sounded like a gunshot. I turned my head in the direction of the sound, and saw the sky light up above the wall behind the FN tables. I hurried across the balcony, and behind the tables, to the storage area -- the best spot to see what was happening. And what was happening was one of the brightest and most beautiful fireworks displays I've ever seen. Eventually, more people made their way to the storage area, and one of them -- a man named Dana (who owes me a review of Thursday night's show) -- clued me in. As it turns out, during the summer, Disneyland shoots off fireworks every night at 9:30 PM.


In case you've never seen it, I won't ruin the surprise, I will just say this: If you get the chance to see this, see it. It's awesome, and it ends perfectly. (It made me all verklempt!)


So, on this night, Eric Sardinas' opening act was fireworks. What could be more appropriate?


It was now show time, so Dawnene, Stephanie and I went down to the pit, and (you guessed it) right up against the stage. We weren't center stage, but slightly to the right of center. That turned out to be the best spot in the house, because we were equidistant between Eric and Paul, and had a clear shot of Mike.


I'm not going to write a show review (for reasons stated elsewhere on this site). Instead, I'm going to take this opportunity to engage in a little op-ed, and express a now deeply-held belief engendered by this particular show.


Eric Sardinas should never, under any circumstances, play any place smaller than The House of Blues, or any place that isn't standing-room-only against the stage.


No bars. No restaurants. No place that serves food to customers in the floor area. No place that has tables that go right up to the stage. No place without a curtain and cool stage lights. No place lacking big-room acoustics and a loud-as-hell PA system. No place where the stage isn't at least 4 feet above the floor, and 20 feet wide.


Period.


(Don't get me wrong. I've enjoyed the intimate club gigs that I've been to. Small clubs have definite advantages -- taking pictures is a snap, your feet don't get trampled on, it's easy to keep track of your stuff, people don't grope you or spill their drinks on you, it doesn't take a mile-long hike to get back to your car, etc. -- but those advantages can never make up for what small clubs lack.)


This band was meant to play large venues that rock. That is where they belong. I am absolutely convinced that this is mete, just, and part of Nature's grand design. What convinced me is a single, incontrovertible fact amply demonstrated on Thursday night:


This band is a different (and better) band when they are playing on a stage worthy of them.


These men are stars, and like all stars, they belong in the firmament, not down here on Earth with us mortals... and certainly not in some dinky little neighborhood bar.


But even setting all that aside, there is another reason this band belongs on a real stage, and that reason is the audience.


A significant part of the magic of the live concert experience is the opportunity it affords each audience member to shed his or her individual identity and personal inhibitions, and become part of the communal whole. There is nothing quite as freeing as the anonymity of being one of hundreds or thousands -- just another face, another body, another voice in the crowd.


To understand what I'm getting at, close your eyes and imagine the moment the lights go down in a large venue, just before the band takes the stage... Do you hear that sound? The roar of the crowd? Now ask yourself, would these same people scream as loud or as long as they do, if their voices were distinct and distinguishable? If they were one of dozens, rather than thousands? Would they sing along as loudly? Would they dance as freely?


No, of course not. But they're no longer themselves, no longer individuals acting individually. They're part of something bigger, and that something wraps them in a cloak of invisibility and, in a sense, invincibility. Under those circumstances, self-consciousness seems silly, almost narcissistic. What does it matter if you scream like a lunatic, sing along off-key, or dance what you feel? Why, out of an audience of thousands, would anyone be listening to or watching you in particular? They wouldn't. You're nobody, and being nobody frees you to act and react honestly.


It's an incredible feeling, and it can't be had in a dinky little neighborhood bar.


Take me. I love to dance. When I hear music, my mind fills with images of dance. If music is playing, I'm subconsciously choreographing it. (Musicians sing and play instruments to make music. Music sings and plays bodies to make dance... If that makes any sense.)


So, I love to dance, probably more than the average person, but I don't dance when I go to see Eric Sardinas play small bars. I can't. I'm too self-conscious, because I'm me -- an individual being personally evaluated and judged.


...But put me in a place like The House of Blues, and I dance my ass off. I can, because I'm not me. No one is evaluating or judging me. I get to be just another face, another body, another voice in the crowd. I'm free to act and react honestly and un-self-consciously, and that rocks. I want more of that.


The show was incredible, and so were Eric, Paul and Mike. Their performance reminded me of what I saw and heard the first time at The House of Blues -- what made me a fan in the first place, and what has kept me coming back for more, for almost a year now.


It was a real concert. Hell, we even got an encore.


=================.


I fully intended to take pictures at the show. Really, I did. I even snapped a few off, but they came out awful, because I wasn't concentrating on the task at hand. (Given a choice between framing shots of Eric, Paul and Mike, or dancing to their music, I chose the latter... and I have no regrets.)


If I'm lucky, Emma will send me some pictures from the show that I can share with you here. I had a chance to see digital previews of some of the shots she was getting, and they looked amazing. I hope she comes through.


So, I didn't get pictures, but I did get some goodies -- a promotional CD single of the title track from Black Pearls, a Favored Nations' 2003 Appetizers CD, and the Budweiser bottle that Eric played slide with. I motioned to the stagehand to set it aside for me, and he did. A security guard took it away from me ('no glass on the floor,' or some such nonsense). I explained that the bottle was empty, that it was the very same bottle that Eric had played slide with, and that I just wanted to keep it as a souvenir, but he took it away from me anyway... and then returned it to me... autographed. 


:)



Mouse over any thumbnail to read its caption. Click on any thumbnail to view the full-size version:

(Kung Fu Fighting Hamster presents)''Black Pearls'' Promotional CD Single        (Bumble Snowmonster presents) Favored Nations CD Sampler ''2003 Appetizers''        (Devil Duckie and Ducklings present) Autographed Budweiser Beer Bottle Slide


Apropos-but-totally-off-topic Lyric:


fade...

fade...

fade into you

caught in the rush of the crowd

lost in a wall of sound

you were ringing in my ear

-- American Hi Fi, "Wall of Sound"