I have never yet been to Coney Island when it did not rain. Fortunately, the complete deluge (likened to the one in "War of the Worlds" by my bud Kelly) that greeted me in my last 20 minute above-ground trip out to Coney Island (for ridiculous reasons it takes 1.5 hours to go from where I live in Queens to Coney Island via subway) cleared up by the time I met up with her at Nathan's yesterday. Out came the sun and it dried up all the rain and the itsy bitsy rock'n'rollers climbed out on stage again.
She works for a magazine that's a sister pub to my own, and we sit across from each other at work, so when Kelly landed free tix to see Bryan Adams and Def Leppard play at the minor-league ballfield at Coney in July, who could resist? I've got about equal fan fervor for both (that is, I liked a few hits and remained indifferent to most of the rest of their collective oveure) and it was free and we were guaranteed press access, so no muddy field wandering for us, no siree.
After a terrifying ride on the Cyclone (it's one of those old wooden rollercoaster which no matter how they strap you in you feel like you will fall out, and it goes quite fast in a rattly way) we headed over to the ballfield and met up with the super-nice promoter (which I know doesn't seem likely, but he was cool). He was pissed at the owners of the park, which had (against all logic and common sense and, well, tradition at every other venue in the world) made him and his company liable for anything that might go on during the show. So if the bleachers collapsed, he was screwed, even though it's not his ballfield. That made the show not cost-effective, and though it was too late to pull out, he said there was no way he'd be back.
But such issues weren't our problem and we hung around the upstairs press box, hoping to get a promised-for photo with the promoters and the band(s) for Kelly's mag's Web page. When that wasn't materializing, we ran out for fries at Nathan's and an enormo lemonade. Others were taking advantage of the 64 oz beer cup, which had Kelly's eyes bugging out. Back at the venue the show got started (the opening act, Randy Coleman, was pretty blandly bad; at the end he gave thanks to his dad -- Dabney. OMG!), and Kelly's friend from another sister pub, Katie, and her ride Marco, arrived. We jammed to much of Bryan Adams from the press box area, then spotted another of Katie's co-workers Bram, down in the seats. We all yelled at once to him and he came up with a bunch of his Playboy-mag friends; we ended up on the far side of the fourth-floor venue towards the latter part of Adams, which just sounded better and had its own bar, plus plenty of room to move around.
Katie it turned out was a big Bryan Adams fan from back in the day, and was going nuts. When he sang his sappy "Everything I Do (I Do it For You)" with those lyrics -- "I'd lie for you, I'd die for you" we started making up more: "I'd bake a pie for you, I'd catch a fly for you." So beer and laughs were had, and much poking of fun was made at Adams' selection from the audience -- Mandy from Michigan who worked at a Michael's Arts & Crafts store and apparently had come with her mother and grandmother to the event. They sang a song, badly. But he was personable.
Kelly kept to her task, however, and told us that at 9 we'd need to go to the buses downstairs for the photo op. After threading ourselves through the venue Spinal Tap style, we passed through the food services area ("Anyone for buns?") and out to the loading dock, where the buses, idling and stinky, were waiting. And then it was time for the pictures! Kelly snapped off the official ones she needed of Bryan Adams, who was standing around talking to people, and as she went off to get the Leppard men, I grabbed Bryan's hand, told him what magazine I was with and said Katie was such a fan, could we get a picture. Marco appropriately took my camera and told me to get in. Bryan -- much more slight than he appears on camera -- told me to go ahead and grab on to him, and there you are.
The Leppard fellas were about to go on stage, so we didn't have much time with them either; Adams was waiting to get on his bus and get the heck out of there -- but Kelly got a snap. I stood next to her and also took one, but it was so dark back there that even with a flash it's not all that clear.
The promoter is in there somewhere, as is another guy -- John Scher, I think is how you spell it, who apparently has been a big NY promoter dude for many years. Both were very nice to me. Of course, mentioning the magazine never hurts either.
And finally, back upstairs to have a fist-pumping, devil horn-fingered-raising good time with the Leppards. I was all about "Rockit," which is one of the dumbest songs I've ever heard but which had me going bonzo for all 9 minutes. Maybe the free Sam Adams from the hospitality suite the promoters had set up had something to do with it....
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