Landing in London

I arrived at Gatwick Airport. So far so good. I looked around, my friend was nowhere to be seen. Then it dawned on me. There was another major international airport called Heathrow. I had naively assumed that’s where I would land but hadn’t actually confirmed that with Adam, nor bothered to read my ticket. Mobile phones weren’t a thing, and I didn’t have his home phone number either. Time passed, he hadn’t shown up and I realised I’d have to go to Heathrow in case he was waiting there.

It was about an hour by train from Gatwick to Heathrow. The whole time I was in a state of mixed emotions. The excitement of being in a new country – the sights, the sounds, the smells – balanced with mild panic. What if he wasn’t there? What if he was but I couldn’t find him? I decided there was no point panicking, I should just enjoy the moment. So I hit ‘play’ on my portable cassette player, and gazed out the window while Rush became the soundtrack once again. The sky was overcast, I hoped it wasn’t an omen.

The train doors finally swished open.

“Mind the gap” advised the voice over the station intercom.

Okay okay, train voice. I get it… although I do like your accent.

I walked around briskly in search of my friend. Hoping there might be an information booth or something that might be an obvious place to go when you’ve lost people. Just when the panic was about to return, I spotted a large circular notice board. Salvation beckoned in the expanse of hundreds of little notes of varying sizes. My eyes darted around the sea of names and numbers and hastily scrawled messages of hope.

Suddenly, there it was! My name and a message saying he’d waited and was going to try Gatwick. Excellent! I know how to get there! At the back of my mind, I wondered how many times we might circle and thereby pass each other before finally meeting. Well, I had to keep moving, for time was passing and I had a mission!

I switched tapes. “Exit… Stage Left” seemed like an appropriate choice.

I recalled those high school days when Rush was new to me. It was the first time I heard the term “tight” used in a musical context. It means that moment when all the musicians in the band are playing perfectly in time. All of them hitting the beats and notes in unison. I remember visiting another friends place, who was also a musician – much more accomplished than myself. Naturally, I had brought along some Rush. So I put on “Exit… Stage Left” and another musician in the room commented that they were “so tight!”

Since then, I’ve felt a sense of moral purpose to introduce as many people to Rush as possible. So that they might share in the “joyful noise” with me.

Mind the gap.

I was back at Gatwick. Assuming my “brisk walk” mode (after all I was in England. One doesn’t run.) I searched for what might be a logical meeting place. After a quick check at the arrival gate, a sense of deja vu swept over me when I spotted another notice board. After another semi-panicked search, there it was. The note with my name. Adam had again waited and decided it best if he gave me his number, and address and that I find my way to his place.

I had all my Rush tapes and a couple of other mixtapes. So I was all set. The train station was easy to navigate, I discovered it was roughly three hours by train to Chigwell.

At the ticket office, I asked where platform 2 was. A kind person behind me said, “I’m going to the same platform, I’ll show you.” Great! Maybe I’ll have someone to talk to on the way. We boarded the same train. Great! I sat next to her and turned to attempt a conversation. Without a word, she put on her headphones. We sat in silence, each with headphones maintaining the invisible wall of privacy.

Mind the gap.

The train arrived at Chigwell. I stepped out into the light rain. The brown brick walls and overcast sky confirming the stereotype English weather I’d formed in my mind. Luckily, Adam’s flat was close by and the walk was made adventurous by the reminder that I was close to 10,000 kms away from where I started.

Green and Grey washes

In a wispy white veil –

The Camera Eye, 1981

The concert was two days away. I explored London with Adam as my guide. One day we stopped for a pint of beer at The Intrepid Fox. With a name like that, there was no way I was going to pass up an opportunity to be able to repeat that name in stories to come. Later, on Carnaby Street, I bought badges shaped like electric guitars. I’ve kept to remind me of those truly special days. After all this time, the memories have faded into postcards of moments.

Soon, it was time to go to the concert!

Mind the gap.

We were on our way! Another long train trip made exciting as I noticed that, as far as I could see, up and down in every carriage were … Rush fans! I could tell from the embroidered badges on jackets, t-shirts, and other regalia that adorned almost every person that boarded the train. Smiling faces, masked with anticipation, connected all of us in unspoken camaraderie. I was amazed at the age range too. It was obvious their music had bridged generations.

Adam and I talked about the songs we hoped they’d play, as the train urged its way through the tunnels (“the tube”), punctuated by sudden shifts in direction as the tracks curved through London towards Wembley. The carriages filled with more fans. Amazing. There were more fans in one carriage than I had met in my entire life!

This was my first arena concert. My first time in London.

I think the largest concert I had attended previously might have been about 2000 people. When I saw The Doobie Brothers at Festival Hall in Brisbane.

Mind the gap.

Arrival at the arena

“This place is huge! You can even buy food here!”, I marvelled as the crowd made its way into the arena. Where I was from, you bought a hot dog from the guy at the stand on the street outside. We circled the arena, spoiled with the choice of different cuisines on offer. The band would be playing soon. If we ate, it would have to be quick and not messy.

Turns out there were around 12,000 devoted Rush fans there that night.

Excitement so thick, you could cut it with a knife –

Countdown, 1982

The lights dimmed. An animation featuring three blind mice played over the stage on a massive screen behind Neil’s drum kit. The Three Stooges theme music greeted us with their iconic, “Hello. Hello. Hello” and the band launched into The Big Money. I was mesmerised the whole time.

Surely I was dreaming. Here I was, 18,000 km from home, 10,000 km from Taipei. In London watching Rush!

Everything about the concert was amazing. As expected, they were… tight. The sound was fantastic, I could hear all the instruments clearly, even Neil’s high hat. The crowd was singing or air-playing along. To top it off, as they say, the light show was the best I’ve ever seen, even to this day. I hadn’t seen laser lights used to create three-dimensional shapes in the air before. It was one of those moments in life that you know you will never relive again. Since then, every time I hear a song from Hold Your Fire, those memories surface and I feel humbled and amazed that I had that experience.

I flew back to Taipei at the end of the week. The memories still fresh, the joy still making me smile.