SKIP THE LINE!
I am not exactly a concert virgin, and I have seen some really good shows in my time. I saw Elvis in Roanoke, his second to last appearance (yes, they really did say, "Elvis has left the Building" to get people to go on home). I saw Neil Diamond during his Heart Light ET phase. Four hours, one of the best shows I have seen. His Jonathan Livingston Seagull bit was really what I went to hear, and it did not disappoint.
I saw Bob Seger doing the Shame on the Moon tour. He had just cut his hair, and that was sort of weird. But he does a great gig, too. I saw Van Halen before Hagar. Those cannon drum thumps were great, but Iron maiden stood us up because Paul Andrews, AKA "Di' Anno" could not get it together... and we had really come to see Maiden.
I also saw the 1980 Back in Black Tour of AC/DC, the loudest show I have ever heard. We saw REO Speeedwagon after that, and we kept hollering 'turn it up'! AC/DC had ruined us! Still, that signature "Last Song, People!", and Riding the Storm Out remains one of my favorite concert endings... and that elephant trumpet blast of guitars at the end... Good times.
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| Me at the Venue |
I saw Skid Row during their "18 and Life" days at Finky's in Daytona Beach, as the cops are dragging guys out left and right, but that was the last time I saw any real live music done on stage.
That was back in the late eighties... and not until July of 2013 had I seen a live stage show, or any kind. That was when I took my niece to see this Van's Warped Tour deal.
There were, like, twelve old people there, including me. And we kept looking at each other like, 'you, too?' We had all brought someone much younger; that is why we were here. I kept wishing Rob Halford would just stroll out, in his trench coat and bald head, and launch into NOSTRADAMUS, or RIDING ON THE WIND, or DELIVERING THE GOODS. Or maybe even the GREEN MANALISHI... I had just seen EPITAPH recently on DVD, and was hoping to get a charge like that out of this group, whoever any of them were. Not going to happen. Music, sadly, has left me far behind.
My era was Led Zeppelin through Guns'N'Roses 1991, with brief forays into other times. Around, say '72 and Turn the Page through November Rain, and Sweet Child of Mine. Punk had tried to kill it, but Johnny Rotten and Sid Vicious just could not keep it together long enough to kill Heavy Metal.
I do know when my music died, and I blame Dave Mustaine. Metallica ruled, and Megadeth sucked. And Thrash was born.
It came from Speed Metal, which I really did not care for, at all, and it cell divided and morphed into Ska Punk, which mercifully died, and also something called Grunge. That was next, and it lasted as long as Kurt Kabang of Nirvana lasted. After him, the whining of Alice in Chains just went away... and so did the flannel shirts.
And that was when this Metal Core stuff came about. Kids at the high school where I teach tried to tell me about it. I listened politely, and sampled some of the discordant strains. I tried to imagine any of that 'moving' me, back when I was an adolescent.
I had no luck with that.
My dad used to say that it all sounded alike, and he could not tell one song from another one. I am there. I feel him, now. Word.
True Dat. It all sounds the same.
THE ADVENTURE BEGINS:
I wanted to come on this trip because my niece is about grown, and I wanted to spend some time with her. It was a good trip, and I enjoyed it, but I am still not able to identify anyone by their music.
It was an interesting study. Fan worship is what it always was, yes, but now, there are just so many of them to keep up with. It's like half of the crowd are the musicians and the other half are the fans, and they can not be told apart, unless you are a fan...
Still, amplified metal guitars are always a pleasure to hear, and the sonic force does stir the ancient fires, to a degree...
Fan loyalty is very strong. We were there in line at eight a.m., and got in around 10:45. The time spent in line was not unpleasant, and we were in the shade and a nice breeze was freshening, from time to time. We stood in a small clump, and by the time it got close to opening, you could not move for the press of 'others'. We made our way into the SKIP THE LINE 'line', where if you had brought canned goods, you could get in early and avoid paying five bucks to SKIP THE LINE.
I happened to have several cans of Swanson's chicken and Chicken of the Sea Pink Salmon, with which I bartered my way in...
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They did have beer, and banks were offering
great interest rates on long term loans. Food
was $7 to $15, depending on what you got.
A 16 oz. fountain coke was $4.50. Bottles $5.50.
A movie ticket should have been included, I thought... |
Not to worry, I had packed enough food to feed a small army,
knowing that food would be priced way up there next to human sacrifice, and probably prepared by some of these lovelies who now surrounded us in a virulent swarm of youth and enthusiasm, tattoos and piercings, hair dye and raggedly colorful clothing. No, I am trained in the art of being a Civil War re-enactor, and when you are out in the middle of a dusty field, there is no coffee, no water, no food, no electricity, no TUMS, no aspirin, and nothing that you will need. If you do not physically have it, you do without. I came prepared to live out in the open for at least three days, should we be somehow trapped in a swarm of 20,000 people pretending to be Woodstock from the '60's... Small cylinder of coffee, half a gallon of water, in various places, and food stuffed everywhere. Just waiting for the Roar. Bring it!
I was very surprised over the behavior of the kids. Shocked, actually. They were extremely well-behaved; they just looked like the Wrath of God. It was as if this was their version of Halloween, only the tattoos do not come off, and the ear lobes are permanently ruined. The holes in the various parts of the body do not heal, either. There were several with Mohawks with whom I had wished to counsel; as in, "Dude, your great-grandfather wore that, way back during the late seventies, and the death of disco. You are not a rebel, son; you are a living historian; a re-enactor." In fact, except for the ear gauges and the profusion of skin ink, we were at a punk festival, without all the violent moshing.
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| A sane moment, early in the day |
My brother was there, and once he had parked the car, and found us by triangulating our locations using the cell-phone satellites (a cell phone is practically worthless there; the noise does not stop anywhere). Anyone you talk to on the phone sounds like they are standing in the seventh ring of hell, and all of the damned are in full song. There is this roar that sounds positively fatal. As a dinosaur, I do not text; having never learned the art, but I could receive messages from my niece and so we could keep together if we got separated.
TO BE CONTINUED
