By I was late, and getting through the tightly-packed patrons made me even more so. There was Clayton Radcliffe, shifting in his seat 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, most dressed in black t-shirts proclaiming affiliation for such hard rock and metal bands like 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 purchased 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 enjoyed the music but was not part of the tribe.
Conversation was stilted and forced between the pair. 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 concertgoer, forever desiring to be on the stage himself but never making it.
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. Tonight, live music was an opportunity for him to connect, while still being cautious about feeding his father’s obsession.
The pair hadn’t seen each other for more years than Leo cared to share with me. I asked him which 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 he and mum 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, brushing aside his son’s concerns.
There was a pause, and I wondered if Clayton would fill the space and explain why he had been out of contact with his children for so long. When a response failed to materialise, I knew I had to prompt one.
“Look, you know how it is,” said Clayton after a reluctant pause, “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. Then you rebuild your life. 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 just going to be 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 rubbed the knuckles on his hand with such force, they went white. “Deep down, I knew that, but I couldn’t stop either. I was just in such a hole; I couldn’t get out of it. I closed myself off. I’m sorry.”
It was hard to tell which overwhelming emotion was dominating Leo in that moment. He moved slightly further away from his father.
*
The opening bands and canned music finally ended and the house lights disappeared. A thrill of anticipation, more felt than seen, rippled through the audience. Small spotlights took over and a modest pyrotechnics display burst across the venue. In the dim, artificial near night of the packed space, Clayton inched forward in his seat. He 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 1,300th rock concert; an astounding figure. Based on the cost of tonight’s ticket, he has spent beyond $150,000 in the pursuit of musical nirvana; two-hour blocks 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 uncertainty between them gave way to a shared experience, one disconnected from the challenges of the outside: their strained relationship and missed opportunities. Music became the catalyst that allowed them to connect on some instinctual level.
One familiar song led into the next and father and son sang together. Their quality left much to be desired but their harmony was encouraging. The band had been active for longer than Leo had been alive but managed to stretch their relevancy across 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 venue’s side exit-doors, pressed tightly together amongst the dizzy and dazzled crowd and carried along in the black-clothed human tide. Streetlights 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 late-night sandwich joint. Other concertgoers were in attendance, each with their preferred post-concert sub. Waves 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 hearing aids and I asked him about them.
“I’ve had them for at about five 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. Now, they help filter out some of the higher registers and even out the volume of the rest.”
He went on to explain that he still needs to turn them down sometimes while listening to live music. This means he misses out on much of the detail, but there’s little more he can do now. I observed that he may have to choose between further concerts or complete deafness. Clayton’s filthy look suggested he wasn’t ready for that.
“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 had captured some 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; his 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.” He quickly wiped away a tear.
Leo placed a hand over his father’s. “It’s okay dad, we can make up for it 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? Susie and Peter can come along. They miss you too, dad.”
Clayton wiped away another tear and turned to face his son.
“Sure, any of those sounds great. I don’t mind what we do.” Clayton’s smile was generous and full of relief.
Clayton’s horizons had just expanded to reconnect with his children and to share new experiences. I hope he doesn’t let this opportunity slip by.
*
The taxi stopped a few metres from us and Clayton and Leo took a moment to absorb the cool of the night. We had been talking for what seemed like hours, and it was close to 3am, 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.