Stateside asis fan since 94, but never got the chance to meet them while they were still together, although I met Liam and Noel subsequently. The Liam meeting will forever make him solid gold in my book. It was 8 years ago, so I remember the bullet points, but I found the old post I wrote right after it happened, so if you're really bored or have some time to waste...
My friend and I were tipped off to the fact that Beady Eye were staying at the Elysian Hotel in Chicago. A Google map search of the Elysian confirmed that it was located two blocks from my girlfriend’s place. We decided with fair certitude that we could get our Beady Eye 7" box sets signed, leave them at my girlfriend’s place and then take the El back north to catch the gig on Saturday. But then we realized there weren’t many Friday night plans forming and maybe it would be worth stalking the hotel bar for a few hours? Long shot, but hey, what isn’t these days?
Our mutual friend called us on Friday afternoon to tell us that Beady Eye had arrived in Chicago and were sleeping off the transatlantic flight in their rooms. I was still at the office, but suddenly I had this premonition that the meeting was going to take place.I called my pal as I was leaving the office and told him I’d be back in Uptown within the hour. I said I’d park my car and we’d hop the El down to the Gold Coast.
On the El ride down, I asked my friend what he thought our chances were for a meeting. He said, “50-50. I’m not really expecting too much.”
I’d have put it higher at that point. Maybe 80-20. But I tend to be optimistic. With us, we each had a bag containing the box set, a sharpie and a camera. I wouldn’t carry all that if I didn’t think something was going to happen. Our plan was simple. Find the hotel bar, get a couple seats by the entrance which would also give us a good view of the lobby and then whether or not they came into the bar, we could also spot them entering or exiting the hotel. My buddy and I peered around what seemed like 10 corners for a sign of a hotel bar or restaurant or nothing. I peered around one corner to see Jeff Wootton. I turned around to my buddy and did a head not in Jeff's direction.
“Well, they’re here,” my friend said.
Jeff got onto an elevator and now we had a problem. Even though we were nicely dressed, we kept wandering around the lobby looking painfully lost, and it would only be a matter of minutes before somebody inquired what we were doing. Finally we decided to tell the concierge we were meeting a friend for a drink and whether he might be able to point us toward the hotel bar. He said the bar was on the first floor, right around the corner from the top of the stairs. We headed up and found it was a very small lounge room. I was disappointed, mainly due to the fact that it was tucked far away from the lobby so if any of the band did enter/exit the hotel, we wouldn’t see it.
My friend suggested we grab a seat at the bar. There were five stools. Two to the right were occupied by a young married couple and so we grabbed the ones to the left, with my buddy sitting all the way at the left. I looked around for taps, thinking we were going to be there awhile and I’d need to finance things accordingly. No heavy drinks, just beers. They didn’t have anything on tap. Too nice a place for taps, I suppose.
The plan was to get comfortable and start texting a couple other friends to let us know where we were, what we were up to and extend an invite for them all to join us. We didn’t get that chance. I didn’t even get a chance to decide what to drink before I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see who was approaching.
Liam Gallagher.
I remember thinking, “Holy shit” and trying to put the magnitude of what was happening into some semblance of perspective, but it was all going in slow motion. He shook hands with the bartenders, removed his sunglasses (very cool pair that looked like the kind John Lennon wore in the ‘Double Fantasy’ era, though Liam’s were silver-framed) and traded a few quick jokes about how often they could expect to see him at the bar in the next few hours. Ringo Starr-circa 1965 haircut was perfectly groomed. He wore a blue overcoat that was fully buttoned up and contradicted the fact that it was summer in Chicago. All I could think was, “Wow, it looks just like him.” Which makes sense, but I had to resist the urge to reach out and poke his face to make sure there wasn’t a TV or computer screen between us. It was actually him. Taking the seat right next to mine.
I turned to my friend with my eyes as big as dinner plates. He looked back at me with the same expression. It’s him. I mean, I admit I expected to corner Gem and Andy at some point for an autograph or picture. I also expected the wait to be hours. I never expected Liam Gallagher sitting down next to me within two minutes of me sitting down at the bar.
It’s very hard to look away from someone you’ve been so keenly aware of since being 11 years old. But I knew that if I kept staring at him, I’d either freak him out, make him want to move or maybe (if 18 years of press reports were true) severely piss him off. So I decided to say something to stop me from staring.
“It’s really good to see you, Liam,” I said, not believing that I was saying those words. “We’re big fans. We’re going to the show tomorrow night and we’re pretty excited.”
“Oh, cheers,” Liam said, and moving toward us to shake our hands. “Cool, yeah.”
“Can I buy you a drink?” I asked.
“Nah, mate. Just having a bit of water, but thanks.”
He ended up with a cappuccino, which I’m sure was either comped or covered in the band’s expenses account. The bartender came to us and asked what we wanted. I needed something strong. I ordered a vodka tonic and my buddy ordered a Glenlivet. Then the bartender asked what kind of vodka I wanted. That was horrifying. People get picky and highly opinionated about vodka. There are theories about people who drink Grey Goose. I’ve always enjoyed Belvidere, but I’ve never met anyone else who has. My dad drinks Ketel One, but my girlfriend dismisses it. The last thing I wanted to do was say one and have Liam make a comment like, “Ah you don’t want that shit, mate.” Even though that would mean further conversation, it would also mean I’d feel like an ass for the rest of my life. I deferred to my dad’s taste and went with Ketel One. There was no comment from Liam.
We got served and my nervousness was ridiculously visible as the glass took an awkwardly trembling path to my mouth. Couldn’t keep the hands from shaking. The moment was just too much. I tried to stay focused and look ahead and not stand up and scream “YOU’RE LIAM GALLAGHER! I SPENT MOST OF MY TEENAGE YEARS LIP SYNCHING TO YOUR SONGS WHILST LOOKING UP AT THE CEILING WITH MY HANDS CLASPED BEHIND MY BACK! YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’VE MEANT TO ME!” but it was getting more difficult not to do that with every passing millisecond.
Thankfully, Liam turned to us.
“So where are you from?”
Once two full seconds had passed and weI realized that Liam Gallagher was actually engaging US in conversation, we stammered answers.
“Oh, here,” I said. “Right in Chicago.”
“Yep, but I’m actually moving to London next week,” my buddy said.
This fucking guy. Just HAD to put it out there that he was actually going to be a countryman with our esteemed neighbor. Make me seem like the inferior Yank.
“Oh yeah? Where in London you moving?”
So they talked a little London and that conversation wore down. I asked how the shows up to this point had gone, and Liam enthused they were all great.
“Just fuckin’ doin’ it, you know what I mean? We’re not messing about. They’ve all been really good.”
“That’s great. And it’s really cool that you guys are doing proper B-sides again. I've really enjoyed those.”
“Oh, thanks man. Yeah we’re gonna get right in on the next one, already working on some new tunes. It’s coming along good.”
Beady Eye’s manager stepped into the bar at this point and seeing that we were already engaged in chatter with Liam, he jumped into the conversation. The talk quickly went to baseball. The Yankees were in town playing the Cubs for the weekend, and while the guys knew it was a big deal because of the buzz in the city, they wanted to know why.
“Are they big rivals?” the manager asked.
“Not really, no. They play in two different leagues, and usually the only time the two leagues play each other is in the World Series,” I explained.
“Oh, so is that what this is?”
I honestly saw no way I could succinctly explain the decision made in the 1990s to start interleague baseball and how few American League teams actually played National League teams during the season, let alone how it started when I was a teenager after years and years of it NEVER happening outside of the World Series. All I could say was that the Yankees playing at Wrigley Field was something that did not happen often. I know they played at Wrigley within the last 10 years, but I somehow stammered “The Yankees playing here is something that happens like once every 25 years.” I probably shouldn’t be a sports reporter.
“Oh!” They replied. “And did Chicago win?”
“Yeah, they won today,” I reported.
“So New York’s going home pissed off then?”
“Well there’s two more games to be played, but hopefully on Sunday they go home pissed off.”
“Are the Yankees a big deal? They win everything right?”
I looked at Liam and said, “Basically, they’ve got a reputation like Man United. Buy everything, win everything.”
Liam waved his hand. “Ah, fuckin’ say no more, mate.”
“But hey, at least City got in there right? FA Cup.”
“‘Bout fuckin’ time, eh?!” he said.
“I’m actually going to see my first City game in December,” I said.
“You are?” Liam asked.
“Yeah, sorry to say I’m a Gooner, so we’re gonna go see the Man City/Arsenal match in December," my friend said.
“Nice one.”
At this point the manager moved over toward the two of us and asked how big of football fans we were. My friend had no problem engaging in this conversation. I still felt a little too novice to speak above my level, so I just listened. I turned around toward to see Gem Archer and Jeff Wootton approaching. My mouth dropped.
“Alright?” Gem smiled, nodding back.
I faced forward again, thinking this was beyond any kind of belief. Gem went up to Liam and asked about his jacket. Liam raved to him about a new pair of sunglasses he’d bought that looked “Proper fuckin’ George Harrison!”
I turned back to face them and there looming over me was Andy Bell. I turned back to my friend who was still talking football to the manager. My eyes still wide as dinner plates. We're now in the middle of the Beady Eye posse. I turned back to Andy and asked if he wanted my seat.
“Oh no, it’s OK. You were here. I’m fine.”
“You sure? ‘Cos…”
“Yeah, yeah.”
I turned to the manager and asked if he wanted to sit. He also declined, and I said, “Well I’m not making him stand,” pointing to my friend’s leg which was in a brace.
“Oh, what happened there?” the manager asked.
“It was actually, an air guitaring incident,” my friend replied sheepishly.
“He gets really into it,” I said. “We’re hoping tomorrow night you guys do a nice, quiet, acoustic show, otherwise it’ll be his other leg.”
We also talked Beady Eye’s output with the manager and how we appreciated the fact that they were working so fast.
“When you’re a fan, it’s hard sometimes to wait years and years for albums,” I said.
“Yeah,” he replied. “Yeah I think you’re right about that.”
Before I knew what was happening, the band were moving out of the bar, leaving a bevy of half-finished Peronis behind. The manager got up and thanked the two of us for the chat.
Liam stood up to accompany his bandmates and stepped toward my friend, shook both our hands and, said both our names and said it was a pleasure to meet us both.
“We’ll see you tomorrow then.”
And he was off.
I looked down at my bag with the camera, 7" box set and Sharpie. Nothing to show for the moment. I didn’t think to get a picture. An autograph. Anything. I told my friend we probably could have and they would have obliged.
“I’m glad we didn’t,” he said, before explaining that we got to share a moment that very few people ever will. We got to just enjoy a drink with them at the bar. Liam Gallagher actually talked to us. To have pulled out items for an autograph or requested a picture would’ve knocked us down a few steps. Would’ve made us fan boys instead of just a couple cool Chicago guys at the bar.
We finished our drinks. He said, “I need a release. I’m going to have to punch you in the face or something. I can’t believe that just happened.”