Bob Geldof in Toronto

I've been a fan of Bob Geldof's since the early 80s (a fandom launched by the “I Don't Like Mondays” video) and an admirer since 1985, when his work for Africa clearly made him more than just another pop singer.

So when I saw his name in the Globe and Mail's list of upcoming events, doing a concert in Toronto at the Music Hall, there was very little hesitation before I called for tickets. I got fourth row, over to the left. I circled the date on the calendar and started a happy mental count-down to it (as Jean rolled his eyes and asked if there wasn't someone else—anyone—I could bring instead of him).

A few weeks before the show, I came home to grumpy Jean, who reported that Ticketmaster had called with news: the show had been moved to Palais Royale, and I no longer had reserved seats. “This is not what I signed up for,” Jean groused.

I did more research on the venue, and found out that:

a) It didn't have any seats, let alone reserved ones.

b) It didn't have air conditioning!

So my happy anticipation turned to sickening worry, as I envisioned sweating on my tired feet for hours beside a scowling husband. Why the venue change? Didn't they know that Bob Geldof fans were a little old for that type of show?

I'd been hoping for cool, crisp, sunny Fall day. So naturally, September 20 dawned hot and sticky and threatening rain. Oh goodie. First we'd get soaked waiting in line, and then we'd sweat to death inside.

Nevertheless, I ignored Jean's repeated, “We don't have to go!” and off we went to Toronto.

Our hotel was within walking distance of the Palais Royale, so we ambled over to it along a nice boardwalk on Lake Ontario. Though still a bit humid at this point, it was neither that hot nor rainy at all.

We got to the venue around 6:00. Palais Royale is an old dance hall that was probably grand in its day, but now looks pretty run down, with peeling paint and cobwebs. And 6:00 turned out to be too early to line up—no one else was there except for the band (inside), the crew, and a reporter. Nevertheless, we were (or, at least, I was) compensated by being able to hear some of the band's sound check (“One for Me,” “Mudslide,” “Inside Your Head,” a bit of “Mondays”), but when that ended, we wandered off, weather still holding.

We got back around 7:20, and a small crowd had gathered. The crowd grew as 8:00 approached. People shared tales of previously attended Rats concerts (especially at Maple Leaf Gardens and Centennial College) and previous Bob meetings. I had no such tales to share—I'd never seen the man live before. But I was repeatedly assured that he was “amazing.”

We were instructed to line up, then the doors opened around 8:00. On our turn, I handed over my tickets, entered the room, and saw—chairs! Plastic chairs all set up in front of the stage.

Doing exactly what Jean predicted I would, I left him behind in my rush to get good ones—4th row center, perfect view of the singer's mic. Even better than I would have had at the Music Hall.

Then I shooed people away from the seat beside me until Jean caught up.

We had an hour to wait for the opening act, so we talked to a guy in front of us. He was a long-time fan. His two buddies, on the other hand, only knew “I Don't Like Mondays.”

I suspect there was a lot of that going around on this North American tour—Geldof diehards dragging whoever they can to the show with them.

Opening act PJ Olsson came on around 9:00. He's a one-man show: a man, a guitar, and an iMac. Kind of interesting, and a very nice voice.

Everything seemed to start building then. The hall filled up more and more (though never got anywhere near sold out). It grew hotter and hotter. And outside (visible through the open doors) a thunder storm was brewing up. And you could feel the crowd's eagerness (or maybe that was mine?).

Little wonder that when Bob and band took the stage, everyone immediately stood up and cheered. The band launched into “The Great Song of Indifference”—a really upbeat, Irish jig kind of tune. The crowd clapped and sang along; they were definitely upbeat and participative. (At one point, I noticed the two buddies in front of us who only knew “Mondays” turn to each other and say, “This is really great!”)

Immediately after “The Great Song”, the band launched into “Too Late God” (the song Bob played at the Freddie Mercury Tribute— another Irish-sounding tune) and then into another song that I didn't actually know (but later found out is called “A Sex Thing”), that was more rhythmic, sounding rather like “Beat of the Night”.

Throughout the evening, as various song sequences like this were presented, I was impressed at how tight the band was. Despite Bob's joking that it was great we came to their “warm-up gig before we go tour the States” (a reference to the Rolling Stones), the band was a well-oiled machine.

Bob addressed the crowd at this point, following up his “warm-up gig” comment with a “No really, it's nice of you all to come out and see us for the first time in a hundred years. I know it's kind of poncy with the seats, but this is going to be a long show! We have 27 years of material to cover!”

He introduced the band, commenting on Bob Loveday's “pimp wear” (a black mesh shirt) and Jamie Moses' pathetic attempts to get a girl he'd met earlier to come to the show. (And since we're getting physical here, I'll mention that Bob himself looked pretty good. He wore pin-stripped suit with red polk-dotted shirt. His face hasn't changed that much since the 80s, and he's still very slim. His hair has more gray, though.)

He also said: “And I'm going to be talking a lot, so it's best that you be sitting down. Yeah, we'll be doing some stuff from when you were six, and some from last time we were here, and some from two weeks ago. And if there is something in particular you want to hear, and we feel like it, and we can remember the words…”

The crowd of course starting shouting out requests at this point. I couldn't make out too much in the din, but I did hear “Eva Braun” and “Rat Trap.”

“No really, is anyone here under 60?” Bob asked, before launching into—I don't remember what, actually, but it definitely wasn't “Eva Braun” or “Rat Trap.”

And was followed up with: “I know I'll be playing songs that a lot of you don't know—but that's not my fucking fault, is it? It's a lot easier to buy an album than to make an album…”

Me and Bob