A tale of two Keanu Reeves concerts, 28 years apart – The Boston Globe

In July of 1995, I was in the parking lot of Bohager’s, a Baltimore music venue, watching my friend Stacie drink Keanu Reeves’s backwash.

We were both 18 and had bought tickets to see Reeves’s rock band, Dogstar – whose music we’d never even heard because radio stations weren’t playing it, and there was basically no internet.

Stacie was in love with Reeves and had spent years rewatching “Point Break,” “Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure,” and “Bram Stoker’s Dracula.” She imagined a world in which she could meet Reeves, convince him to fall in love with her, and share a happy life with him.

I did not judge her for that fantasy. I had the same plan for myself and actor Christian Slater.

When Stacie and I heard Reeves had formed a band that would be touring, we went to Ticketmaster (which, I believe, was inside Hecht’s department store in the mall), and secured passes for the two shows closest to our Maryland homes—Bohager’s in Baltimore and the 9:30 Club in Washington, D.C.

We planned for the first show, Bohager’s, like it was the Oscars, choosing the most flattering outfits, Stacie’s being the priority because this was her man. That night, we wiggled our way through the packed house to get as close to the stage as possible. She wanted eye contact. She brushed her hair many times.

At stage left was Reeves, in the flesh!, who happily played bass, performing original songs, focusing on his bandmates, even though the audience was overwhelmingly full of women who screamed so loud I couldn’t hear the lead singer at all.

I felt guilty then, because Reeves wanted to make music, even if it was a side project, and here we were, not quite listening. When he swayed, we swayed. When he smiled, so did we. But mostly, we screamed.

The main event came after the show, when people grabbed physical mementos — we had no cellphones then to take photos with.

A few ambitious fans stole detritus left onstage. Stacie snagged one of Reeves’s guitar picks and his Heineken bottle, which she put to her mouth in the parking lot in front of envious women. She was covered in sweat, beer, and club filth. She sparkled.

The 9:30 Club concert we went to next was covered in The Washington Post, and we were both quoted, and Stacie made her love of Reeves public record.

Stacie and I were smarter at 18 than we let on. We knew, on some level, that these nights with Dogstar were not about music or Reeves, but about fandom, friendship, and enjoying the last moments of our teen years together. I was about to go to college, and things would be different. They were.

During 28 years of friendship, Stacie and I experienced a lot of adult moments you can probably guess. Between the two of us, we have stories of marriage, divorce, remarriage, cool jobs, terrible jobs, no jobs, the death of a parent, questionable decisions made near beaches, a few big parties, and, somehow, a grandchild. We’ve been busy.

So has Keanu Reeves.

But so many years later, maybe in part because of a Screen Actors Guild strike that gave famous people downtime, Reeves and two of his original bandmates from Dogstar released a new album in October and decided to tour. I began following the group on Instagram, and this time around I could hear their music—some of which I think is pretty good!

I texted Stacie to let her know about the local tour date. Pretty quickly, she said she’d meet me in Boston.

The show was Tuesday night at the Paradise Rock Club, where on most nights, if you ignore the cell phones, it could easily be 1995. Stacie and I did some touristy things in Boston before the event, but mostly we focused on one thing, waiting to see a man we have never met but have appreciated for a very long time.

Hours before the event Stacie told me that her husband reminded her that Reeves was her one “hall pass” – meaning, they’d agreed if Stacie ever had the opportunity, she could sleep with him and it wouldn’t count as cheating. It’s weird, she said, because at 47, she hadn’t thought about Reeves that way. She was just excited to be in the same room with him.

Her teen crush had evolved into gratitude for 30 years good vibes. So many of our former heroes went on to do, say, or post awful things.

Reeves has kept to himself, supported less famous friends, made wonderfully fun movies, and has even said super deep things on late-night talkshows. There are a bunch of memes about how he poses for photos with fans with great respect for boundaries, never touching anyone in a way that might make them (or himself, I would imagine) uncomfortable.

We wanted to return the respect and focus on the music. We tried.

Tuesday’s gig was sold-out. There were many more men in the audience this time around (thanks, “John Wick,”) and the crowd was all pretty middle-aged. But everyone still screamed. Reeves had no microphone in front of him, sending the message that he was there to play his instrument, nothing more.

Robert Mailhouse, also an actor, was solid on drums, and singer-guitarist Bret Domrose deftly managed to keep the crowd engaged with vocals, despite so many audience members filming Reeves, trying to get footage of his face, which was mostly covered by the curtain of his hair.

Reeves was bashful when catcalled. One person yelled, “Who’s on bass?” during a more silent moment. Another yelled, “You’re beautiful!”

Maybe that was frustrating for him, but he did seem to be having fun. I liked some of the songs, even the new ones reminded me of the ‘90s. On “Breach,” Reeves had some very nice bass flourishes. My favorite was “Sleep.” I looked up the lyrics that stuck with me. “We mix tears with happiness, need some sweet with this bitterness, I guess that’s where you come in, I guess that’s where we begin.”

The crowd got particularly lively when the band played The Cure’s “Just Like Heaven” during the encore. Domrose joked that Dogstar probably could have gotten away with playing covers all night.

I spoke to a few other concertgoers about what brought them there. Sharon Hutchinson held up a sign to explain. It said, “My late husband had wanted to see your band – I’m here to check another item off his list so thank you!” She hoped Reeves would spot her in the crowd.

It reminded me, however bleak the thought, that this was enough to celebrate. That we were still here. That I could still see my friend and get excited about something we love.

Meredith Goldstein can be reached at Meredith.Goldstein@Globe.com.