I go to a generic, antiseptic “rock” venue. It has a state of the art sound system, zero character and less atmosphere. The rock memorabilia on the wall consists of gold records by the likes of Sugar Ray and an Eric Clapton autographed Squire Tele.
I fight my way to the bar through the crowd of Paris Hilton-looking women, and guys wearing meticulously ironed, untucked shirts with vertical stripes on them. The whole place reeks of Axe man-perfume When I get to the bar, the only beer they have is Coors light and Michelob Ultra.
The house lights dim and I am subjected to set after set by the world’s most notorious Epcot Rockers (they look just like the real thing!) They’re all there: Dave Navaro, Lenny Kravitz, Melissa Ethridge, Anthony Kiedis, and anyone who’s ever been on American Idol or any other nationally televised karaoke contest.
Finally, the headliner hits the stage. Alanis Morrisette opens with “You Oughta Know” and all the vacuous Paris Hilton chicks stop texting each other long enough to gather around me in a circle angrily sing the song at me.
When I look down, I realize that I’m wearing Dockers pants and tassel loafers.
In my rock circle of hell the guitarist and bassist have left the stage, and the drummer plays a literally endless solo. Everyone in the audience is bored to tears, but if anyone talks we are perpetually doomed to shush each other.
my rock hell is: i’m able to see an artist whose music i really dig, but when i get to the show, they have become, in my view, LAME…REALLY LAME…as plain as the huge honker on my face. this, of course, could manifest many forms, but let’s just say, for argument’s sake, they’re playing steinberger guitars with the chorus effect on, and they sound like Huey Lewis rather than something much more indescribable and interesting.
however, all the people whose tastes are sympatico with mine — and make no mistake about it, by this i mean MY PEEPS — continue to gaze at me, and each other, with stepford eyes, proclaiming “aren’t they awesome?”
mind you, this has happened before…many times.
how many of you have been surrounded by true believers while watching a band who couldn’t have been more obviously piss poor to your way of seeing / hearing?
My real-life rock ‘n roll hell happened sometime in the early ’90s, when I went to a summer, outdoor concert by Stone Temple Pilots so that I could see the opener, Flaming Lips. Flaming Lips went over as apathetically as could be expected in such an environment. Then STP came out (they were fresh out of the gates at this point, real “up and comers”) and my friend and I felt like the only two Jews in attendance at a Nuremburg rally. The crowd was SO into them and gave off such a menacing, meathead vibe. I’m a big guy and usually not intimidated by aggressive crowd behavior, but this was too much. And the music SUCKED! This was before they put out an occasional decent, melodic Zeppelin-type song, like they did on their second album and thereafter. This was all that early Pearl Jam soundalike stuff. Hell!
My favorite band is playing in a large venue. Everyone in the crowd decides to sit down for the entire show. I stand up and people behind me call security, security calls the cops.
(this happened at McCartney in 1992 and a buddy of mine actually went to jail for “standing”)
Al Jarreau and Kenny G. doing inspired renditions of ZZ Top songs over and over. Then after 100 years they say ok were done for the next century but only to have ZZ Top perform lite jazz covers for the next 100 years.
“My Favourite Things” are playing
Again and again
But it’s by Julie Andrews
And not by John Coltrane
TB
I go to a generic, antiseptic “rock” venue. It has a state of the art sound system, zero character and less atmosphere. The rock memorabilia on the wall consists of gold records by the likes of Sugar Ray and an Eric Clapton autographed Squire Tele.
I fight my way to the bar through the crowd of Paris Hilton-looking women, and guys wearing meticulously ironed, untucked shirts with vertical stripes on them. The whole place reeks of Axe man-perfume When I get to the bar, the only beer they have is Coors light and Michelob Ultra.
The house lights dim and I am subjected to set after set by the world’s most notorious Epcot Rockers (they look just like the real thing!) They’re all there: Dave Navaro, Lenny Kravitz, Melissa Ethridge, Anthony Kiedis, and anyone who’s ever been on American Idol or any other nationally televised karaoke contest.
Finally, the headliner hits the stage. Alanis Morrisette opens with “You Oughta Know” and all the vacuous Paris Hilton chicks stop texting each other long enough to gather around me in a circle angrily sing the song at me.
When I look down, I realize that I’m wearing Dockers pants and tassel loafers.
That’s what I’m talking about, cdm. I almost lost my Coke on the “Epcot Rockers” line.
Nice! Sat almost got me yesterday, I’m just paying it forward.
CUT. IT. OUT!
(makes scissor snipping motion with fingers)
In my rock circle of hell the guitarist and bassist have left the stage, and the drummer plays a literally endless solo. Everyone in the audience is bored to tears, but if anyone talks we are perpetually doomed to shush each other.
Being forced to sit through a literally endless rendition of the Star Spangled Banner by Patti LaBelle.
cdm, you’re on fire.
my rock hell is: i’m able to see an artist whose music i really dig, but when i get to the show, they have become, in my view, LAME…REALLY LAME…as plain as the huge honker on my face. this, of course, could manifest many forms, but let’s just say, for argument’s sake, they’re playing steinberger guitars with the chorus effect on, and they sound like Huey Lewis rather than something much more indescribable and interesting.
however, all the people whose tastes are sympatico with mine — and make no mistake about it, by this i mean MY PEEPS — continue to gaze at me, and each other, with stepford eyes, proclaiming “aren’t they awesome?”
mind you, this has happened before…many times.
how many of you have been surrounded by true believers while watching a band who couldn’t have been more obviously piss poor to your way of seeing / hearing?
My real-life rock ‘n roll hell happened sometime in the early ’90s, when I went to a summer, outdoor concert by Stone Temple Pilots so that I could see the opener, Flaming Lips. Flaming Lips went over as apathetically as could be expected in such an environment. Then STP came out (they were fresh out of the gates at this point, real “up and comers”) and my friend and I felt like the only two Jews in attendance at a Nuremburg rally. The crowd was SO into them and gave off such a menacing, meathead vibe. I’m a big guy and usually not intimidated by aggressive crowd behavior, but this was too much. And the music SUCKED! This was before they put out an occasional decent, melodic Zeppelin-type song, like they did on their second album and thereafter. This was all that early Pearl Jam soundalike stuff. Hell!
My Rock and Roll Hell..
My favorite band is playing in a large venue. Everyone in the crowd decides to sit down for the entire show. I stand up and people behind me call security, security calls the cops.
(this happened at McCartney in 1992 and a buddy of mine actually went to jail for “standing”)
Al Jarreau and Kenny G. doing inspired renditions of ZZ Top songs over and over. Then after 100 years they say ok were done for the next century but only to have ZZ Top perform lite jazz covers for the next 100 years.