This is something that happened last night. I went to see Rickie Lee Jones—who, as anyone who knows me knows is an artist I’m mildly obsessed with—at City Winery. I made the decision at the last minute. Tickets were expensive and City Winery hasn’t ever struck me as a very interesting venue. But biting the bullet and handing over a credit card number for a ticket at City Winery is just what you do when you're a fan.
Jones came out after we’d been waiting for a while, and without much fanfare. I just looked up and there she was, in a bowler hat and fingerless, striped gloves that went halfway up her forearms. She fumbled with her guitar for a second, and then set it down and started “Easy Money” acapella. Her band trickled out, joining in with her in a seemingly spontaneous way. It was fun. She sounded fantastic, as she always does. Then the song ended and there was a lot more fumbling—with the guitar, with the tuner; the technician was summoned, something was wrong. Jones was talking with the technician while at the same time introducing the show, all in her characteristic stream-of-consciousness mumble. This is what she does when she performs, or at least in the several times I’ve seen her shows: free verse ramblings interspersed with songs.
We had been waiting for the show to start for a while, and she didn’t seem to be making a public effort to kick it into motion. While we were all a little annoyed, the consensus seemed to be that we were eager to forgive our idol and wanted the show to start. But then the most annoyed and least idolizing audience member, in a moment of Jones’ fumbling silence, said out loud, “This is what we get after waiting for an hour?” Jones snapped: “Yes, this is what you get. Fuck you. You think because I’m standing up here on a stage you can be rude to me? I’ll pay for your fucking dinner and you can leave. Fuck you.” (This is an approximation, but you get the jist.) Then there was more finagling with cords and guitars, and Jones announced she’d be leaving the stage in order to get everything fixed, and in the meantime she wanted the woman who’d spoken up to be escorted out.
And that’s what happened. (It was the most unexpected husband and wife—an older couple in comfortable shoes! I’d noticed them when they entered and thought how when I get old that’s what I’ll look like.) They were escorted out, but not before Jones returned to the stage. The husband threw out a few fuck you’s at Jones before finally leaving, and then the show went on.
(The show was great, even if it had an understandably strange vibe. She performed her first two albums in their entirety, but in the order that she wrote the songs.)
I’ve never witnessed anything like this before. I'd heard and read that Jones—and this is something about her that I’ve always found appealing—is unrepentant when it comes to this kind of incident. She later said, “It’s going to take some time for me to heal from that old bitch,” and people cheered and shouted out lots of compliments. We all agreed: the woman who'd left was undoubtedly rude, she probably shouldn’t have been there, we were glad when she was gone. But there remained a tinge of uneasiness. Surely this was not the most gracious way to handle the situation.
But my ticket said that show time was 8:00. I overheard a server saying later that Jones would go on at 8:30. Then the show didn’t start until 9:15. My ticket—the cheapest option, with an obstructed view—was $60, not including X glasses of fine (as in, OK) wine. Shows always start late, fans are quick to forgive, even at pricy shows, nothing new here. But now I'm wondering, are we getting our information from two different databases? Is this plain revisionist history? It’s hard for even a rabid fan like me to not get irritated at a tweet like this.
This reminded me of the last Cassandra Wilson show I saw (you know, too, that Cassandra Wilson is my other favorite). This was at a similarly problematic venue, Blue Note Jazz Club. At some point during the first or second song, Wilson extended her arm, pointed out her index finger, and, circling around, scanned the full audience before zeroing in on some poor viewer who was trying to film her with a digital video recorder. She stood there pointing, saying something like “Gotcha! Right there—that one!” as she ordered a Blue Note staff member to confiscate the camera. It was a scene, it was the behavior of a diva, and it annoyed me a lot. Sure, it’s not permitted to record these shows (though, what’s going to happen? Another shaky YouTube video that only a rabid fan like me is ever going to watch?), but, once again, is this the most gracious way to handle the situation? It seems to me that recording a live show is a act of affection, and publicly humiliating a fan isn't productive for anyone involved.
So two things: a fan buys a ticket to a show and it is a gesture of respect, and whoever’s name is on the ticket stub is the recipient of that respect. Maybe I am getting old and turning into a Republican (just kidding!), but it seems that that respect should to be nurtured and returned to those who facilitate it. That’s part of what an audience expects, even if there are some exceedingly annoying, poorly behaved ticket holders ones out there. Saying fuck you to even a demeaning, rude, and probably misplaced audience member violates the balance of respect. There must be other ways to make the point without going there.
The other is something my Grandpa told me a while ago, right after I’d moved here and was going on about how in New York I’ve come into contact with all the writers and artists I love—people such as Cassandra Wilson, who I saw in concert not one month after the move. He said, “Yeah, but soon enough you realize they’re all just people, too.” I really didn’t want to believe him then and I scoffed when he said it. But I suppose it's time to come around.
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