Early on a Tuesday evening, I arrived at a local dive bar for a show by Dream Syndicate. There’s no opening act (or rather, as Steve Wynn will later joke, the Dream Syndicate are opening for the Dream Syndicate) and a blissfully early 7 p.m. start time. I greeted the door woman, bought a bottle of water, grabbed a bar stool against the far wall, and opened the book in progress on my phone until the show started.
At the end of September, I walked into the Majestic Theatre to see the Michael Shannon/Jason Narducy R.E.M. tribute. It’s a GA venue that holds a little over 1,000. When the doors opened, I headed for the barrier for no other reason than the volume at that proximity helps drown out what jamband fans refer to as “chompers” — people who view concerts as suitable background for their conversations. Delightfully, I found myself standing with four other women. We killed time before the show talking about what other concerts we’d been to recently, and took turns watching each other’s spot when someone needed a bathroom run. (There was no line at the women’s room for that show, a big reason I wanted to be close so I didn’t run the risk of standing near a dude needing to explain R.E.M. to me, like the guy at the bar where I was eating dinner before the show.)
