Maybe it’s an East Coast thing. But after the house lights came up and the last chords of “Limelight,” the evening’s final song of the set list, had finished echoing from the arena, I just stood there at my seat for a little while. I say stood because for seven shows I did nothing but stand. I remember being a little overwhelmed at the Irvine show and sat on the top of the folded seat during the two unplugged songs of “Resist” and “Heart Full of Soul.” Actually, I think almost every night I saw the band I probably took a two song break at that time and at least tried to sit for a few minutes.
Back east where I am originally from in New York and New Jersey – people like to sit in their seats after a performance and just relax for a little while and not just rush out of a place. It was nice standing there seeing the roadies immediately begin to tear down the stage and watch the hordes of people streaming up the aisles on the lower level and out of the arena.
And while Charles, who was beside me all night, took off to see other friends and family members who were at the show, I once again found myself alone. I felt a bit sad standing there in an almost empty center section in front of the stage in a goodbye trance, but I was enjoying the reflections of my travels up to that very moment that were still streaming in my consciousness even though the music had stopped. I also enjoyed the fact that I was not all hot and sweaty and dehydrated again – the one show on tour where I wasn’t completely exhausted after getting pounded by heat and humidity as well as amps, watts and Neil’s booming kit. It was a very nice feeling. Almost like an athlete who stays on an empty playing field with lights dimmed after crowd and teammates had left, an accomplishment victorious. Take a look around and wonder when it might happen again.
I slowly dodged chairs and got into the aisle to leave. Funny how things work out, because at the top of the stairs and into the main area of the arena to exit, there were Dan and John, the other jacket guys. They were leaning against a huge concrete pillar, talking among themselves and to other admiring fans, not surprisingly, still fielding questions and giving answers and having more photos taken.
I realized that these guys also had come a long way. I know one of them was from Ohio, and I know that they both drove out to Vegas together by car. So you can imagine what they might have been feeling, although I remember them saying that the possibility for them to go see the final North American date at Molson Amphitheater in Toronto did exist. There’s a big difference in that thinking from Ohio and from San Diego perspectives, unfortunately.
In my brief alone-ness in thought and person I was quickly re-united with my two buddies again and now we were three. There was no reason to hurry, nowhere to go except back up to the 17th floor to retrieve my photography equipment, so I stayed a while. The conversation was good, the crowd passing by thinned out, the hoopla and attention that we get wearing the jackets died down and it was like water from a faucet slowing being turned off until it was just trickling.
Then it stopped completely when we all started heading out of the arena our selves. Goodbyes were short, sweet and heartfelt, sturdy handshakes among all, and people who became connected by a band that brought us together unknowingly at the UMB Bank Pavilion in the Mid-West were now saying goodbye just over a month later in a different state. Not knowing when we will see each other again but knowing somehow, someday, we undoubtedly will cross paths again. Rush brought us together, and now Rush was also separating us.
Outside the doors that had brought me into this great show near the metal detectors that probably were not working – I paused for a moment and looked back at the Marquee that read MGM Grand Garden Arena in script green and black letters. Just a brief glimpse of what may lay beyond (ahead) raced through my head and the answer to that question (“Where will I see them next?” or “I don’t want to leave the tour yet”) forced me to turn back to the lights and sounds of the casino, fumbling my way to the elevators that lead to the 17th floor of the hotel. Lost among humanity and gambling losses, dreams, hopes and desires and heartbreak.
Goodbye. A nano-second of acknowledgement caught on film in Phoenix. Photo: jman2112
I might have felt a little bit like Neil – a brief apparition appearing for a few hours behind his drum kit, performing then waving briefly to acknowledge fans’ presence after the last song of the night in appreciation. Then ducking down, dashing away and disappearing like a ghost. In Phoenix I was really lucky to get a shot of him waving to the crowd at the end of the set. It’s one of the more elusive moments to try and capture.
Merrie and I slipped out to the strip after I retrieved my camera. We needed cigarettes and food and I also needed to see the strip at night. I was somewhat un-impressed with it all – Rush had stolen the show and my excitement and energy had been focused there, and it still was. My feet began killing me – almost 18 straight hours of walking, standing and rocking out made me just want to sit down somewhere.
Which led me back to New York New York where I used my cell phone at 2:30 a.m. to call the hotel shuttle to come and get me. While waiting in the balmy desert heat in the early morning I kept focusing on those flashing lights. New York New York. Flash. New York New York. Flash. New York New York. Flash. I took a couple of photos of that sign because it was speaking to me, and all I could think about was somehow getting to see the two shows at Radio City Music Hall.