Hedley

You know you are old when you go to a pop-rock concert and there is no lineup at the beer tent. This was the first disparaging event at the Hedley concert Monday night at the Air Canada Centre. As we rounded the corner of Front and Bay and joined the throngs of shrieking, hyper- excited teenage girls I knew my twenty-something companion and I were in trouble. Trouble, because I had underestimated the audience demographic and also because I tend to rant about the degeneration of North American society and the Facebook/ iPhone generation. There we were twenty something totally aged and exposed by the sea of teenage conformity that was ebbing and flowing, tittering and tweeting all around us.

The ACC packed up quickly for the sold out performance. A quick look around gave me the distinct nightmarish impression of being trapped in a funhouse mirror maze where all the cajoling reflections look exactly like Ashley Tisdale. Our seats were slightly off centre and bordered on all sides by mom chaperones and fanatical screeching tweens. The ten year old behind me took some great photos but had an unearthly wail that left ringing in my ears for the entire opening sequence by Hedley.

The best music of the night was played as a backdrop for the Alliance films summer screeners, which they showed ad nauseum at each intermission. Since most of the pubescent audience around me was too busy texting or updating their status on Facebook with their iPhones, I doubt they even noticed the previews.
Besides Hedley’s appearance, I was most interested in the climate in the arena. I watched as the wave slowly died off after eight laborious laps. I heard the petulant chant of impulsive adolescents “Hedley…Hedley…Hedley” burble up five rows behind me and spread stadium wide into a deafening command to appease the masses.

I watched, in abject horror, as the Urban Outfitters crew three rows ahead of me (uniform: thin bow tied hair bands and super long, pin straight, side-banged hair) spotted the Urban Behaviour crew seated three rows behind me (uniform: black eyeliner and black lace stockings under cut off distressed jean shorts). The iPhones were out in a flash, for a horrified moment I thought the Urban Outfitters crew was deconstructing my outfit on Twitter. The phones got passed around, texts were sent and at the next intermission the lead Urban Behaviour-ite directed an insecure approval-seeking smile-wave towards the Urban Outfitters crew leader who promptly snubbed her and then texted about it to some clean cut dude named J.J.

Teenage girls scare me.