Dogstar

When my editor assigned me to cover the Dogstar show at the Catalyst last week, a bell went off in my mind. Dogstar…the band featuring none other than Mr. Keanu Reeves? One of Hollywood’s extremely few true success stories in which one finds prolonged success and admiration without having to forfeit their true nature or beg for attention? I know him! 

As I excitedly scrambled to respond, time froze. My mind’s eye yanked me out of consensus reality and opened in on a dream sequence. It was a black-and-white, third-person perspective of myself and Keanu sitting on a black leather couch in his massive tour bus, he with a bass on his lap and me with a guitar on mine. We were jamming! And I’m the one who was teaching him a lick! I say something, and after an awkwardly prolonged silence, Keanu breaks out into heaving laughter, which prompts me to nod and devilishly grin. Then, it’s his voice that drew me out of my reverie.

“Neal, Neal, did I lose you?” Brian’s voice pierced the fabric of my daydream chill sesh with Keanu, and there I was again, sitting at my office, on the phone with my editor. “That’s Keanu Reeve’s band, right?!” I sputtered despite my efforts to play it cool. “That’s right,” he said. “I think it would be great content for our newsletter and maybe even something in the print mag.”

He went on to tell me that he had two free tickets to the upcoming show that is coming Sunday and that his connection at the Catalyst would be there to vouch and take care of me and whoever I decided to bring when we got there.

“Do you think I could interview Keanu afterward?” I asked nonchalantly as if I wasn’t trying my very hardest to speak my daydream into reality right then and there. “I heard he’s pretty down to earth.”

Brian laughed, and his words stung like those of a Portuguese Man of War.

“I don’t think Mr. Ted will be available for The People afterward, no,” he said amiably as if I was a coconspirator in this sick joke and an affront to my dignity. Then he chuckled again.

I gulped. Heat bloomed in my cheeks, and sweat trickled down my forehead as the devastation of my disappointment set in. “Hahaha,” I forced unbelievably. “Can I bring Anastasiya?” I asked quickly, trying to change the subject. 

After about a minute or two after I’d hung up the phone, my heart rate finally began to come down, and the hot blood started to drain from my face. “I almost lost my cool back there!” I thought to myself. “He thought I was joking about interviewing Keanu!” I sighed and began to chastise myself for even asking in the first place. As I was doing this, the voice in my head entered the fray and came to my defense.

“It was reasonable to ask. He’s one of Hollywood’s most beloved actors who’s also known to be a genuinely nice guy.” This voice had a point. Considering his enormous charitable efforts and nice-guy demeanor, if there was going to be one movie-star celebrity rock-star who was willing to donate their time and energy to speak with a small-time journalist like myself, it would be Keanu. Right? 

It was then that I realized that I was allowing Keanu Reeve’s star power to overtake my personal interest in covering a sweet rock band at a fun local venue. I realized that for anyone in this game for as long he had, overzealous reporters and “superfans” such as myself, are the reason someone like Keanu isn’t available to give up more of their time freely. When you’re talents basically make you an economy of your own, everyone wants a piece of you, and it must be difficult to maintain healthy boundaries in your work life, but he’s still here after all these years doing it, so he must have somehow cracked the code.

My girlfriend and I got to the Catalyst a little later than we’d expected, so we regretfully missed the cover band. When we walked into the Atrium, the place was packed to the gills. Neon cobalt blue lights lit up the stage as the crowd, most of the whom appeared to consist of Gen X’ers and Millennials such as myself, buzzed excitedly. I looked at my watch, then up at Ana. 

“Dogstar is supposed to start in about twelve minutes. Do you want a drink?” 

The next thing I knew, I was standing in line at the bar wedged between two thoroughly drunk Dogstar fans. The line was long, but the saving grace is that it was a single-file line for service, not one of the “first-come-first-serve” bar setups I’m used to. I always seem invisible at those, almost as though the bartenders are silently conspiring against me with an elaborate system of winks and eyebrow raises, all designed to keep me thirsty.

When it was my time to order, Dogstar had taken the stage, and a huge cheer erupted from the packed house. A minute later, I returned back to Ana’s side, holding her beer in one hand, and my Red Bull in the other. Before long, our hips were swaying to the tight, polished, alt-rock tunes of Mr. Reeves and his fellow bandmates. They sounded really good, just not good enough for me to leave the venue decked out in Dogstar merch. 

During the encore, as I looked at all the fans pointing their phones towards the stage, I realized something. Everyone’s camera’s were zoomed in on Keanu. Not the whole band. Not the lead singer. Only Keanu. Just as I had been during that call with my editor earlier that week, the audience was high on Keanu Reeves’ legendary stardom. I’m sure there were a few diehard Dogstar fanboys and fangirls on hand, but I’d be willing to bet good money that the majority were there because the bass player just so happened to be one of the most well-liked actors in generations. I’d also wager to guess that his bandmates weren’t complaining.