Concerts

Ten

/ Deb / 3 Comments

I’m still wearing flip flops most days, my son wears shorts to school and my daughter refuses to wear a coat, but it’s undeniable that it is now fall. (I never realized that my children’s penchant for inappropriate seasonal attire came from me until I typed that sentence. Hmm.)  The rain is here and focus has shifted indoors, not that I really mind.  But it does feel like time to put away summertime music and concert memories.

Time, also, to put away the Pearl Jam cloud that I’ve been living under for the past few months. (“Alive…Encore Break“, “Twenty“).  But not, of course, without reflection.   Indulge me one last PJ post as I recount, in no particular order, my Top Ten favorite Pearl Jam concert memories (so far):

1.  Lollapalooza, July 1992, Kitsap County Fair Grounds.  My first time seeing them live, and I am totally hooked – no looking back.  Enough said.  (“Drop the Gyro and Run“).

2.  Magnuson Park, “Drop in the Park”, September 1992.   I’ve just started law school.  I probably should  be in the library, but the allure of a free show in Magnuson Park is infinitely more appealing than Crim Law.  Eddie climbs the trusses like a monkey and swings from a microphone cord.  The hook of PJ fandom and concert mania is set even further.

3.  RKCNDY, Seattle, 1994.  The secret show that never was.  Again, I should be home studying.   Instead, my friends and I go to see a side project of Mike McCready, certain that PJ will then play a secret show.  After his set, McCready grabs an electric guitar and says “we’ll be right back”.  This is it!  The secret show is going to happen!!  But then it doesn’t.

4.  The Gorge, 1993.   Pearl Jam opens for Neil Young.  Blind Melon opens for Pearl Jam, and their lead singer cusses out the crowd, saying he knows we are only there to see PJ.  Obviously he has issues, but my issue is that it’s a long-ass drive from the Gorge back home to Tacoma.

5.  Seattle Center Arena, 1993.   I finally notice that there are other band members besides Eddie Vedder.  (Dang, Stone is fun to watch!  And still is.)

6.  Key Arena, November 2000.  Shit, I have just turned 30 years old.  The band plays “Elderly Woman” (?!?)  Eddie, together with the crowd: “I just want to scream — Helloooooo….”  PJ had been snatched from me a year earlier when a friendship ended (“Alive, Encore Break“), but in that instant, I reclaim the band as mine.  Two people in front of us make out during the entire show.  I understand the sentiment, but not enough to avoid labelling them as idiots.  My sister and I throw things at them.  So much for being more mature at 30.

7.  Ben Harper show, Seattle, 2005.  A rare night out with my sisters after having two babies in two years.  An already amazing show from Ben, when Eddie shows up for the encore and joins him for a few songs. My sleep-deprived mind is blown.

8.  The Gorge, September 2005.  We have amazing dead-center seats.  The debate over “fist to the JAW” vs. “fist to the DOOR” intensifies, this round going to my husband.  Eddie tries to lure Tom Petty down from the hotel next door – “Hello Tom…….come down Tom….” (he doesn’t).  A damn near perfect setlist start to finish, including one of my favorite versions (ever) of “Yellow Ledbetter”, which segues into a cover of “Baba O’Reilly”.  I have a recording of this show, and I run to it all the time.  You can’t help but pick up your pace when “Porch” comes on.

9.  The Gorge, July 2006.  It is, no lie, 109 degrees.  Proving my theory that fans love it when musicians say the F word, the crowd goes wild when Eddie observes, “it’s fucking HOT!”   Eddie sneaks out to the roof above the sound board to sing “Given to Fly”.  Amazing.  Perfect.  And yes, fucking hot.

And, finally…….the most recent show, destined to be one of my favorites, for a million reasons:

10.  Vancouver BC, September 2011.  Long Canadian-cash-only beer lines, and even longer cab lines.  We (kind of, almost) see our friend get in a fight over a cab, but he emerges victorious.  I get my Concert Moment, and then some, when it seems that 95% of the setlist has been channeled directly from my brain to the band.  (I got a spot at Lukin’s!)  It’s my husband’s birthday, and PJ sings Happy Birthday to him (well, actually they are singing to one of their crew, but really, what are the odds?).   I punch him — “sweetie, Eddie is singing to YOU!!!”  He is appreciative, but not as excited about it as I am.

A pretty darn perfect weekend all around, topped with international intrigue as we see two people arrested at the border on the way home.  Were they smuggling plans for a secret Seattle PJ show back into the U.S.?  Because I am still waiting for one…

A Badger and a One-Eyed Toad

/ Deb / 1 Comment

It’s not often that an event pans out exactly as you hope it will.   My Dispatch-Berkeley-Concert weekend with my sister had big shoes to fill (“On Sisters and Pineapple”).  It turned out to be Everything. I. Wanted. And. More.

We settled in to a dusky Berkeley evening, beer in hand, and as the show started, I did my mental concert checklist: free-spirited dancing guy who I could watch during the show?  Check.  People at least as old as me, or older?  Double Check.  Hip parents with two kids about my kids’ ages?  Check.  (LOVE that!!)

The band members stage diving, a’la Grunge, circa 1992?  Not so sure about that, but it was funny.

I knew Dispatch would put on a great live show.  In 2007, they were the first independent band to sell out Madison Square Garden….not one night, but three in a row.  All those fans can’t be wrong.   As cheesy as it sounds, my heart soared when they hit the opening notes of the first song.

I’ve always wanted to build a concert playlist, and I just might have built this one.  I heard nearly every song I wanted, and “The General” (my kids’ favorite sing-along song) got all the slackers on their feet.  I usually hate new material during concerts, but I tolerated some (left me scratching my head as to whether this was a one-time reunion tour, or whether they are back together).    Two encores later, we were released into the night with “Out Loud”, the final song and my daughter’s favorite (“You Know I Would”).   I gave a silent shout-out to my girl, sleeping soundly 1,000 miles away amidst a mountain of stuffed animals.

You can keep your huge, overblown concerts with special effects that rival a SuperBowl halftime show.   I don’t want to watch through binoculars or see the lead singer up on a huge screen.  I want music that I can feel in my gut, played by guys who seem to be having as good a time as the crowd.

Make it happen under a beautiful sky with someone I love, and really, that’s all I need.  Not such a tall order after all.

On Sisters and Pineapple

/ Deb / 1 Comment

I am a list maker by nature.  Even if I don’t have it written down somewhere, I have the list in my head.  In my head is a list of bands that I like, but have never seen in concert.   The only band left on that list is Dispatch, and I thought they would likely stay there, because they broke up long ago and moved on to other projects.

And so, back in January when Dispatch announced a reunion tour, I was all over it.  I figured I could talk someone into going with me.   The weekend is finally here, and I am headed to San Francisco today with my youngest sister for a weekend of music and fun.

She should be invested in Dispatch by now, because I’ve dragged her to see State Radio, Chad Stokes’ post-Dispatch band. (“There Will be Vodka”).  Chad looks like a friend of hers who brought me a pineapple as a wedding present.  In some odd way, this makes me feel like I know Chad.  And he, too, seems like he would bring someone a pineapple.  It really was a sweet, simple gesture.  I don’t know whatever became of the pineapple.  Most likely it went the route of the leftover booze from the wedding, which is to say that it was consumed by my middle sister and my husband’s brother.    We arrived home from our honeymoon to discover that they were now a couple.

Perhaps they ate the celebratory pineapple, and it brought them good luck.  They are now married and expecting their second child in a few weeks.  I really hope that baby stays put, and isn’t born while I am far away.   It seems strange for two of us to be going without her.  My sisters and I made an agreement a few years ago to forego birthday presents for each other, but to make sure that we got away together on weekend trips, concerts, and the like.  Life gets in the way and we haven’t always been successful, but we try.

It’s bittersweet, but I am still excited to be heading of of town, and she will be there with us in spirit.  The concert on Saturday night will be great, I’m sure I will get my Concert Moment, (“Oh, You Like the Banjo, Eh?”), and I will delete the list of Favorite-Yet-Unseen bands from my head.

But regardless, you can’t go wrong with San Francisco.  My husband lived there before we got married, and it is the site of many great memories.  We both love the city so much that, immediately after our Seattle mountainside wedding, we flew to San Francisco for our wedding night, and left for our honeymoon the next morning.  As I am writing this, I am now realizing that it will also be weird to be in that city without him.

Pineapples, live music, sisters, weddings, babies….think it’s possible I am putting too much nostalgia pressure on the weekend?  I’m pretty sure there is not enough room in the overhead compartment for all of this, but I will try to cram it in anyway.

The Last Show Before Everything Changed

/ Deb / 3 Comments

Remember Pete Yorn?  He had a catchy hit back in 2001, and a great album, musicforthemorningafter.  Pete weighs heavily in my musical past for two reasons.  First, in the days before iPods, his CD was in heavy rotation on a fabulous road trip my husband and I took that summer, and, second, he was the last show I saw before finding out we were pregnant with our first child.

We saw him at The Showbox in the late fall of 2001.  I love that venue, and it was a fun show – pretty mellow, good people-watching.  What was unique was that it was just the two of us.  Usually we attended shows with other people, but that night was just us.  I wore jeans and sassy boots, and we had a great time. 

On Christmas Day, we found out we were expecting our first child.  (The best Christmas present ever, yes?)  That show became etched in my brain as the last time that we were out on the town just as “us”….not us plus “Lil’ B”, our in utero nickname for our oldest.

I had a vaguely defined goal that I would be a hip pregnant woman, and an even hipper mom.  Nothing would slow me down.   I went to a few mellow concerts while I was pregnant, and I even went to Las Vegas (which really sucks when all you want to do is sleep).   The line was drawn, however, at The Gorge.  I bought tickets for the Sasquatch Festival but ultimately, while six months pregnant, sitting out in the desert heat (in the midst of neighboring herbal fumes) just didn’t seem like a great idea.  Also influencing that decision was the fact that my mother had threatened an intervention –  something along the lines of, “over my dead body are you taking my yet-to-be-born grandchild to that concert in the middle of nowhere”.  My sisters went without me, sold my tickets alongside the road, and I spent the weekend at home, nesting.  It was all OK.

Everyone who is a parent knows how hard it is to remember what it was like before the little ones came into your lives.  In the years since then, we’ve talked about that Pete Yorn show and always say, “wait…..who babysat?”, before realizing that no babysitter was yet needed.

If you know me, then you understand that I am overly sentimental.  Commercials make me cry, and my kids give me sideways glances at sad parts of movies, knowing that I will be crying.  So I am a sucker for this: TONIGHT – two kids, many shows, and a Big Birthday later – Pete Yorn is playing at the Showbox (SoDo location, but still!!).  I am looking forward to a date night out with my husband, and I know that the evening will be filled with nostalgia for me.   I still have the same jeans and sassy boots – although I probably won’t wear them – but I am so happy that, after all these years and through so many changes, my sweetie will still be at my side.

A 1987 Bono for the New Year

/ Deb / 2 Comments

I found the old t-shirt at the bottom of a drawer, and I am taking it as a sign.  Ordinarily it wouldn’t be, but fresh in my memory were two things:  1) a recent viewing of “It Might Get Loud” that reminded me how much I love U2 and The Edge’s trademark guitar riffs, and 2) a discussion with a friend at a New Years’ Eve party, where I lamely tried to justify why I didn’t buy tickets to the upcoming U2 show.

On the heels of these two things,  the discovery of the Joshua Tree concert t-shirt (buried deep in a drawer) was therefore quickly elevated to “sign” status.

Long before there was Pearl Jam in my life, there was U2.  I loved their distinct sound, and to the junior high small town girl that I was, they seemed worldly and sophisticated.  I had The Unforgettable Fire on cassette and made a mix tape for myself, shuffling the songs into an order that I liked, and repeating others.  (So high tech, wasn’t I…. to have a double tape deck for dubbing?)

The Joshua Tree album nursed me through the late Summer and Fall of 1987, after my older boyfriend broke my heart and ditched me for the bright lights of college and college girls.  But I had Bono, the boyfriend had never liked U2 anyway, and the music on that album was perfect for an autumn of hometown teenage angst.

Years later, I’ve worn the Joshua Tree t-shirt a lot, although I feel like a fraud when I do, since I never went to a show on that tour (the closest they came to my small town was 200 miles away).   I do, however, love the shirt.  It belonged to a guy whom I dated later that fall.  It was a brief and mostly forgettable relationship of convenience, borne out of the fact that our friends were dating.  But he did have great taste in music, and I got custody of the t-shirt.

Which brings me to the New Year’s Eve conversation.

U2 was supposed to play here last summer, and the concert got re-scheduled for this coming June, due to Bono’s back surgery.   My friend and I were talking about The Edge, and then discussion turned to the upcoming show, and how excited he was for it.  He asked whether I had tickets, and I told him no.

I explained how I had seen U2 in 1992 at the Tacoma Dome, and had been underwhelmed.  I had been so excited for that show, to see one of my long-time favorite bands.  But the band was in a weird phase then; they had decided not to play any pre-Unforgettable Fire songs.  The venue was terrible, more suited for monster trucks than concerts.  I heard nearly all of Joshua Tree, which was great, but mostly Achtung Baby.  No “Sunday Bloody Sunday”, no “New Year’s Day”, none of the early stuff.  I didn’t get my Concert Moment (“Oh, You Like the Banjo, Eh?”), and I’ve never felt the need to go and see them again.

I explained this to my friend, earnestly.  Was I trying to make myself believe it?  His look said it all:  You call yourself a longtime fan, a teenager of the 80’s, and you don’t want to go to this concert?

But therein lies the problem:  I want to see 1987 U2, not the U2 from 2011.  I want Bono and The Edge with long hair, before they were UN ambassadors and had back problems.   I want “Sunday Bloody Sunday” and “New Year’s Day” and all of Unforgettable Fire and Joshua Tree, not any new stuff that has already been featured in an iPod commercial by the time you see it.

I understand that when bands have been around for awhile, they can’t make everyone happy.  Really, I do.  And I get the fact that the music needs to stay interesting for them, too.  Still, as a concert-goer, I am selfish.  I want what I want.  And what I want is U2 from 1987.

However, the fact that it’s not 1987’s U2 was probably my friend’s most persuasive point.  He said “you know, with the back problems and all….they aren’t going to be around forever”.   A reminder of our mortality, and on the heels of my Big Birthday, too.   Point taken…. now I am looking for tickets.

There Will Be Vodka

/ Deb / Leave a comment

I bought the tickets before she actually agreed, but I had hoped that I could talk my sister into attending a State Radio show with me, scheduled for this coming March.

Luckily, she said she was in — with the caveat that, since the show is on a Wednesday, she might take the next day off, since I will be “pushing” vodka tonics on her during the show.  (This, apparently in reference to the last time we went to the ShowBox – where, I should add, she was a willing participant. (Buttercup! Buttercup!)).

I am a big fan of Dispatch….. I dig Chad Stokes, and State Radio is his post-Dispatch band, so I am excited to see them.  They opened for John Butler Trio at the Paramount last Spring, and I ran into Chad in the lobby after their set.  But I was too chicken to go up to him – and would probably have said something dorky like “I like your music”, or even dorkier (or maybe not), “my 6 year old daughter loves your music”.   (“You Know I Would”).

So maybe I will run into Chad again, and this time actually say something.   And maybe after the show, I can talk my sister into going to the Dispatch reunion show with me in Berkeley in June.  Either way, a night out with her is a guaranteed good time, and yes, dear sister, there will be vodka.

Drop the Gyro and Run

/ Deb / 3 Comments

I recently saw The Black Keys in concert.  They totally blew me away.  When others have asked me how it was, I can only describe it by saying that it was the most life-altering show I’ve seen in a long time.  This is not a designation that I award lightly.  In fact, only two other times.

The first Life Altering Concert, and really the only one that matters in the grand scheme of things:  the first time I saw Pearl Jam.  Lollapalooza 1992, Kitsap County Fair Grounds.   The lineup, even then, was phenomenal:  Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Jesus and Mary Chain, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Ministry, Ice Cube (who dropped more F-bombs in a sentence than I had ever heard, then or since — he had been stopped at the U.S./Canadian border, and barely made it in time for his set.  But that’s another story).

Come to think of it, these life-changing concerts have always occurred at the intersection of a major life change.  The Pearl Jam show was a month before I started law school.  DMB (Life Altering Concert #2) was around the time of my wedding.  The Black Keys show came right before the Big Birthday.  Skeptics would say that it’s not really the music that is life-changing, it’s just the timing of the concert.  But of course I know differently.

On that July day so long ago, my main reason for coming to Lollapalooza was Pearl Jam.  I was a huge fan, but hadn’t seen them live yet.  My friend and I thought they were taking the stage later, but as we sat eating lunch, we heard the roar of the crowd and…..Eddie.  We literally dropped everything (the gyro was terrible anyway), and sprinted over.

It’s funny that in a concert setting, your concept of personal space is miniscule.  Standing shoulder to shoulder with sweaty strangers is not only acceptable, it’s preferred.  We got pretty close to the stage, and while I couldn’t tell you the playlist, I do remember very clearly thinking:  these are my people.

That is what concerts are all about.   Live music is collective yet private, public but intimate, all at once.   And aren’t we all, throughout life, just looking for our people?  Our village?   We are lucky to find it in different contexts along the way – in friendships, in our profession, in our kids’ schools – people who share a similar world view, and make our daily lives better.

But a love of live music bonds us in a way like no other.  To the dude at the Gorge with the Pearl Jam tattoo, and the guy with the tattered “Drop in the Park” t-shirt (“Buttercup! Buttercup!”), I say:  I get you.  You are my people; you are my friend, even if I don’t know you.

And the friend who was at the Pearl Jam show with me that day — that life-changing show cemented our friendship, forever.  He’s always been my friend, even when we didn’t see each other for nine years.   That’s just the way it works.

"Oh, You Like the Banjo, Eh?"

/ Deb / 3 Comments

……asked John Butler of the Moore Theatre crowd, when we all cheered as a stagehand brought one to him.  “Well then, let’s have a little hoedown”.  Best line of the night; totally cracked me up.  My sisters and I have called his shows ‘hippie hoedowns’ for a long time.   It seems to be the only way to describe  their concert scene.

Recently I was popping off to some friends about how you shouldn’t go to a concert if you intend to sit down, and how it irritates me to see people sitting like deadbeats at a show.  I think my actual words were, “if you intend to sit down, you don’t deserve your ticket.  Go home and listen to a CD”.  This is mostly true, but of course I don’t really have that extreme a view on it.  I fully support sitting down when it’s a really shitty song or as a form of social protest, such as when DMB plays any of their new crap.

I just want everyone to have their Concert Moment.  That’s what I’m in it for — the one moment in the concert where you say to yourself- YES, this is why I am here.  I usually get that Moment, and if I don’t, I never go back to see the band again.

So at the John Butler Trio show, my sisters and I had the requisite group of ex-frat boys in front of us.  A small price to pay for otherwise awesome Row 6 seats, I must say.   And watching those dudes was almost as much fun as watching the band.  They danced, they sang, they did fist pumps and high fives for songs they liked.   They were having their Concert Moment, and I loved it.

My sisters loved watching them too, but more as spectacle.   Together, we have been known to wreak some havoc on fellow concert goers.  Two that come to mind are 1) the Gum Butt incident, and 2) the pelting of a couple who were making out during an entire Pearl Jam show.  Lucky for the frat boys, however, we all behaved ourselves this time.

And the hippie hoedown was a blast for all three of us, even with our differing views of the Perfect Concert.  While I love standing shoulder to shoulder with sweaty, dancing strangers, my youngest sister would really prefer not to.  She’d like to sit down, and once proclaimed that anyone standing and dancing should be banished to a “designated dancing section”.

Given that she’s entitled to her Concert Moment too, she might actually be on to something.