February 1985, Hollywood Sportatorium, Hollywood, Fla.
Concerts aren’t good places to go on dates. A good show wants you to be an active participant, and for me, a concert is about my feelings and relationship toward the band. When the music is playing, I’m invested about what’s happening on stage and not what’s going on around me, which is not a great demeanor when you’re trying to woo someone. I’ve been to many concerts with my wife Kristen, and we have a great time because we share that memory together — but during the show my focus is what’s in front of me. It’s why I never minded going to concerts alone.
But I didn’t know this in high school because I was dumb (though my high school self would disagree). In the winter of 1985 there was an opportunity to take a friend (who I wanted to be more than a friend) to a show with bands we both enjoyed. It was a disastrous night, but not because of the music.
Hall & Oates is a great band; this is not for debate. Yes, they made stupid videos and yes some of their song arrangements can be cheesy at times, but if you strip down their songs to the basic elements, you find pop pieces of perfection. It’s no wonder rap groups love Hall & Oates — they know a great beat when they hear one. In 1985 there were few bands bigger than Hall & Oates, and I got two tickets and a yes to attend from my friend Sarah.
I don’t know why she agreed to go to the show with me — sure we were friends but she had to know I didn’t see this as a “friends going to see a show together” event. Perhaps it was the lure of the opening band — General Public — or maybe because several of our friends were going as well, though we weren’t all sitting together. All I know is I fancied this as a date.
The show was at South Florida’s Hollywood Sportatorium, an oversized airplane hangar in the middle of nowhere with one two-way road leading in and out. It made for terrible, no-good traffic jams, but at the time was one of the few mid- to large-sized arenas in the area, so it got strong acts.
I took my father’s Oldsmobile, a Delta 88 Royale Brougham, which was a decent car unless it got stuck in stop-and-go traffic, where it would tend to overheat. Which is what happened on this night, coming to a rattling end at a gas station 10 miles from the arena.
When you get older you learn to laugh off things beyond your control, but at 16 this unsettling turn knocked me hard. We were stranded in Fort Lauderdale (remember this is before cell phones), going to miss a show we both wanted to see, and I had no idea what to do next. The date was a disaster, though I must say Sarah was pretty cool about it while it was happening.
My best friend Karl was also going to the show, and among Karl’s main attributes was his inability to be to anything on time. So lo and behold, who do I see coming down the road some 20 minutes later but Karl, loaded with people in his 1974 Volvo, which always sounded like it was coming apart. One of my favorite aspects about Karl is his unflappable attitude — he just grinned and Sarah and I climbed in — leaving my father’s car parked in a place it shouldn’t be.
After another 40 minutes of traffic and uncomfortable bouts of silence, we arrived to a sold-out arena. And yes we missed General Public (OK, we heard the end of “Tenderness,” that was about it).
Sarah and I went away from the others and settled into our seats. Meanwhile my mind is racing a million ways, the weight of the night obvious on my face. What do I tell my dad about the car? Does Sarah hate me? Why did I wear this shirt?
Then Hall & Oates hit the stage.
I liked the band, but I’ll admit to not being a huge fan of the band at the time, as ubiquitous as it was. This being February 1985, the band had two current top 10 hits from the Big Bam Boom album, and while I didn’t think I knew many of its songs, it would become clear I did. “Rich Girl,” “Maneater,” “Kiss on My List,” “Say it Isn’t So” — the setlist was relentless and allowed me to relax my high level of angst. Sarah seemed to have a good time.
Did the band play “Sarah Smile”? Nope. Probably a good thing.
When the show ended, we walked over to Karl’s car and waited for him to show up — I was hoping he might take me back to my dad’s car, but that wasn’t going to happen. We piled in the car — me in the back seat, Sarah in the front — and Karl took us all home. He even walked Sarah to her door.
So no to concert dates, but from that point, yes to Hall & Oates. And years later, I’m still friends with Sarah. Sometimes things have a way of working out.
