Tuesday, November 13, 2007

If Music Could Talk

A couple of months back I bought Fionn Regan tickets for his gig in Cork last Saturday night. Singer-songwriter types just aren't my cupán tae, to be honest (I can't take them remotely as seriously as they take themselves, plus I think all that emotion is faked for the most part), but I figured they'd make good date tickets.

So I took the current squeeze to his gig on Saturday night and all I can say is 'what a crock of shite!' He came on about 9:50pm and was wrapping up, post encore, by 10:40pm. Furthermore the saucepan-haired freak insisted on singing two songs sans microphone, AND QUIETLY, standing at the edge of the stage, which meant only those right up the front could hear anything. Tosser.

I should have demanded my money back but I'm not the confrontational sort. She was well unimpressed too, but at least didn't blame me for taking her to something so dull. Still, if you read this you'll be asking why I ever dreamed of getting tickets in the first place.
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