A couple of weeks ago Rockfest was supposed to be the rocking-ist festival of the summer. All the bands were booked, all the tickets were sold, but in the end there was only half a concert because organizer disappeared with all the cake. Sure Def Leppard and Loverboy played for half their going-rate (which for Def Leppard is just over $67,000), but I digress. Can you imagine rocking it up (what else would you do at a Rockfest, but rock it up?) in the campground primed for the concert-of-the-century only to be told that half the lineup was not going to play and with no refund? Small businesses went bankrupt, bands were very angry, and a whole lot of rockers were saddened by this act of deception. While I think that the whole incident is pretty low, I can’t help amusing myself by creating possibilities for how this whole thing came about.
I have this all-too-vivid image of some banger and his buddies sitting around in the basement suite of a duplex having a few beers, smoking a joint and hatching plans to get rich quick.
The ideas started out small, you know, things like saving beer tabs: “you know man, they’ll give a lot money if you save a whole lot of these, we could make a fortune off all the Club we’re going to drink tonight . . .” or plans to steal, refurbish and sell Trans AM’s “I’ve got a buddy with a spray gun . . .” or “hey man remember those stores that used to put stuff on shirts, well my buddy who has all those old silk-screens in his shed . . .”
The night went on when finally, at around three in the morning, hours after the initial conversation had ended, the quiet guy in the corner came up with a master plan, “I’ve got it, let’s organize a rock concert, we’ll call it Rockfest, we’ll invite all the great rockers like Joan Jett, the quintessential rocker babe, and Def Leppard. You know the guy with one arm who can still rock it out on Love Bites? Man, old-school rockers will come from far and wide, and then when no one is expecting it we’ll take off with the money.”
All the buddies agreed to this fantastic plan, parted ways, picked up their banger girlfriends, and went home for a little banger love. The next morning no one remembered the plan except for the quiet guy in the corner and without fail, the plan materialized-he hired the bands, sold the tickets, and ran away with the money.
Actually, the real details of this event are a little sketchy. Apparently, the event was in financial trouble from the onset, and it has not been confirmed that Frank Scott, President of Rockfest Inc. is or was at anytime a banger although deep down inside aren’t we all bangers? According to the Calgary Herald, Scott claimed that “Rockfest’s expenses were far higher than anticipated and that he left the festival grounds when he realized the event was financially compromised.”
I prefer my story to the Larry Ryckman-esque business man who made some bad financial decisions while organizing a rock festival. What can I say? The above is my attempt to make the whole scandal a little more interesting while at the same time creating an urban legend and exercising my right to excessive stereotyping.