Turn and face the strange ch-ch-changes

~~~~~

Ellen wrote about the last moments of the Fruvous show in Oberlin. I was trying to write about those moments, but another bit from the show the night before is perhaps more telling. I must preface it with a set of facts; go ahead and read 'til the end before you decide I'm a stuck-up bitch who thinks she's better than everybody else.

The band often closes the main set with a souped-up version of a song from their first album. It's a lot of fun, even if some of us who see a lot of shows have been tired of the "new" version for many moons now.

Friday night in Rochester, I was standing in my usual spot--directly in front of the stage, on the far right hand side, also known as Stage Dave in Fruvous parlance--there was very little room up there, but that's the place where I'm happiest because it means that there are people on three sides of me, but in front of my face is clear. That's the critical part.

The Fruvous crowd is, well, to put it simply, it's largely composed of geeks and former geeks. Virtually every member of the crowd has something that makes her stick out; or had such an attribute at some time. If you had ever thought that there ought to be a place where all those freaks could just hang out together, being a Fruhead is probably it. Or was.

One of the commonalities about Fruheads is that they tend to like to sing along with the show. Sometimes it seems like they're trying to out-perform the band. This drives me insane; it always has. I have less sympathy for the restrained performer in Fruheads than I have for other weirdnesses, because I bought my ticket, just like they did. I dance, I laugh, I sing when I'm called upon to sing and I have a great time; they can do it too!

(Confession: Yes, I'm living proof that it's possible to go through life unscarred despite having been a theatre geek. Nobody ever has to know. You'd think that would make me sympathetic, but it doesn't.)

However, these people seem to like to call attention to themselves. I guess I can't blame them, but I can tune them out from the front row, which is why I stand there.

The Rochester crowd was extremely vocal. In fact, the drummer remarked that the band "didn't even have to sing any more!" during one song, which drew cheers from parts of the crowd. I continued to focus myself on what was happening on stage for most of the show.

During that last song, I did something I'd never done before: I turned around to watch the crowd. What I saw was nothing short of incredible. It was this joyful carpet of faces rolling, bobbing, swaying, singing. The colored lights played on the surface. They looked young and free, every one of them; the cynicism I felt about them washed away entirely and I felt privileged to have watched and even been a part of their good time; I felt like I had been given a gift.

That, I realized, is how Dave must see them. He treats his fans with a remarkable amount of affection and respect. It's not that I had ever wondered why, but there's a difference between knowing intellectually that something is the right thing to do and feeling, from experience, that it is the only thing.

In that moment, I understood.

before - after