Roach

I watched a dying man perform tonight.

His name is Roach, he is the lead singer of a heavy metal band called The Plague.

I was working a The Metro, and I heard that there was a singer tonight, and that it was going to be his last show. He has cancer, and he is in hospice care. His wife said he most likely won't survive the week.

Roach is probably in his forties, but he looked like he was in his sixties. Hunched over, thin. I didn't know what to expect. I don't really like heavy metal, so I don't much pay attention when I work these shows. But I've seen enough of them to know who is good and who is not.

Roach was good. Roach was amazing. I don't know if charismatic is the right word, or even magnetic; I think authentic hits close to home. I just know that the cheers from the crowd weren't pity cheers. They were cheers because he's damn good.

Behind the cheers and screams and beers and celebration, there was tension running through the crowd. This was the audience saying good-bye to Roach and Roach's way of saying good-bye to everyone. Maybe saying good-bye to himself. After he was done he said, "I just want to thank you people, we really appreciate it." Then a band member draped a towel over his shoulders, and his wife came on stage and gave him a hug. Simple.

I wonder, is it a blessing or a curse to know it's your last performance? I have nothing more. Just that tonight was definitely not an experience I expected.