|
 The
whole
room
was
dark,
save
for
the
bluish
purple
of
the
patchwork
quilt
used
for
the
monstrous
stage
curtain;
people
were
slowly
filtering
into
the
venue,
many
without
faces
I
could
recognize
many
dressed
in
black,
fishnet,
vinyl,
facial
piercings.
Industrial
dance
music
played
over
the
p.a.
system
as
I
swayed
to
the
tune
of
the
samples
&
drum
beats
tearing
the
aging
calm
of
the
air
from
the
rafters.
I
looked
about
my
surroundings
with
the
rapt
admiration
that
I
was
one
of
the
chosen
few
privileged
enough
to
be
there
that
night.
The
sound
dimmed,
the
lights
fell,
a
cry
rose
from
the
crowd,
the
curtain
draws
open
to
reveal
him,
Gary
Numan,
standing
before
us
in
a
black
cassock
and
eyeliner.
Drums
begin
crashing
to
life,
the
growl
of
the
bass
synth
jars
my
heart
loose
from
the
depths
of
my
chest.
He
glides
from
the
front
of
the
programmers
rig
to
the
microphone,
spreading
his
arms,
embracing
the
darkness,
calling
whatever
tormented
spirits
may
be
hounding
him
that
evening
into
the
twisted
gnarls
of
his
being
.
Ade
soothes
the
keyboard
through
the
angelic
opening
strains
of
“Magic”,
Steve
dances
about,
does
a
humbled
groove
with
his
guitar
before
getting
down
to
business
with
the
chords,
searing
the
audience
with
chilling
gain
of
blessed
almighty
distortion.
Screams
all
around
me
bring
my
eyes
back
to
Numan,
he
watches
us
from
above,
returning
a
glare
not
half
inspired
from
the
dead
itself,
but
we
know
how
he
feels…we
understand…
Gary
stalks
around
before
stopping
dead
center
of
the
stage,
He
sways,
passionately
holding
himself,
head
tilted
and
eyes
closed
contentedly.
screams
bringing
him
into
conscienceness,
his
hand
clutches
the
Microphone;
“When…
I…
Sleep…”
…
And
then
I
woke
up.
I
had
never
been
so
possessed
as
before
when
I
bought
the
tickets
to
see
the
final
show
of
Gary
Numan’s
North
American
show
at
The
House
of
Blues
in
Anaheim,
California.
I
had
to
see
the
man
who’s
music
inspired
such
beautiful
dreams
of
mine;
When
I
was
in
school
and
the
teacher
wouldn’t
let
up
for
being
so
hard
on
me,
he
was
there;
When
I
was
working
after
such
a
difficult
night,
he
was
there;
When
I
was
experiencing
the
only
love
I’ve
ever
felt
in
my
whole
life,
he
was
there
with
me,
easing
me
through
the
difficult
times,
soothing
my
cries
at
night
with
words
I
could
never
hear
from
anybody
ive
ever
known.
He
sung
songs
that
filled
a
void
in
me
a
way
nothing
else
ever
has:
He
gave
me
a
chart
to
follow
and
study,
a
path
to
walk,
a
new
life
blooming
full
of
things
I
could
never
have
imagined
for
the
life
of
me.
so,
with
every
ounce
of
confidence
I
could
muster,
aided
with
a
handful
of
inlay
slips,
a
camera
and
a
hand-held
CD
player
equipt
with
dynamic
bass
output
loaded
with
all
my
favorite
Numan
CD’s,
I
boarded
a
greyhound
for
California.
I
arrived
at
the
site
of
the
venue
two
days
later
early
in
the
afternoon,
bemused
with
the
mass
of
buildings
that
lay
before
me
enclosing
the
House
of
Blues:
I
was
expecting
a
huge
wooden
building
set
in
a
dusty
parking
lot,
broken
neon
lights,
broken
palm
trees
with,
say,
Elwood
Blues
standing
around
in
his
skinny
tie
&
suit
smoking
a
cigarette,
but,
Was
I
dreaming?
Is
this
a
joke
or
something?
Numan’s
playing
DISNEYLAND?
“This
must
be
a
gag,
where’s
my
ticket?
Oh,
wow,
it
ISN’T,
yeesh…
okay,
so
what?
Im
sure
theres
more
freaks
&
weirdoes
walking
around
here
then
in
my
whole
hometown,
lets
give
this
a
shot.”
I
walked
past
an
ESPN
building
with
very
triumphant
sounding
rock
music
playing
outside
of
it,
past
a
tropical
restaurant,
a
talking
parrot
giving
it’s
trainer
some
hard
time,
and
a
few
novelty
shops
with
Hollywood
memorabilia
and
such
stuff
in
it
before
getting
to
the
House
of
Blues,
a
very
new
looking
building
with
a
dining
patio
and
fresh
looking,
well
taken-care
of
trees
outside
of
it.
not
at
all
a
bad
looking
place,
actually.
I
looked
around
the
building
for
a
moment
or
two,
seeing
where
the
doors
are,
if
any
other
fans
were
there,
which
was
surprising
because
there
weren’t.
I
thought
of
checking
the
inside
of
the
building
so
I
footed
it
to
the
entrance
but
made
it
no
further
then
the
front
door
when
out
from
the
darkness
of
the
building
Gary
walked
right
past
me
in
such
a
way
as
I
almost
jumped
in
a
nearby
tree!
Out
in
reflective
shades,
dressed
in
a
black
muscle
shirt,
more
threatening
and
scary
then
any
picture
I’ve
ever
seen
of
him,
there
he
was.
Sure,
it’s
one
thing
to
be
a
celebrity
and
have
a
giddy
enthusiasm
of
being
out
in
public,
trying
to
look
like
a
bad
ass
to
rack
up
the
stares,
screams
and
adoration,
like,
just
about
all
famous
musicians
are,
but
not
Numan.
The
Godfather
of
Electronica
didn’t
look
like
he
was
in
the
happiest
place
on
earth.
He
sure
mustn’t
have
been
feeling
it
either
cause
the
light
was
a
tad
bit
too
bright
today.
Perhaps
the
bus
ride
wasn’t
at
all
the
best
in
the
world
either.
Neither
was
mine;
I
was
stopped
twice
by
boarder
patrol
on
the
way
to
the
gig.
What
sort
of
situation
would
have
sprung
up
if
Numan’s
bus
was
stopped
by
boarder
patrol
somewhere
in
California
on
the
way
to
a
show?
I
can
envision
a
group
of
Boarder
Patrol
officers
in
their
cowboy
hats
&
badges
rap
on
the
door
of
the
bus
and
step
inside
ready
to
make
their
presence
known
with
some
bust-up
declaration
in
Spanish
to
find
this
hoard
of
Englishmen
in
|
