Providing a soapbox for the inherently cranky since 2005.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
It's Not What You'd Really Call "Stalking", Would You?!?
So, you all know I'm a hopeless fan-git over this Scottish singer, right? Right. I'm sure you're all bored to tears with my constant mentions of him, but deal with it. Not only do I love his music, which is ever-changing and growing, but he's a really great person as well.
His name is Fish, and he has the soul of a poet. I've always been attracted to the written word, and Fish's lyrics are just poems set to music. Anytime a song (or a poem) can take me out of myself, it's worth enjoying more than once.
Fish hails from right near Edinburgh (Jeni, you may run into him one day in Tesco!) in the Lothian area of Scotland, and plays mainly to crowds in the UK and Europe. I had just about given up on seeing him ever perform here in the Southern United States, but the Internet saved me! I discovered through an online forum that Fish would be playing a few dates on the Eastern Seaboard in 2000! (Yay for the Internet!) The gig that would be easiest for me to see was Atlanta, Georgia, at the Variety Playhouse. I made plans to make the long drive, knowing that this was probably my one shot at seeing the Big Man perform.
And perform he did. The show was great, but it was what happened afterwards that cements my love and admiration for the man. After the show, Fish is known to unwind with an alcoholic beverage or four, and typically, he invites fans along for the ride. At the gig, Fish announced that he would be repairing to a pub around the corner, and we were all welcome to join him for a post-prandial libation, if we were so inclined.
I dragged my poor husband (who at this point, had been awake for nearly 24 hours) off to the pub after the show so I could meet the Man in person. We hung around for as long as we dared, but JF was tired beyond belief, and wanted sleep in the worst kind of way. We decided to leave before Fish ever made it to the bar, and JF set off to fetch the car. As I waited on the corner, Fish comes sauntering by, and snaps off a smart salute in my direction. I stood on the corner for about 3 nanoseconds, debating whether or not to follow him into the pub to ask for an autograph and a picture. It didn't take long for me to turn and follow him inside. As I walked up to the towering man, I hovered a bit, wondering if it would be bad form to bombard him so quickly after arriving, but decided to go with the whole gauche, gushing fan-wank American persona I had so cleverly crafted, and tapped him on the shoulder. (Of course, since he's 6 foot 5, I had to stretch a bit to REACH his shoulder, but there you are...) He was as nice as could be, and not only obliged me for the autograph and picture, but I got a hug out of the deal as well.
Fish is known for personally answering emails, visiting fans whenever he happens to be in their hometown, and hosting special conventions just as a way for his fans to celebrate his music. His music is only part of what makes him special to me -- the other part is just being a damn nice guy. I know I was just another face in the crowd that night, but it made me very happy.
Note: My wonderful husband figured out what I was doing wrong, and resized the picture for me. Yay for the technical guru husband!