Music to our Ears.

 Well, the concert was good fun. It was not nearly as loud as the last event we went to, which was a bit of a relief to my poor ears. Tim enjoyed himself, and it made me happy to see him enjoying himself. There is something very nice about listening to music that you know all the words to.

For the last half of the concert, Tim wanted to be up front, and surprisingly, there was plenty of room to do so. I love to people watch, and there were plenty of people to watch. I watched a tall dark haired woman come up to a man and begin rubbing against him, her arms around his neck. They obviously knew each other, and she was talking earnestly in his face. He listened, but I noticed that his hands stayed in his pockets. He did not hug her back. He did not smile. A song came on that she loved and she turned her attention back to the band, and began to dance. He quickly sat down. She turned back to him and then leaned forward, still dancing, and removing her sweater in a flirty, flashy way. He did not look at her. 

I found this all very interesting. He was part of a group of three men. There may have been a fourth, but he was up and mingling in the crowd, while the other three stayed at their place. appreciating the music, clapping and cheering with the crowd. 

The Titusville Iron Works is just that, a huge old foundry building, probably a good city block in size. It is furnished with an eclectic mix of furniture: sofas, chairs, vintage kitchen chairs and tables, office furniture, benches, barber chairs, There are gas fires in cast iron clawfoot tubs and furniture arranged around these things. There's an old city street car filled with local memorabilia, old cars, old motorcycles. It's hard to explain, but I guess a picture is worth a thousand words. 

Anyways, these three (possibly four) men had staked claim on a sofa right up front that had a long bench in front of it that held their empty beer cans and the remnants of their meals. When the girl heard another song coming that she loved, she climbed up on the bench and began to dance. She must have been quite tipsy. The man who'd been trying so hard to ignore her leapt up to make sure she didn't fall, but acted as if he didn't quite know where to put his hands. He tried to talk to her, but the music was loud ('Tusk'.) He gave an 'I give up' sort of hand motion, and sat back down. 

After her song, the woman climbed off the bench and turned her attention once again to the man. Another man in the group crooked his finger at her and she went to the other end of the sofa to him. He was trying to have a quiet word with her, but...the music was loud, and another song came on that she liked and she disappeared into the crowd. 

I found it all fascinating. 

The three men were joined by another fellow and after a quick discussion (the show was nearing its end), I saw them fanning out in the crowd, craning their heads this way and that, obviously looking for someone. I got the idea that they were looking for that girl. They must have felt some responsibility to her. I found that interesting. Did they all come as a group? What happened? What was the story?

But in the end, the show ended, and the crowd began to filter out. I will never know. 

So that was our night. Something I found very odd was that in the middle of this set, the guitarist set aside his guitar and picked up, of all things, a flute! He began to play Bouree, which I will aways associate with Ian Anderson. I turned to Tim and said, "That's Jethro Tull!" It just struck both our ears as out of place. 

That was our night. I've never been a tribute band sort of person myself, but we've seen three of them now, and it is just nice to spend an evening listening to familiar songs that you know every word to. 

I spent a miserable day today. A kidney stone was on the move. It seems to be over and done with now. It gave me a good opportunity to try to figure out why my watch called my daughter 11 times during the concert. I still don't understand what happened there, but I did figure out how to lock the screen to prevent it. 

So that was the weekend.