Narrow Opening

Being the opening act is thankless. Okay, that may not be entirely true. The headliner will invariably make a point of thanking them somewhere along the course of their set since it's good form. Add the polite applause that each of their songs get along with the eight or nine relatives or close personal friends of the artist and you've got your thanks. Such as it is.
Mostly what you get is a half-filled venue occupied by patrons who were anxious to get to their seats or planned poorly. The ones who do sit through the opening act chat incessantly, eager for the singer-songwriter or hard-working band to finish off their twenty minutes so they can get back to the serious business at hand: listening to the roadies check the mikes and guitars for the big name.
I did not pay to see Boothby Graffoe. I was there to see Barenaked Ladies. To be completely fair, I didn't pay to see them either, since I had won tickets back in April. The fact that Ben Folds Five were considered by many in the crowd to be as big an attraction as the band of Canadians who finished off the show only helped to build my sympathies for Boothby.
Throughout his brief set, ticket holders meandered about the venue, chatting loudly to one another, and in an impressive display of the pervasive use of smart phone technology, most of them seemed transfixed by the screen in their hand rather than the live music that was being performed scant yards from the seats into which they were settling. As a longstanding champion of the opening band, I did my best glare at those around me who were paying less than their best attention to Mister Graffoe, and cleared my throat in a rough and insinuating manner with hopes of getting those closest to me to give the guy a chance. The results were pretty much what you'd expect, but I was able to enjoy most of the silly songs and quirky humor that he brought to the proceedings.
Later that night, once Ben Folds and all those Barenaked Ladies had finished off their big show, my wife and I made our way back up to the merchandise hut, where Boothby was gratefully signing copies of his CD for anyone who wanted it that way. He signed the set list my wife had acquired from the guy at the sound board and thanked us effusively for our interest. Then we hiked up to the parking lot where the tour buses were parked and waited for the headliners to appear to do the same. They never came. That's a hat trick for Boothby - something those Canadians should appreciate.