meet & greet
Camera in hand, I followed my new colleagues to the meet and greet.
M&Gs are the show after the show. The performers are still “on,” projecting energy, charming the public, and selling the product.
And they’re not the only ones. The fans are just as much “on” as the performers. More so. For diehard fans who have seen the show numerous times, this part matters more than what happens on the stage. They spend weeks planning what they’ll wear, what they’ll have autographed, and most importantly, what they’ll say when they meet their idols.
The diehards — groupies, if you want a less complimentary term — want to stand out and be memorable, to mean as much to the stars as the stars mean to them. They take an interest in the desired ones’ hobbies and life events so they’ll have something to talk about. They bring gifts for holidays, birthdays, and performance milestones, ranging from homemade treats and crafts to toys and books for the bus to clothing and accessories. They’re flirting. Wooing. Most will hasten to admit that they know their crushes must remain unrequited, but they can’t stop trying, just in case.
Occasionally a fan will go too far, perhaps by giving inappropriate gifts or photos or sending unwelcome e-mail. With Caravan followers, thankfully, this seemed to be a rarity. If anything, they went too far in the other direction, becoming creepily knowledgeable about the singers’ families.
“So, Jocelyn starts first grade this fall, right?” someone asked Quentin Kelly. His head came up, his eyes narrowed, his shoulders set: father on the alert. I could see him wondering just how much this woman knew about his daughter and whether he ought to worry. The answer was no, she was just making small talk, and Quentin responded with vague niceties about parenting. But he didn’t completely relax for the rest of the night.
Thanks to Bill making a spectacle of me, I ended up with my own little knot of admirers at that first m&g. I didn’t fool myself into believing their interest was truly in the new web site design; most were just killing time until the crowds thinned around the people they really came to see. And there were a fair number who wanted to be my friend simply because I was connected to the Caravan and therefore one step closer to greatness.
I answered a few questions about my background and resume, uncomfortably aware that my listeners could, and a few probably would, Google me later to dig up the real dirt. I was glad there wasn’t much but already resented the potential intrusion. I’m strictly a behind-the-scenes player. My T’ai Chi teachers always warned us not to try to become famous, and it was advice I had no trouble following. I didn’t mind if my work became a little famous — like the novel I was trying to get published — but that was a step removed from me personally. I hoped the novelty would wear off of me quickly.
We worked the m&g for about 45 minutes before road manager Joe Wallace and his crew of local volunteers started packing the merchandise back into its boxes and hauling it out. Getting this signal that the party was over, the singers began making their way toward the bus that had brought them from the hotel. Nancy Wainwright and Jimmy Hindman were the first ones out.
Trailing the pack, I ended up walking with Quill Kelly, whom a few hangers-on seemed bent on accompanying all the way to the street. He chatted amiably, bestowing not only generous attention but coveted hugs before boarding the bus. He ushered me to a seat with the casual gallantry native to southern gentlemen and plunked down beside me with a contented sigh, stretching long legs into the aisle. I took the opportunity to ask him what Bill had meant by “circle” — “meet” — which bus I’d find him on — the “old” bus, both the oldest of the fleet and the one preferred by the older company members — and what time to be on it — seven a.m. sharp. Oy.
We reached the hotel in about 15 minutes, just long enough for me to realize how tired I was. The singers, coming off their performance high, quickly dispersed to their rooms, and I followed suit. I uploaded the rest of the night’s photos to my laptop, plugged everything in to charge overnight, spent a few minutes updating my online journal about my eventful first day on the job, and tumbled into bed.
M&Gs are the show after the show. The performers are still “on,” projecting energy, charming the public, and selling the product.
And they’re not the only ones. The fans are just as much “on” as the performers. More so. For diehard fans who have seen the show numerous times, this part matters more than what happens on the stage. They spend weeks planning what they’ll wear, what they’ll have autographed, and most importantly, what they’ll say when they meet their idols.
The diehards — groupies, if you want a less complimentary term — want to stand out and be memorable, to mean as much to the stars as the stars mean to them. They take an interest in the desired ones’ hobbies and life events so they’ll have something to talk about. They bring gifts for holidays, birthdays, and performance milestones, ranging from homemade treats and crafts to toys and books for the bus to clothing and accessories. They’re flirting. Wooing. Most will hasten to admit that they know their crushes must remain unrequited, but they can’t stop trying, just in case.
Occasionally a fan will go too far, perhaps by giving inappropriate gifts or photos or sending unwelcome e-mail. With Caravan followers, thankfully, this seemed to be a rarity. If anything, they went too far in the other direction, becoming creepily knowledgeable about the singers’ families.
“So, Jocelyn starts first grade this fall, right?” someone asked Quentin Kelly. His head came up, his eyes narrowed, his shoulders set: father on the alert. I could see him wondering just how much this woman knew about his daughter and whether he ought to worry. The answer was no, she was just making small talk, and Quentin responded with vague niceties about parenting. But he didn’t completely relax for the rest of the night.
Thanks to Bill making a spectacle of me, I ended up with my own little knot of admirers at that first m&g. I didn’t fool myself into believing their interest was truly in the new web site design; most were just killing time until the crowds thinned around the people they really came to see. And there were a fair number who wanted to be my friend simply because I was connected to the Caravan and therefore one step closer to greatness.
I answered a few questions about my background and resume, uncomfortably aware that my listeners could, and a few probably would, Google me later to dig up the real dirt. I was glad there wasn’t much but already resented the potential intrusion. I’m strictly a behind-the-scenes player. My T’ai Chi teachers always warned us not to try to become famous, and it was advice I had no trouble following. I didn’t mind if my work became a little famous — like the novel I was trying to get published — but that was a step removed from me personally. I hoped the novelty would wear off of me quickly.
We worked the m&g for about 45 minutes before road manager Joe Wallace and his crew of local volunteers started packing the merchandise back into its boxes and hauling it out. Getting this signal that the party was over, the singers began making their way toward the bus that had brought them from the hotel. Nancy Wainwright and Jimmy Hindman were the first ones out.
Trailing the pack, I ended up walking with Quill Kelly, whom a few hangers-on seemed bent on accompanying all the way to the street. He chatted amiably, bestowing not only generous attention but coveted hugs before boarding the bus. He ushered me to a seat with the casual gallantry native to southern gentlemen and plunked down beside me with a contented sigh, stretching long legs into the aisle. I took the opportunity to ask him what Bill had meant by “circle” — “meet” — which bus I’d find him on — the “old” bus, both the oldest of the fleet and the one preferred by the older company members — and what time to be on it — seven a.m. sharp. Oy.
We reached the hotel in about 15 minutes, just long enough for me to realize how tired I was. The singers, coming off their performance high, quickly dispersed to their rooms, and I followed suit. I uploaded the rest of the night’s photos to my laptop, plugged everything in to charge overnight, spent a few minutes updating my online journal about my eventful first day on the job, and tumbled into bed.
posted by Jugglernaut at
1:16 PM
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