June 18, 2019
The Stories We Tell
So here’s the story I tell: I saw Peter Frampton open for Carlos Santana.
In Ottawa.
In 1975.
The story here is having discovered Frampton a year before his 1976 Frampton Comes Alive album became the biggest-selling live album of all time.
That is the story I tell.
I am not sure if I have any actual memory of it. But I have told the story so many times I have the memory of having told the story.
This story isn’t about memory yet.
But it is going to be.
Here’s the other story I tell:
I went to the concert with my best friend Elliot Shore, his girlfriend, Dayle Shapiro, and my date.
In a perfect world, in a better world, the story would be about my date. I don’t want to mention her name because she really doesn’t figure in this story. Is simply an innocent bystander. But, in a different world, she would have been the main story of this story and I might never have needed to ever mention Peter Frampton or Carlos Santana in the retelling. But it is not a different world. It is this world and so this is the story I tell.
The story I tell is that Elliot Shore drove his pale blue—I can’t remember the make or model of the car. I find it odd that in my telling of the story I don’t just go ahead and fill in the blanks. A 1968 pale blue Mustang convertible. A Dodge Dart. But I don’t fill in the blanks. It is just a pale blue car. Elliot drives the pale blue car and drops me and my date in front of her house and then drives two blocks down the street and parks in front of, no, not in front of, on a side street actually, but two blocks away, in front of Dayle’s house.
The goodnight kiss between me and my date does not last very long. It is perfunctory. I don’t use the word perfunctory in the telling and I am not sure why I am using it now. It was short. It was a perfectly fine goodnight kiss and fell well within the accepted parameters of first date goodnight kisses.
But, to be clear, it was short. It was also the first and only kiss I would have with this woman. Had there been more, then this would be a different story and both Mister Frampton and Mister Santana would have figured a little less prominently in the telling.
I walk the two blocks and find that Elliot and Dayle are not having a short goodnight kiss in the car. Am not entirely sure what is going on in the car but I know that it is not short. What I know, and what I tell when I tell this story, is that my evening ended sooner than theirs, and I describe a scene where I sit on the grass and patiently wait for their festivities to end. In my telling of this story, I am throwing pebbles at the car. I have no memory of doing this and really don’t know if I added that as an embellishment over the years. When I tell the story, I am sitting on the grass and throwing pebbles at the car. I never say that I am sitting on the grass freezing my ass off. That is never part of the story. I am not sure if I was freezing my ass off or not, but it has never been part of the story so I have to assume that I was not cold.
Am pretty sure I would have included it as part of the story because, frankly, it makes for a better story.
So, my guess is that it was a warm night.
Remember that. It becomes important a little later in this story.
So. One night. Two stories. Or, maybe just one story but with two important components.
One, the boast and bluster of having seen Frampton just before he made it big. And the second, a semi-self-deprecating story of teenage angst and failure. A man who doesn’t take himself too seriously. Who can take a joke.
It’s a good story. Doesn’t take much to envision the pathetic kid throwing pebbles at the increasingly steamy car. It paints a nice picture.
Here's the last piece of the story I tell:
When the concert ended, I turned to my date and said, “I can’t believe he didn’t play Evil Ways.” It is the only piece of conversation I remember, or think I remember, from the entire evening.
That isn’t entirely true.
Somewhere, in the deep recesses of my mind, is a recollection of a painfully bad attempt at romantic banter at the doorway of my date’s house. I can’t remember more. Only that it was bad. And only that it probably contributed to the kiss being as short as it was. It is not a salient piece of the story. I never mention it in the telling. And I am not sure why I am mentioning in now. Or why I am cringing as I type these words.
But I do remember, or think I remember, the line about Santana not playing Evil Ways. It isn’t a great memory. Because even then, I am pretty sure it was the words of a very insecure kid trying to impress his date with knowledge of a presumed set list.
But here's the thing, I never tell that part when I tell the story.
So. My memory is not of having told that version of the story over and over again. It is, I think, an actual, if a little painful, memory.
And so that is my story. Such as it is. And I was perfectly happy to leave it alone.
But then someone invented the internet.
I understand that there was a way to retrieve history and memories before the age of the internet—but it required some work and effort. Now we have Google.
So when I want to find the set list of the first Bruce Springsteen concert I went to—Montreal Forum 1981—I go to setlist.fm and retrieve it. I then go to YouTube and find videos of nearly every song from the show.
I reminisced about the 1981 show because I recently went to a 2016 Springsteen show and wrote a review of the concert and my feelings about nostalgia. And how nostalgia plays a part in warping your memory.
And so, feeling a little nostalgic, I started thinking about the shows and concerts I had gone to back in the day. Thinking about Elliot Shore, and Dayle Shapiro. About my date. About Misters Frampton and Santana.
So I go to setlist.fm and try to find the show.
But there is no record of Carlos Santana having played Ottawa in 1975.
That’s weird. But setlist.fm is not always complete so I go to the Santana.com website and find that they have a record of every concert he has ever done. I look through 1975, but can’t find mention of Ottawa.
Do I have the year wrong? I try 1974, 1973, 1976. Santana did not play Ottawa.
I Google Santana and Ottawa but can find no evidence that he ever played there. I spend two hours searching through the internet. No Santana in Ottawa.
Do I have the city wrong? Was I in Toronto? No. I am sure it was Ottawa. A warm night. Throwing pebbles. I can’t believe he didn’t play Evil Ways.
I then search for Frampton. And I find it on setlist.fm. He played the Ottawa Civic Center on Sept 7, 1975. But no mention of Santana.
This is weird.
I then search Ottawa, 1975.
I see Frampton again on Sept 7.
And then I see that the Doobie Brothers played on the same date.
So Frampton opened for the Doobies.
Sept 7, 1975. Qualified for a warm night. Makes sense.
But how could I have confused Santana with the Doobie Brothers?
I can’t believe he didn’t play Evil Ways.
Have I been making up this Santana story for 40 years?
At least I got the Frampton part of the story right.
What other parts of the story are made up?
Was there even a perfunctory goodnight kiss?
I go to bed thinking that I may have slightly lost my mind. But not before sending an email to my sister in Israel. “When did we leave for Singapore in 1975?” Was I even in Canada in September 1975? And a BBM to my friend David Hoffman in Ottawa. “I think I am losing my mind. Am convinced I saw Santana in Ottawa sometime in 1975. But I can’t find any record of it.”
I then go to bed.
I wake up at 3:45 am to go to the bathroom. That is another story.
I check my Blackberry.
There is an email from my sister. We left for Singapore sometime in the summer of 1975. I couldn’t have been in Ottawa in September.
David has replied to my BBM. “I have a great memory,” he says. “Santana played Ottawa in May 1975.” “Am not sure you are right,” I reply. “I can’t find any record of it.” He says his sister went to the concert. He says he saw the ticket. “That’s really weird,” I say. “What is weird is that we are both up at 3:45 am talking about this,” he replies. “Are you sure you did a thorough search? Let’s look again.”
We then get a little bit closer. Amazon is selling a live CD of Carlos Santana from Ypsilanti, Michigan recorded on May 25, 1975. We dig a bit deeper. Peter Frampton is the opening act. May 29th, 1975. We find a copy of a ticket stub and set list from a Santana show at Massey Hall in Toronto. Frampton is the opening act.
I look it up on setlist.fm and find it. He played 11 songs. He did not play Evil Ways.
We still can’t find Santana in Ottawa but I now think I am no longer crazy. At least no longer crazy about this.
David says he will send me a picture of the ticket.
I go back to bed.
I now have another story to tell.
The end.