10.14.2005
rock concerts and the like
This meme about first concerts making its way around the interwebs has gotten me thinking about what I really count as my first concert. For me, it's much like the first kiss -- what I remember as The First really wasn't at all, it was just the first one that seemed to matter (sorry, Dave).
It's the same with concerts. Technically, my first concert was seeing Whitney Houston at the Minnesota State Fair in 1987. And, to be fair to the event, it was a real experience -- moving through crowds of people, standing on the end of benches to be able to see over the heads of the mobs of adults around us (I was tall at 12, but not that tall). Whitney was at the top of her game, and the whole country loved her in 1987, pre-coke, pre-Bobby, pre-bones-sticking-out-everywhere.
When asked, though, I always cite seeing the Chili Peppers in Indy in 1991 as the first time. Even that's not entirely fair, because there were dozens of shows -- local, largely free, mainly involving people I knew -- in the intervening 4 years. But the Chili Peppers show was the first one I had to pay for, beg my parents to let me attend, travel out of town for. It was the first one that could truly be called a Rock Concert, it was inside, and my friends and I were going without adult supervision to Market Square. I remember the feel of the folding chairs set out on the court for general admission, and I can still hear the crowd booing Smashing Pumpkins, yelling 'go back to Chicago and bring out the Chili Peppers,' and then being mildly impressed with Pearl Jam. I remember being swept near the stage, losing my friends in the crowd and having a view mostly of the underside of John's guitar. Mostly I remember the exhiliration, of being 16 years old and feeling like I was on top of the world.
Since then, you could divide the shows I've seen neatly along gender lines. With friends from Bryn Mawr and grad school: the Indigo Girls, Ani D, Tori Amos, Shawn Colvin, folk singers galore. With the best boy and others: Echo & the Bunnymen, Skinny Puppy, KMFDM, Gang of Four, Thrill Kill Cult, Psychedelic Furs, Pixies. And then there are the ones I drag others to: Cibo Matto, Camper van, the Giants, the Killers, Live.
I've seen many great shows, and several terrible ones where I lucked out with the opening bands -- James making up for being dragged to Duran Duran over Christmas break, Live as the surprise opener for a should-have-stayed-broken-up Janes Addiction. Oddly, though, some of my sharpest concert-related memories are of shows I didn't get to see. The NIN show I was supposed to see in Boston in 1994 that I missed because I didn't get my finals done in time. The Madonna and Prince tours I was too young to be allowed to travel out of town to see. Violent Femmes last month in Baltimore, that we couldn't be arsed to drive to see at an ouside show on a rainy night. And of course, Lollapalooza II that I missed in three consecutive cities to go on a family vacation, where I walked around in my Chili Peppers t-shirt(s) and commiserated with a boy from Guelph who was moping around the lake in his Chili Peppers shirts (you out there, Colin Kennedy?). While heart-breaking at the time, I consoled myself with having seen the aforementioned great show 6 months earlier.
And, we're seeing NIN (again) in three weeks.
It's the same with concerts. Technically, my first concert was seeing Whitney Houston at the Minnesota State Fair in 1987. And, to be fair to the event, it was a real experience -- moving through crowds of people, standing on the end of benches to be able to see over the heads of the mobs of adults around us (I was tall at 12, but not that tall). Whitney was at the top of her game, and the whole country loved her in 1987, pre-coke, pre-Bobby, pre-bones-sticking-out-everywhere.
When asked, though, I always cite seeing the Chili Peppers in Indy in 1991 as the first time. Even that's not entirely fair, because there were dozens of shows -- local, largely free, mainly involving people I knew -- in the intervening 4 years. But the Chili Peppers show was the first one I had to pay for, beg my parents to let me attend, travel out of town for. It was the first one that could truly be called a Rock Concert, it was inside, and my friends and I were going without adult supervision to Market Square. I remember the feel of the folding chairs set out on the court for general admission, and I can still hear the crowd booing Smashing Pumpkins, yelling 'go back to Chicago and bring out the Chili Peppers,' and then being mildly impressed with Pearl Jam. I remember being swept near the stage, losing my friends in the crowd and having a view mostly of the underside of John's guitar. Mostly I remember the exhiliration, of being 16 years old and feeling like I was on top of the world.
Since then, you could divide the shows I've seen neatly along gender lines. With friends from Bryn Mawr and grad school: the Indigo Girls, Ani D, Tori Amos, Shawn Colvin, folk singers galore. With the best boy and others: Echo & the Bunnymen, Skinny Puppy, KMFDM, Gang of Four, Thrill Kill Cult, Psychedelic Furs, Pixies. And then there are the ones I drag others to: Cibo Matto, Camper van, the Giants, the Killers, Live.
I've seen many great shows, and several terrible ones where I lucked out with the opening bands -- James making up for being dragged to Duran Duran over Christmas break, Live as the surprise opener for a should-have-stayed-broken-up Janes Addiction. Oddly, though, some of my sharpest concert-related memories are of shows I didn't get to see. The NIN show I was supposed to see in Boston in 1994 that I missed because I didn't get my finals done in time. The Madonna and Prince tours I was too young to be allowed to travel out of town to see. Violent Femmes last month in Baltimore, that we couldn't be arsed to drive to see at an ouside show on a rainy night. And of course, Lollapalooza II that I missed in three consecutive cities to go on a family vacation, where I walked around in my Chili Peppers t-shirt(s) and commiserated with a boy from Guelph who was moping around the lake in his Chili Peppers shirts (you out there, Colin Kennedy?). While heart-breaking at the time, I consoled myself with having seen the aforementioned great show 6 months earlier.
And, we're seeing NIN (again) in three weeks.
