-“Axl Rose? Guns ‘n’ Roses?”

Shrieks of laughter. As if I had made the funniest request in the world.

-“OK, how about Metallica?”

No laughter this time, but a funny, almost weird exchange of looks. One of them said “Who?”

-“Dire Straits?”

A respectful smile, followed by “I wish!” “Dream on!” One of the band members added quickly  “I actually can play Dire Straits- but you know- this is a band- it’s a team effort- it’s a matter of all of us playing…. but of course, I can play Dire Straits if it was just me…”

Yes. Sure. I felt desperate. If I didn’t come up with something these blond chubby bearded bandsters could play, we would spend the rest of night listening to those cute country songs which Canadians seem to love. With perhaps one Tragically Hip thrown in as lip service to coolness.


I half expected them to say shriek “what? and roll about laughing again. But they didn’t. They looked at each other, squared their shoulders and exclaimed “Yeah! we can do that!”

I walked back to my seat expectantly.

“Here I am! Rock you like a hurricane!” they shouted. “Here I am!”

They had forgotten (or never knew) the rest of the words. After screaming “Hurricane baby!” two more times, they quickly returned to playing the nice country songs they knew. And they didn’t ask for any more requests.

Thirty minutes later, we slid in our car seats, slightly dizzy, needing to catch the babysitter. The car radio was set at our favourite classic rock radio station.  We hit the dark cold roads and Scorpions music filled the car, as clear and dazzling as if they were there. They were there.

Here I am… Rock you like a hurricane…

We listened in awestruck silence to the song.

The fire of their outraged honour filled the car, and blasted the strangers who had mauled their music  squarely in the chest.

here I am…


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