Day 262. Lightning struck itself. (19/9/13)

It's a fair few years now since I decided that I was too old to go to gigs anymore.

I was probably in my late-ish 30s and had come to the conclusion that I had suddenly transformed into that guy at the back of gigs that I used to see in the early 80s, the one that was clearly knocking on a bit but was desperately trying to convince himself that he wasn't by 'checking out the hot new acts'. I didn't want to be that guy. I decided that it was time to accept the aging process and grow old gracefully; stay at home and listen to CDs. Accept my fate.

A friend told me that I was being ridiculous. That I should sort myself out. Get down to a gig immediately and see what I was missing.

Her suggestion was Soundtrack of Our Lives at Liverpool Uni. A small room for a band who were being tipped heavily by Noel Gallagher at the time (Noel didnt need to tip them, quite a few of us had already managed to discover them on our own thank you very much)

SOOL (as they always abbreviated it themselves) were exactly the tonic I needed. Coming in like prime period Stones, twin guitars leading the attack for a fairly large, kaftan'd lead singer who midway through the set convinced the audience that they should all sit down and wandered through the crowd to perform his next number.

I decided that I actually wasn't too old for gigs anymore after all. If they could still thrill and enchant me like that then how could I give them up?

I have a horrible feeling that was nearly twenty years ago.

Last night I came home, fired up Facebook and spotted an alert from a couple of different people; Television were touring. Television. THE New York Band of the 70s, second only to the Velvet Underground in the pantheon of NY cool. Sorry Ramones, sorry Dolls, really sorry Blondie - you know how much I love you but you're still behind the Marquee Moon hit makers.

I've never seen Television. They've played in England in my gig going days; London, Glastonbury and ....well that's about it really. I've done London but only for Prince and The Bunnymen, I won't do Glastonbury. Four days without washing and no proper toilets? No thanks. Tents? Never stay anywhere that doesn't have four stars after its name. It's a small, shallow maxim but it's mine and I'm happy to live by it.

But now? Now, Television are playing Manchester. The Academy.

I was exhausted, the third in a series of stupidly hard days in work, needed nothing more than tea and sleep. Both were abandoned.

Ticket bought. I'm going to see Television. And it may not be the classic line up, Richard Lloyd isn't there to maintain his guitar duel with Tom Verlaine but what the hell, it'll do. And I'm going on my own because J had quite enough of Television when we were living in Leeds, when any tape left in the car overnight somehow became Marquee Moon and it was all she ever heard. But me? I can't get enough of Marquee Moon and its ten minute title track and now I get to see it live. Twenty years after I decided I was too old for gigs which would have cost me this and Dylan and Arctic Monkeys and Waterboys all before the end of the year and over the last few years The Roses and Dexys and so many other things and LOTS of Springsteen.

So, next time you have even the vaguest feeling that you're too old for something remember that the only person who's saying that is you, nobody else is actually that interested anyway, and hope you've got a friend nearby to tell you to sort yourself out.