Long ago, there was a balance. Artists would politely defer and escape, and then be raucously hauled back for a final taste. Satisfied audiences. Groovy. Then it got a bit silly. I think musos were still finding their fusion feet and had their genres spliced – they went all theatre on us - waiting for the crowd to wait for more the way that overeager, under-adored actors do. (though thank willy they didn’t link hands and stand around expectantly like thespians with dumb, plastered smiles.) If they skipped offstage it would be superfast to take a drag of some girl’s cigarette and they’d be back like a boomerang with a HelloYouDidn’tMissMeDidYou kind of a face, before recommencing the game and giving us our hungry (or overfull) dues. Now they get their fags from the crowd (à la Taxi Violence) and when they’re gone, they’re gone. No fat lady. No rendition. No fokkol. So there’s no need to come back, then? No matter what we want? Is a coy tip of the hat, a “Thank you, that’s that” enough? Hell no. Leaving the rest of us post peak to wander around like zombies, not quite finished, not quite free, is not very cool.
So if, like me, you don’t get enough either, do what toddlers having tantrums do – open your mouth and stamp your feet. Otherwise, try my other solution: give them a bit of what they deserve by going backstage at the very point that they vonttoo bee ahloan. A bevy of gushing groupies might just chase them back on to give us our afters. And then maybe next time they’ll give it up a little easier when we want more.
I said, we want more.