Eighteen years later, they got back up on stage. A man next to me in the audience showed me an old photo he kept on his phone of the band, from way back. He said he used to go to all of their gigs around Perth. He was their biggest fan. He wore a huge grin.
I hadn’t known Flanders back then–I was flitting off around the world, oblivious to the indie pop scene in Freo. To me the guy about to start singing and playing lead guitar was just Luke, the dad of one of my girls’ friends.
The band played for one glorious hour. Many people in the crowd knew the words. They sang and danced, soaking up the fleeting gift. I wanted to catch up with the man in the audience after the gig. Ask him whether the band lived up to his memories. I couldn’t see him. But it didn’t matter, everyone was on cloud nine.