For enough of us to actually pack the Coliseum, the big gig this week was obviously a visit from Iron Maiden. The show itself was at least “really good,” depending on where you sat—but even Maiden’s legendary sound engineers, bat-sonar tricorders in hand, couldn’t quite master our impossible-to-perfect arena.
I’ve seen a couple acts on both the Edmonton and Calgary legs of the same tour, and there really is a shocking difference in sound quality, due largely to the fact so much of the sound at Rexall leaks into the outer hamburger ring. “Aha!” you’re thinking: so we do need a new arena after all! Well, no. Some sound barriers a little thicker than living room curtains might help, though.
We actually only got to see one of the oversized Muppet Eddies, unfortunately, as my friend Kevin Bowman and I were, as a pair of total drunks, being escorted off the property. “Get your fucking hands off me,” Bowman yelled at this plainclothes dude, pretending to be all pissed off. He promised not to do anything, then immediately pulled a hilarious Hamburglar scamper straight out of a ’30s film. This guy’s, like, 38, with a long blonde ponytail. Well, boom. It was handcuffs after that, and we laughed—seriously—for almost 20 minutes straight without saying a word on the way home. Worth every penny.
Local guitarist Bebop Cortez, meanwhile, was tipped off that some of the band was checking out that bona fide, world-famous highlight of Edmonton culture, Sherlock Holmes.
“I’m still shell-shocked about the whole thing,” Bebop (aka Curtis Ross), explains. “I’ve been extremely lucky in my life to have had cool experiences with rock stars I idolize, but I feel that some kind of spooky voodoo karma must have happened to get me and [former Frosted Tipz singer] Roz in a spot where we’re actually partying with Iron Fucking Maiden. When you and one of your best friends are hanging out with Bruce Dickinson, Dave Murray, Janick Gers, a blonde groupie, and everyone is wasted and they’re giving you drinks, I think it’s time to congratulate yourself—you’ve had a successful night. And I can’t even begin to go into the conversation that I had with Bruce.”
I just love the idea of the friendly, crusty blokes hanging out at a fake-ass chain English pub. Dickinson, Ross continues, “started singing some very British-y musical H.M.S. Pinafore kind of thing and went off for, like, two minutes. It was hilarious, a little fruity, and totally awesome. The other two kept starting Beatles singalongs and I was too drunk to tell if they were being serious or making fun of them. Either way kind of rules. I got them to drink Pilsner, which they seemed to think was better in shot form.... I really want to be in their band.”
This city, meanwhile, continues to gain one-extra chromosomers. Rollie Pemberton, who you might know as rapper Cadence Weapon, got bopped in the face for no reason he can explain on the weekend. Here it is: “I was walking, facing [my friend] Charlotte, talking and mid-conversation a guy basically ran up, punched me in the face, and ran by me. I was kind of shocked and I looked behind me and the four dudes were already down the block. Charlotte was actually still talking to me after I got punched; it happened so quick she practically didn’t notice. It was a run-by punching.”
What the fuck, people? I mean, pee on the street, yell from your shitty rented Hummer limos, and fuck each other in the ear till dawn. But hands off the actual talent, okay?
