With that being said, here is a paraphrased telephone conversation I had with my mother this afternoon.
Mother: What's that Plain White T's song about Baltimore?
Me: I don't know what you're talking about. (Internal monologue: is she confusing them with All Time Low again?)
Mother: Or maybe it was New York?
Me: Still don't have a clue. (Internal monologue: she doesn't mean "Delilah", 'cause she knows that one. What is she on about?)
Mother: You know, the one where the lady's husband is in prison.
Me: Do you mean "Cape Town"?
Mother: Yeah! That's the one!
Me: That's not the Plain White T's.
Mother: Which ones are they, then?
Me: That's The Young Veins. Not the same guys.
Mother: Oh, well, I'll have to get them from you, then. I was gunna play that for your dad.
Me: You should have that album on your iPod.
Mother: Do I?
We'll skip past the bit where I had to explain how to find the album on her iPod.
Mother: I didn't know I had that. I like them, though.
Me: Yeah, I like them, too, but they aren't a band anymore.
Mother: Oh, that's too bad. Anyway, their lead singer isn't as cute as the Plain White T's. Well, I've gotta go, I'll talk to you later!
End Scene.
Anyone who remembers Russell Brand's show on BBC Radio 2 (before Sachsgate!) may be reminded of his "Nanecdotes" feature.
I played this for my mother. She didn't get it.
Regardless, her little comment just made my day.
I think I had a dream like this once; Jimmy Fallon was my fairy godmother, but in that Tony Harrison kind of way.
Looking at this scenario in a lucid mental state, I'd love to remember more about this dream.
Over the last couple of months, she's been asking if anybody on the radio that isn't a Beatle is the Plain White T's. My question is, why does she keep thinking that everyone that isn't the Plain White T's is the Plain White T's? This is becoming a common occurrence at our house. The answer to my question hit me like a bolt of lightning after I recovered from the telephone conversation.
Something I hadn't actually talked about on here is that, after nearly four years, the Two Weeks Nightmare has finally been broken (remember, huh? We talked about that). That being said, she now asks if that's them because she's been underexposed (I have done her wrong!), and she's going to have to sit through an hour and a half set from 'em.
I wasn't too worried about it, really; that is, at first. I figured we would go, have a couple of chuckles, and a fun evening out (while I secretly fangirled, naturally).
Then, the other night, I showed her one of the opening acts.
And she asked the damning question: "Are you sure you wouldn't rather go by yourself, rather than with an old lady?"
Oh, bollocks.
"Well," I said, "I kinda-sorta told you that you wouldn't like it. You know, before you went off and did that crazy buying-tickets-thing."
"Oh, I like it," she corrected too quickly to sound entirely sincere, "it's just..."
I'm not sure whether I mentally finished the sentence for her or not, but I remember it ending with "awfully young".
I'm starting to feel that generation gap.
So, I've been worrying about this for three days. She's going to go, and not understand the words. Maybe the crowd will be too rowdy; after all, we're used to going to concerts like Paul, or Elton John -- quite a difference in genres. What will she think when she hears some of the things that are bound to be heard?
My worry, naturally, isn't about her going (she's the best to go to shows with, and we always have a good time); I worry that she won't enjoy herself. In short, I'm taking her out of a comfort zone. And I'm feeling terribly guilty about it. Guilt is something new for me, since I'm one of those "no regrets, screw 'em all" folks.
Well, it's not like I didn't warn her before she even stepped foot in the door.
I just keep thanking my lucky stars she isn't going to an All Time Low concert.
If I ever get the chance to see 'em, I'd better go it alone.
Here, have a song about Baltimore... or New York... or something. How did she not remember the name of this song? It's got a 40 second refrain at the end that continually repeats "Cape Town", not to mention the chorus.
And this was the moment I fell in musical love with Ryan Ross and Jon Walker.
Post Script -
I thought I'd stick this at the end of the post as a public service announcement.
What I thought was pop-culture common knowledge, apparently, is not (I've just spent too many hours/years of my life on YouTube watching interviews, I guess).
For those few of you on the face of this planet who do not know the story of "Hey There Delilah", please fast forward this interview to the 2:29 timestamp.
