Mac McGuire
People always talk about the great memories they had at concert halls of Buffalo’s past, but for my one and, unless it will ever reopen, only time at the Showplace Theatre, I could have gone without it. It was early high school, so maybe 1999 or 2000, and I was in my sort of/wanna be hippie phase. I wore this ridiculous hemp necklace and constantly wore Birkenstocks with fleece socks deep into the fall. Hey, I know they were ugly, but they sure were comfy, so what did I care. I showered just a bit too often and couldn’t really do that hippie groove type dancing that you see at Phish shows and such, so I was always a fringe jam fan, but Blues Traveler… Hmm, they were close enough to jam right? I liked them and they were coming to the Showplace Theatre. Why not get some friends together and make the night of it?
Being a short kid still working out his baby fat, or husky as my father always kindly put it (thanks for the self-esteem boost!), never really did me any favors growing up, and it certainly didn’t that night. My friend Omar’s older friend Paul drove the two of us and our friend Ben to the show that night. Having only two live music experiences under my belt (a Dave Matthews/Time Reynolds show at UB and a live, in-store appearance by Bare Naked Ladies at Media Play), this would be my first “club” show, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. Paul dropped us off right in front of the theatre in the middle of Black Rock as he looked for parking. Being an Amherst kid, I didn’t go to Black Rock so this was a bit intimidating for me. It didn’t get any better inside. I felt like the smallest and youngest person in there. It was grimy room, and I was not at the age where I appreciated something like that, but might as well enjoy myself until the show began.
Luckily, we didn’t have to wait long. The show was good and all, I guess. I knew the Blues Traveler hits, and a few lesser known songs, but of course, they played none of those, at least from what I can remember. I stayed near the back, occasionally having a drunken older woman dance a little too close to my comfort zone. I was waiting for my moment though. Frontman John Popper was known for handing out his harmonicas at the end of their shows and I was hell-bent on leaving with one of them. Once the last song came along, I zipped through the crowd and managed to squeeze my way right up to the front, waiting for that moment to grab a harmonica. His vest was full of them, a pocket for each one, but I figured my chances were slim. He threw the first one a few rows deep. Maybe I should have just stayed where I was after all, I thought. Wouldn’t you know it, the second one was gently tossed right into my hands. I couldn’t believe it. The harmonica was cold, much bigger than I thought, but it was mine and I held my hand up in victory. Before I knew it, it was ripped right out of my hand by a bouncer. A massive man, he gave me a look that screamed, “What are you going to do about it?” and being maybe 5 foot 2 at that time, there clearly wasn’t anything I could do. Naturally, the bouncer handed the harmonica to a rather attractive woman to my left. So it goes, I guess.
With my head held low, I left the theatre disappointed and starving. I hadn’t eaten any dinner and I needed something quick. There was some shady looking guy selling donuts right outside of the theater. Not exactly my first choice, but my options were slim so I grabbed a buck and bought myself one. The first, and what would be my last bite, was good enough until I walked right into another massive guy. Am I really this small or do larger men just really like blues and harmonica? After apologizing to the guy, he looked down at me, took a his cigarette out of his mouth, because I guess there was no ash tray anywhere near, proceeded to put out the butt right into my donut. Everyone seemed to have a nice laugh and all, I guess I missed out on the joke. I turned around to find Paul waiting in the car for me to jump in. “You guys hungry?” he asked. Yeah, just a bit.
Impractical Cartography 