Isn’t that what all music fans hope for?  I know I do.

I love music, and I enjoy thinking of my favorites as personable, everyday guys who would be fun to hang out with.

For the most part, this theory has proven itself to be true. Encounters with Dave Matthews around town are commonplace, and we all seem to agree that he’s just your average Seattle dad.  I used to run into him at my gym, and my husband chatted with him at the Greenlake soccer fields a few weeks back – no biggie, just a couple of dads joking about soccer.  I’ve lived in the same city as Eddie Vedder for 20+ years but have yet to see him out and about, so I savor the stories I hear from people who have.  I recently read an article where a local fan referenced seeing Eddie in Target and Bed, Bath and Beyond (love it!).  Years ago, I ran into Jeff Ament coming out of Blockbuster Video on Queen Anne.  He was carrying two movies.  I’ve always regretted not asking him what he was renting.   But I digress.

The point of this story is that I recently found myself sitting in a living room with Chadwick Stokes of Dispatch and State Radio.  It was so lovely to learn that he is just as friendly, warm, and funny as I had imagined him to be.

The quick back story:  last summer, Chad announced a “living room tour” — just what it sounds like, he would play a show in your living room to around 30 fans.  They were looking for hosts in the cities scheduled on the tour, including Seattle.   I offered to host and sent in pictures of my house, and I made it to some type of final list.  They called and talked to me about my space, and said they’d be making a decision in a few days.  I ultimately didn’t win, which was OK, really – then I wouldn’t have to try to clean my house.  The consolation prize was that I would get early access to tickets for the Seattle show.

Fast forward a month, to the ONE 5-day chunk of summer when I was out of range of decent cell coverage, and was not checking email.  You guessed it – that’s when the email went out with early access to tickets, and then to the general public, and then promptly sold out.  I discovered this while sitting on a ferry on our way home.  I was not happy.  The last ditch effort was a show in Vancouver, Washington.  It appeared that tickets were still available.  To put a finer point on it, ONE ticket was available, because that’s exactly how many I was able to purchase.  I bought it anyway and figured that something would pan out in order for my sister to come with me.  I certainly didn’t want to drive to Vancouver by myself and walk into some stranger’s house.  I emailed, desperately, a few times over the coming months, figuring that an additional ticket would open up.  It didn’t.  I resigned myself to not going.

Then suddenly the show was right around the corner. Over the course of the next few days, I flip-flopped a dozen times until finally, with a proper nudge from my husband, I decided to go.  I knew I would regret it if I didn’t.

And so, off I went to Vancouver.  Nearly as exciting as a night to myself was a long DRIVE by myself.  I played the music I wanted to listen to, as loudly as I wanted.  No one bickered in the back seat, and no one asked me to play Taylor Swift.  Traffic was blissfully easy, even through the usual snarl of south Tacoma.  I giggled to myself when I drove by the Sleater-Kinney exit, listening to Sleater-Kinney.  Everything clicked along as planned, as if the universe approved of my decision to go.  About an hour outside of Vancouver, I switched to a playlist of solid Chad and State Radio.  Because that is what you do.

When I arrived at the house, the host, Jon, looked up my name on his guest list.  “Oh, it’s just you – right?”  Yep, just me.  By myself.  Thanks for reminding me.  (And I’m probably the only one who just drove up in a minivan with a Little League sticker on it, in case you want to point that out too).

Chad was standing near the check-in table in his bare feet, wearing comfy pants, a well-loved shirt, and a hat.  He looked up and said hi. It was perfect.

The rest of the evening was fascinating.  Fans bonded and competed for a respectable level of street cred. You know how it goes: T-shirts from historic shows (in this case, Dispatch:Zimbabwe), requests for obscure songs, show-and-venue dropping: “Yeah, I saw them way back in 2000 in a small club in blah-blah-blah”. I loved it all. The music is personal to each of us, and that’s one of the best things about fandom: how territorial we are about the bands we love. I’ve only seen Dispatch/Chad/State Radio four times, and am therefore not (yet) too territorial.  Recognizing my somewhat junior status in the street cred department, I enjoyed eavesdropping. Which, it turns out, is easy to do when you are at a show by yourself.

And of course, there was the music – a great mix of classic Dispatch, State Radio, and solo stuff, infused with all the genuine and personal charm you would hope for in such an intimate setting.   He stopped mid-song to tell a story about his daughter’s new haircut.  He joked about the bony part of the top of his foot, how it’s a thing that “1 in 5” people have (is it?).  (I wanted to kick off my boots and say – hey, Chad – me too!  There’s a certain style of shoe you can’t wear, right?  With the strap across the top?  Come on, let’s be bony-foot buddies!)  He answered questions and took requests, and when someone jokingly yelled out “Freebird!”, he actually played it.  Hilarious and awesome.  The room was filled with love.

When it was over, he got down from his stool to go back stage – you know, otherwise known as the kitchen.  Fans stood around and chatted with him in an easy, casual way.  I shook his hand, thanked him, and told him what a wonderful experience it had been.  Luckily, I had already forgotten my sassy, opinionated rant from a year ago (“Territorial Pissings – Yes, That’s a Nirvana Reference”), so I didn’t lecture him on anything.   I admit that I did have occasional pangs of jealousy – I wished I had hosted barefoot Chad in MY house – not just for me, but for my kids, because they love his music too.  But I’m thankful to have had the opportunity to see him in such a small venue, and I’ll remember it forever.

P.S.   I rarely take pictures at shows, and I never take videos, because I don’t want to watch the show through a screen.   But Chad said it was OK and I knew it was once-in-a-lifetime, so I recorded the second half of “Elias”.  Simply wonderful: