Something got me thinking of Bryan Adams whilst in the kitchen this morning. I think because I accidentally cut myself with a knife and it felt so right, I don’t know.
I harkened back to many, many summers ago when I saw him perform with a number of other bands at the late, great JFK Stadium in Philadelphia.
I was very close to the stage, sipping from a flask of Southern Comfort and looking up at this performer, realizing he could easily fall into the category of “less than attractive” rock stars (move over Joe Jackson and Todd Rundgren). Anyway, Philly is a tough town with rowdy crowds and someone took the liberty to toss a bottle at Mr. Adams, while he was crooning about the summer of ‘69.
No sooner had that bottle grazed his shoulder – I mean within a millisecond – and the little guy tosses his mike and flies off the stage, his arms out like a bird and a horribly menacing, twisted look on his face (kinda similar to the expression he had before the bottle hit). He landed on the guy and started wailing away on the poor, drunk sap like there was no tomorrow. I thought “Damn, who knew it? Bryan Adams is a little bad ass. Musically irrelevant but a bad ass nonetheless. Interesting…hey, I’m gonna puke.” And I did.
I stumbled away from that experience with this important lesson learned: Be careful when you toss bottles at people because someone might just “Bryan Adams” you by surprise.
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