Written as a keepsake for myself, this is the tale of my Bon
Jovi album signing adventure on June 7, 2024.
Grimey’s, a record store in Nashville, held a promotion
to pre-order Bon Jovi’s new “Forever” album in advance of its June 7th
release. There were a limited number of
CDs and viny albums available for pre-order, but for each item purchased, the
buyer got a wristband that entitled them to attend a release day album signing
at the shop. I would’ve been entirely clueless to this event had it not been
for my good friend Tori Alainn forwarding me the information.
Unfortunately, when I tried to buy a CD, they were
already sold out. Fortunately, I did
manage to get a vinyl album, which will look nicer on my wall, anyway!
The day of the event was hot but not unbearably so until you’d
been standing in the direct sunlight for an hour. The next half-hour built to a level that was
pretty close to miserable, but I rocked back and forth from one foot to another
and watched my fellow event goers. In front of me was a couple and their two
grown daughters whose family photo I later took in front of the Bon Jovi mural. In front of them was a man with his eight- or
nine-year-old son. I’m firmly convinced
that the wife/mom sent them to do her bidding in the heat, and I applaud her
for that as well as the Bon Jovi socks the boy wore.
Behind me was a fellow West Virginian, even though she
was wearing the wrong college logo to be from my part of the state. We didn’t hold it against one another as we
briefly chatted. I found out that she
was a bartender who’d been in Nashville for seven months. At a point much later in the adventure, I
found out the two ladies behind her were also from yet another part of West
Virginia? Who would’ve thought chance
would line us all up together in East Nashville?
Overall, I’m not the a very chatty person, so that pretty
much exhausts what I learned about the people around me. Well, except for the folks up front who I
learned were geniuses. How did I learn,
you might ask? It was pretty obvious
since they brought their own shade in the form of umbrellas.
Genius is definitely not in my DNA, because the event coordinators
sent us all a helpful email warning of the heat and suggesting to bring a tote
bag (so that you didn’t have to hold your album the entire time) and a bottle
of water. Did I listen? Nope. I
didn’t want to look like a nerd, but that nerd herd with the umbrellas sure
had. If I’d shown up just a little
later, my place in line would’ve been in the shade of the breezeway behind the
building. Ah well. I managed to stand for ten hours waiting for
Bon Jovi at Bamboozle. What was 90
minutes in Nashville, especially since I would get the chance to be closer to
the band than I ever had before. Squeee!
Tick-tock, tick-tock.
The band was twenty minutes late when I saw phone cameras go into
action. Did I mention I was on the far
back corner of the building, so I couldn’t see squat of the comings and goings
out front? Yeah. That.
But the crowd reaction was dependable, and the line starting moving.
I’m almost to the front corner of the building when I suck
a gasp of mild horror. The plastic on
the album! Do I leave it on or take it
off? I’m not an album signing connoisseur,
dammit! What’s considered more
pristine? Is there protocol for such
thing? Two quick SOS text messages don’t
get me an answer in a nanosecond, so I make an abrupt judgment call and remove
the plastic. The autographs should be
permanently attached to the album cover, not removable.
Whew. As if I hadn’t
already been sweating buckets, that little moment drained me dry of whatever
moisture still dwelt in my body. Dumbass moment averted, I took quick
inventory of the people who were turning from the straight line we’d been
standing in to the store’s front sidewalk.
One man in particular caught my attention.
I’d noticed his black club shirt from behind, with pastel
records printed on it, but not much else.
Now I had a full side view of him in his wrinkled shorts, and patterned
socks with loafters… and he reminded me of Hugh McDonald! Not as then or as well-kept as Hugh, but
there was something about him that gave off that Huey vibe. I snapped a quick pic and texted it away
while laughing to myself.
He moved along, and I rounded the building corner for my
turn on the sidewalk. There were only
eight to ten people between me and the entrance. Much like an amusement park ride line, the employee
staffing the door would ask how many in your party and herd groups along
according to how much room. I was traveling
solo and got inside at the same time as the family of four and, oh my Jovi, did
that dim, cool record store a glorious haven for the overheated.
But, wait! I didn’t
have time to bask in the “bought air”. Bon
Jovi was in the building.
Literally!
All seven men were seated closely together on the small
platform at the back of the store. Left
to right, it was John Shanks, Hugh McDonald, Tico Torres, Jon Bon Jovi, David
Bryan, Phil Xenidis, and Everett Bradley.
And when I say “at the back of the store”, please don’t
misunderstand. I’ve paid hundreds of
dollars for concert seats that weren’t as close as the front and back of this
building.
Still yet, I knew my phone wasn’t going to get me great
photos, so I whipped out my trusty Canon and started snapping photos as the
line crept steadily along. I’d taken
maybe half a dozen photos when it occurred to me to use the zoom. I told you the front and back were
close.
*Zoom*
Holy mother of pearl.
If I could just catch them in a still moment between event goers, these
would be some great nose-hair quality pictures!
Oh, and if my hands would stop shaking. Even if you asked me why they shook, I couldn’t
tell you. I have no crush on those
men. I hadn’t even given a passing thought
to being nervous up until now, but I tried a test video and realized that was
NOT going to do anyone any good. The
first few pictures weren’t great either.
Ever tried to hold a vinyl album and take pictures with shaky hands at
the same time without sticking the newly emancipated album cover under your
sweaty arm? That’s what I was
facing.
Quickly approaching the front of the line, I tucked the
camera back in my purse alongside my phone.
“Lay your album flat on the table in front of him,” the event
coordinator instructed the man in front of me.
It only took a glance to see this was a conveyor belt
style operation. Shanks signed and slid
the album to Hugh, who slid it to Tico, and on down the line. This at least reduced the opportunity for me
fumbling it and putting Jon Bon Jovi’s eye out with the corner of the album
cover. While I may not have a crush on
him, I can admit the man has pretty eyes, and it would suck to be responsible
for messing up one of them.
It was my turn to slide my album onto the
tablecloth-covered folding table.
Honestly, I don’t remember anything about John Shanks touching my
album. I’m not even sure I looked at
him. In fact, I probably didn’t.
I did, however, speak to Hugh. “There was a guy in line who looked just like
you. I couldn’t figure out why they’d
make you stand in line. But you’re much
better dressed than he is. Ha ha.” He looked at me like I was slightly
insane. Like his mouth was smiling but
his eyes were darting. You know the look,
right?
Oh, you are an idiot, Carol Jovi.
I was so immersed in my cringey behavior that Tico got
the blessing of silence while he etched his name onto the cover.
Rally, girl. Rally. You have something legit to say to Jon.
I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders as my copy
of “Forever” slid under his fingertips.
“I’ve listened to it four times this morning. It’s a great album!”
The Sharpie lifted from the cover and it slid over to the
next contestant as Jon’s eyes went a bit wide in that special way that says, “No
shit, lady.”. But to give him credit, he
mustered up a fake, closed-lipped smile – and gave me a thumbs-up. Golly gee, y’all. I got a thumbs up.
No time to dwell on the level of “special” I was racking
up with these men, because David was scratching his big “DB” in the upper right
corner. The guy had just moved to
Nashville, so his boss had leaked. What
a perfect thing to reference, right?
“How are you likin’ Nashville?” I asked chipperly,
channeling my inner Reese Witherspoon.
He wasn’t impressed.
He regarded me with flat eyes and lips while nodding and saying (also
flatly), “Excellent.”
“Glad to hear that!”
Move along, Carol.
Move along.
Phil was already finished signing, but that didn’t grant
him any reprieve from my awkwardness. I
tapped the table in front of him with a smile and said, “Hi, Phil!” Or did I say, “Hi, Phil X!”? God, please don’t let me have referred to him
as Phil X to his face. I didn’t. I’m sure I didn’t. Mostly.
One last stop with the wonderfully gracious Everett
Bradley whose smile was bright and sincere when returning my newly prized
memorabilia. For him, I had a genuine
smile and heartfelt, “Thank you, sir.”
Treasure in hand, I moved a few feet up the end aisle of
albums and laid mine on top of some so that I might get a better angle for
video. I tried a couple, and they were
okay, but being more in the store’s center would be better.
I grabbed my album and fastidiously avoided the oversized
man in the next aisle whose coral polo made his tanned face and arms look like
we were already three months deep into summer.
Matt Bongiovi the brother-slash-security
detail didn’t interest me, and I left him diligently watching the crowd (when
not posing for photos with some of the ladies).
The next aisle over, but toward the back of the store,
was Darin (Darren?), who worked for Bon Jovi in various capacities over the
years. I assumed he was there as back-up
security for today’s event, but when he walked past me toward the door without
a second glance, I stepped into the long aisle with my camera and got some decent shots.
Satisfied with my haul for the day, I headed out of the
store, thanking the gentleman manning the door for a great event. I had come into the building from the right
but took a left upon exit. There was
supposed to be a new Bon Jovi mural on the outside of the shop. From what I could gather, they paint newly
released album covers on the sides of the building, meaning I needed to get a
picture now since I probably wouldn’t make it back before they painted over it
with something else.
As I was taking a photo, the wife of the family who’d
been in front of me in line asked if I’d like my picture taken with the
mural. The over was a gracious one that
I accepted and returned in kind when her daughters and husband arrived.
My Friday adventure was over, and I spent a few minutes
in the air-conditioned car sending text messages before driving around the
building and to exit the parking lot.
The black, chauffeured vehicles that delivered the band here were
already gone.
Those guys knew how to sign their name and get the heck
out of dodge.
*poof*
I took a cue from them and did the same.
