I had an adventure last night. I am an alley-skulking, authority-wheedling, shortcut-taking rock star follower—and I am victorious.

Shortly after filling up on mint tea, Matt, Garth and I piled into Garth’s ancient Volvo for our British rock crusade. Snow Patrol was playing down at the Newport and tickets were actually in our price range ($5). We arrived fashionably late—as true music snobs, we certainly weren’t going to subject ourselves to the opening act. After getting a perfect parking spot and ramming countless nickels and dimes into our parking meter, we ran across the street to the yawning chasm that doubled as the entryway into Brit-Pop-Paradise.

“Sorry boys, sold out,” was the harsh and unexpected blow that greeted us at the door. Not to be deterred instantly, we immediately started querying our heartbreaker with questions and entreaties about somehow getting tickets. “Are you sure they’re ALL gone? Do you ever release more tickets after the show has gone on for a while? Is there any way at all?” (this last question asked multiple times…)

“No” was the consistent pistol-whip to our aspirations. We walked out, in despair yet not wholly conquered. “Let’s walk around back,” suggested Garth who had a vague idea that we might manage to weasel our way past unsuspecting guards into the back bowels of the building from where we would covertly make our way into the show. We scuttled into the alley and walked deep into the shadows towards graffiti-covered back doors. One of the side doors appeared to be slightly ajar, but as we edged nearer a large security guard approached out of the gloom and demanded what we were doing. Thwarted.

After making a circuit of the entire building and even trying to sweet-talk another door guard, we finally arrived back at the entrance. It was here that a bit of life was given us. “Do you guys have tickets?” inquired a late concert go-er,—“no,” we mourned. She had an extra one which she handed over to Matt. – One down, two to go –

About this time, some sort of alarm started going off in the shop next door. Police cruisers arrived and a few of the door staff walked over to see what the deal was. This left one “watcher” at the entrance. Matt sauntered up to the girl and asked one more time. “Is there any way we can get in?”

Perhaps she felt sorry for us, perhaps our wheedling inquiries where finally getting annoying, or perhaps Matt’s indelible charisma and charm broke through her defenses, but she smiled and waved us in—free of charge.

Nothing better than a free show.

And before I forget, props to Snow Patrol for laughing their way through a reconfigured Beyonce cover during the encore.