The Automatik

From Smack Dab #5, April 1996:

Although you, loyal readers, may have believed fervently that Heidi and I were always media mavens who possessed a brilliant interrogative style, this was alas, not always so. Case in point: our first collective brush with fame, Suede’s Brett Anderson.

There we were at the UNO Lakefront Arena having just seen a certain British band who shall remain nameless [It was Depeche Mode. Quit fronting.-The Automatik, 2004], when our friend told us that during a trip to the ladies’ room, they could have sworn they saw Brett stalking the grounds. Considering the fact that Suede was performing the next night, this was a highly likely scenario. Yet we, the true Suede fans, had not spied his visage (cruel Fate!). We were madly scanning the audience for familiar and famous faces when we spotted giant Mat Osman, bass player for Suede!

We squealed! We saw Brett standing next to him! We sighed. What were two groupies-in-training to do? I boldly suggested that we talk to him, but Heidi hesitated, unsure of what we would ever say to such an unapproachable creature. In retrospect, this was a valid opinion on her part. I grabbed her hand and we flew down the stairs to the floor area to come face to face with Mat, Brett, and two other guys we didn’t recognize having a conversation. They all ignored us, but who could blame them? We cowered there, smiling and looking completely foolish and ludicrous. Finally, Brett and I made eye contact. The humiliating encounter went something like this:

Me: Hi.
Brett: (trying to look away) Hi.
Me: We recognized you from all the way up there!
Brett: (cocking an eyebrow, smirking and glancing upwards) All the way up there, eh? Hmmm…
Guy #1: (to Guy #2) Bye!
Guy #2: (to Brett) Who was that guy? He said he knew me.
Brett: I don’t know.
Guy #2: I guess it was just some guy.
Me: Yeah, some guy.
Guy #2: It must have just been some guy.
Heidi: What’d he say?
Me: He said he didn’t know him, it was just some guy. Yeah, that was his name! Some guy.
Heidi: He must be Chinese. You know, “Sum Guy?”

Brett started to creep away, probably filled with shame in the face of our mind-numbingly banal “attempts” at conversation.

Brett: Uh, I’ve got to go.
Me: Oh! We’re going to the show tomorrow night.
Brett: Oh, okay.
Me: So I guess we’ll see you there tomorrow.
Brett: Yeah, bye.

By the way, the show was incredible; although I’m amazed Brett didn’t visibly cringe when he saw us hanging over the front of the stage.

It’s okay. You can laugh now.