Ah, fandom. From November:
Re: I Sh*t You Not.
So last night I headed out to Davies Symphony Hall in San Francisco for the SF Jazz Festival performance of the Ornette Coleman trio.
Ornette Colemen is the most important figure of the avant-jazz scene. His “free jazz” improv was (and still is) controversial when he came out with his 1959 album “Something Else”. The traditional concepts of beat and harmony don’t apply in Coleman’s music: everyone plays at varying tempos and the result is highly organized chaos.
Ornette is about 72 and probably won’t be playing for much longer, so I was not going to miss a single second of this concert.
Yesterday, there was some serious thunderstorm action in San Francisco. I had to wait outside for my friend Greg “Kuch” Kucharo, who was driving up from Menlo Park and, naturally, had my tickets. In the meantime, I was getting wet and windblown while watching the people congregated in the lobby: upscale yuppie types in black leather jackets (from The Gap), artsy-punk types in thrift-store t-shirts and cords, but my favorites were the scruffy artists and musicians who showed up in threadbare tweed jackets and paint-splattered jeans, looking like homeless guys except they’re clean and showered. Those guys are my people.
The “please get to your seats” chime was going like crazy, and still no Greg. I was about an inch away from total panic. Three scruffy guys behind me were loudly taking about how they couldn’t unload one of their tickets, and they seemed to have no plan to go in unless they did. I casually glanced over my shoulder to look at them (as you do), and I lost the ability to breathe for a second. I’m not ready for this, I thought.
Standing behind me, with two of his buddies, trying to give his extra ticket to every woman and man in front of the theater except for me, was my idol Tom Waits.
Hang on, I thought. It’s probably just a guy who looks like Tom Waits. There are tons of Tom Waits wannabes in San Francisco. However, when his buddy said that Ornette got them four tickets, and Tom didn’t want the last one to go to waste, I knew it was him.
So my mind is blaring: Where’s Kuch?, Tom Waits! Back and forth, over and over again. I’m torn between waiting for Kuch and missing the first few minutes of the concert, or throwing myself at Tom. Finally, I make the only rational decision available to me: I shout, “Hey, I’ll take that last ticket!”
There’s a fine line between loyal friend and complete idiot.
Tom says, “You will?”
I say, “Yeah.”
As he hands it to me, I have to ask: “Are you Tom Waits?”
He says “Yeah” in a way that makes it pretty clear he doesn’t want to talk about it.
“I’m a huge fan”, I squeak as I fly into the hall. It takes three ushers to help me find my seat, because my mind has shut down. I’m so flustered at my brush with Tom that it doesn’t occur to me that I’ll be sitting with Tom and his pals until they show up trying to find their seats. The seating at Davies is totally without rhyme or reason, so Tom is totally confused. I take his ticket and figure out that he’s sitting right next to me. I turn to him and say the only appropriate thing I can say: “Thanks for the ticket.” He smiles and winks. Oh my god.
I get out my cell phone, cover my mouth with my hand, and call Kuch.
“Don’t wait up for me. I got an extra ticket from Tom Waits”, I say through gritted teeth.
“WHAT?”
“I’m sitting with TOM WAITS! I’ll catch up with you after the show.”
“Uh. Okay”, he says. I hang up and turn off the phone.
At that point, Ornette, his son Denardo (on drums), and Charnett Moffett on upright bass come out on stage and I’m not sure if I’m going to cry or throw up. I’m sitting next to Tom Waits not 10 yards from the Ornette Coleman trio. I was having a fangirl meltdown.
I have to say that Charnett Moffett’s bass work is unbelievable. He was laying down some Bootsie Collins-style funk with a wah pedal, which is pretty damn impressive on an upright bass. Denardo Coleman played for almost two straight hours at breakneck speed, and of course, Ornette was sublime.
After the show, Tom and his buddies disappeared into the crowd as I gathered all my things. I grabbed Tom’s program, turned on my phone, and was summarily declared pure evil by Kuch. We met up with some other people at Max’s Opera Café, and as if I couldn’t be the luckiest bastard on Earth, they had my favorite thing they make, schi (a Russian soup made with cabbage and brisket), on the menu.
Overall, it was a pretty dam good evening.
1:37:12 PM 
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