Finally, it was happening. An actual concert. The first one I’d ever given. It made no sense to me why I was being “allowed” to go back and do this show near Miami, given that the world had been told I was deathly ill. It had to be another deal the Scottis had to honor. I mean, the show was being promoted by the number one radio station in Florida, Y100, and so I’m sure that had something to do with it. Either way, I was ready. I had a good band, and I was excited about finally getting a chance to be this rock star I had been pretending to be for a year. This would not be a lip-synching show. I mean, not really. But there was something semi-artificial about it. As planned, Jim Haas, the background singer who had played such a dominant part of my recording sessions, was going on the road with us. We had a sound guy who told me that while my microphone would be on, the sound level on it would be quite low. This would allow for Jim’s voice to be more prominent onstage to give the songs the depth that they needed. As much as this bothered me, I understood why they were doing it this way. They wanted the show to sound good. As to why I simply couldn’t take singing lessons to get where I needed to be, that was a whole other story. Nobody wanted to waste time with that. In a sense, there was no time to waste. We had to strike when we could. In my mind, I justified all of this by reminding myself that I actually would have a live microphone this time. But as our sound guy reminded me, he would be riding the level very closely so that when I spoke to the crowd or ad-libbed, he would boost it, but when it came time to sing, he would keep it low. So, on the one hand, it was kind of a sham, but it was still better than that fateful Magic Mountain appearance where I lip-synched the song three times in a row. Beggars can’t be choosers. All of this said, I was still excited.
But let’s not forget the fact that just days earlier, the world had been told I was quite ill.
The local papers in Florida were picking up on the weirdness of my “recovery.” The Miami News wrote:
Talk about a miracle cure. Teen idol Leif Garrett has been hospitalized all week in Los Angeles…but the screamy teen is back on his feet and will be appearing as scheduled tomorrow night at the Broward County Youth Fair. According to Marsa Hightower, creative services director for Scotti Brothers, Garrett’s record company and management firm, “Leif will definitely be playing Miami, although the other 19 cities on the tour have been cancelled. He’ll have a doctor attending him at all times, but the show is definitely on.
Why nobody in the media thought to ask why this show was okay to perform but not the others, I have no clue. Media markets were more isolated from one another then, and the world was wired differently. News simply did not travel that fast. Why other promoters didn’t hit the roof, who knows? Although I’m sure there was stuff happening behind the scenes that I was unaware of. Just more unanswered questions surrounding my increasingly weird career. And no doubt it all had to do with money.
Anyway, we flew into Miami and headed over to the Gulfstream Race Track at the Broward County Fair. It was Saturday night, November 25, 1978. This was it. First time ever, live and with a real band. As I was hustled into the backstage area of the arena, I saw a bunch of young girls wearing T-shirts with my face on them, and on the back were the words, “Leif Garrett’s Very First Concert!” (As I was writing this book, my coauthor and I found one of those T-shirts stowed away in a box I have at home.)
Right before showtime, the band and I got together backstage for a quick preconcert huddle. This was exciting. We could hear the crowd chanting, and when the lights came down, we heard our opening theme music, “Also sprach Zarathustra” (otherwise known as the theme from the film 2001: A Space Odyssey), begin to play through the speakers, announcing our imminent arrival.
I was nervous, but it was different this time. This was a good kind of nervous. I was like a pent-up animal. The minute the spotlight hit me as I ran out onstage, all amped up and hyper, more than four thousand teenage girls started going wild, screaming, crying, and melting down in ways I’m sure they had never experienced before. The whole place was literally shaking. The rush of energy toward me was real. I loved having a real band behind me, and I actually did feel like a rock star. I began channeling everything I remembered from watching Rod Stewart, Mick Jagger, and Robert Plant. I preened and I posed. I pointed at certain girls and I smiled at others. The whole thing was a rush. This is something I could get used to. It was a relatively short set that focused on the songs that had made me famous, from “Surfin’ USA” to “I Was Made for Dancing.” I knew that Jim’s voice was “hotter” in the mix than mine, but it was okay. The euphoric feeling of fronting a real band in front of an adoring crowd, at least for the moment, overpowered the feeling that I was a fraud. A teenage ego is weird, still wet and easy to shape. This was a cool feeling.
The reviews were okay too. As the Fort Lauderdale News wrote, “The voice proved clean and mellow, augmented by a smart seven-piece band.” Okay, maybe it was Jim’s voice they heard mostly. It didn’t really matter. I was the one out front.
I mean, right?