I was late, and getting through the tightly-packed patrons made me even more so. There was Clayton Radcliffe, adjusting his seating position at the bar before taking a long draw from his bourbon-and-coke, unlikely his first for the evening. The younger man next to him, Clayton’s late-20s son Leo, and my uni mate, glanced at his father disapprovingly and swirled the orange juice in his own glass. Leo had invited me along to help break the ice between the two and then be an excuse for Leo to leave early. I wasn’t sure what that might entail, but I could fake a twisted ankle if need be.
The pair seemed like strangers, thrown together out of circumstance, but as I wound my way to them, I could see the beginnings of conversation and some positive change in body language.
The ebb-and-flow of patrons, almost entirely dressed in black t-shirts proclaiming adulation for such hard rock bands as Alter Bridge, Metallica, Slayer, Anthrax and countless others, moved around us in a steady sea of humanity. The son was dressed in a similar fashion but his shirt was new, having only been bought the day before. The father dressed like he was going out for a casual dinner: loafers, nice jeans and a buttoned, short-sleeved shirt. He favoured the music but was not part of the tribe.
Conversation continued to be stilted and forced between the pair. This was unsurprising, as estrangement and distrust had grown between them over the years. Clayton had once chosen to pursue a career in music, playing in garage bands in his teens and early twenties but it ultimately came to naught. Since then, he had become the avid concert-goer, forever desiring to be on stage himself but having to settle for being a spectator.
The disappointment had at some point turned to obsession, and despite the love of a wife and three children, live music would forever remain the centre of his hopes and misfortunes.
Leo loved music too, but he didn’t possess his father’s obsessive streak. He favoured balance but he also loved his father.
The pair hadn’t seen each other for more years than Leo cared to share with me. I asked him who of the pair had reached out to the other.
“I called dad. It took me weeks to make the call, but I was worried about him. After my parent’s divorced, we almost never saw him but I knew he wasn’t well.” He stole another glance at his father. “Looks like I was right.”
“Oh, I feel fine, just a little run down, probably a cold,” replied Clayton.
There was a pause and I wondered if Clayton would fill the space with why he had been out of contact with his children for so long. When a response was unforthcoming, I prompted one.
“Look, you know how it is. Divorce is messy and you start to lose track of yourself. Once it’s obvious it’s over, getting out is all you can think about. I just focused on myself too much and lost my way.”
Leo seemed somewhat angry at this. “But you were distant and disinterested even before that, dad. For years. It was always music with you.”
“I know, and I’m sorry, but you don’t know how important it is to me; how devastating it was when I realised I was going to be just an average guy doing a pointless job for the rest of my life. I couldn’t shake it; I still can’t.”
“You took it out on us dad, through neglect. I don’t know what it’s like to lose a dream like that, but it hurt all of us. We didn’t deserve that.”
Clayton showed genuine regret. “Deep down, I knew that, but I couldn’t stop it either. I was just in such a hole, that I couldn’t get out of. I closed myself off. I’m sorry.”
It’s hard to tell which of the cascading emotions is dominating Leo at the moment. He moves slightly further away from his father.
*
House lights disappeared without preamble, to be replaced with small spot lights and the steady build of an imminent pyrotechnics display. A thrill of anticipation, more felt than seen, rippled through the audience. In the dim, artificial near-night of the packed auditorium, Clayton inched forward in his seat and found some hidden store of energy that had long been subdued beneath age and bourbon. Earlier, he told me that, across 35 years, this would be his 1,400th rock concert; an astounding figure. Based on the cost of tonight’s ticket, he has spent upwards of $150,000 in the pursuit of musical nirvana; in blocks two hours at-a-time.
The high-tempo thrash of hard-rock music shattered the momentary silence and I caught a glimpse of father and son enthralled in the spectacle. The previous uncertainly between them now gave way to shared experience, one disconnected from the challenges of the outside, especially that of their strained recent relationship. Music became the catalyst that allowed them to connect on some instinctual level.
One song lead into the next and father and son sang along to the familiar songs. The band had been active for longer than Leo had been alive, but had stretched their relevancy across decades and generations. Music had kept Clayton from his family but now it was helping him reconnect, at least to one son.
*
Clayton and Leo made their way through the side exit-doors, pressed tightly together amongst the dizzy and dazzled crowd and carried along in the black-clothed human tide. Street lights were harsh and the father had to squint and shield his eyes. His son seemed to fair better and, for a moment, there appeared a flicker of sympathy, and then it was gone.
Later, we sat at a small table in a nearby Subway. There are a number of other concert-goers in attendance, each with their preferred post-concert sub. A bubble of conversation thrummed around us, discussing the concert; the good, the bad and comparisons to the band’s best years now long gone.
Clayton removed his hearing aids and I asked him about them.
“I’ve had them for at least ten years. I never gave it any thought playing in the band.” He seemed to disappear into the past for a few moments. “Ears must have got damaged from the live music, but I don’t mind.”
He went on to explain that he has to turn them down while listening to live music. This means that he misses out on much of the detail, but there’s too much distortion at higher volumes.
“You should’ve been wearing earplugs all these years, dad, and in the band.”
There was a hint of sadness in Leo’s voice, but love too. Leo told me that he and his father captured quick moments of conversation between songs. It was the closest they have been, literally and figuratively, for many years. I asked what they spoke about and they each accidentally answered at the same time, eliciting some warm laughter between them.
“Dad told me that he was sorry for missing so much time with us kids, and tonight is one of his favourite nights because I was here with him.”
Clayton had been listening intently with head bowed slightly and holding his hands tightly together.
“I do regret the time I‘ve missed with Leo and his brother and sister. Even the best concerts over the years seem a bit hollow now. I missed so much.”
Leo placed a hand over his father’s. “It’s okay dad, we can make it up from now on.”
“Yeah, we can, and we will. These guys are playing again next weekend. Wanna go?”
Leo had a moment of hesitation that visibly unsettled Clayton. “How about going to an art exhibition instead, dad, or the markets? We can invite Susie and Peter to come along too? They miss you, dad.”
“Sure, son, that all sounds great. I don’t mind what we do.” Clayton’s smile is generous and full of relief.
Clayton’s horizons had just expanded to encapsulate new experiences and a reconnection with his children.
*
The taxi stopped ten metres from us and Clayton and Leo take a moment to absorb the cool of the night. We have been talking for what seems like hours, and, indeed, it is close to 2am, but they seem energised and refreshed.
The pair wished me a good night. As they made their way to the taxi, side-by-side, Clayton raised his arm and gently placed it around his son’s shoulders. In turn, Leo returned the gesture and they covered the rest of the distance as a father and son should. They climbed into the taxi and disappeared into the sparse early-morning traffic.
