Concert Confidential

Well…………….I’m back. After my widely read (okay at least one person read it) last 3400 word epic, it’s obvious my adoring fans have not had enough. Message received. Encore time it is. 

In a refreshing change, instead of wrestling  with the fate of humanity, I want to document my adventures and debacles going to concerts. What is truly unacceptable is I haven’t been to a concert since Covid. And the thought of going to shows again was one of the things that sustained me through 2020! I bought a ticket to see Dead and Co. last year at The Meadows but it rained late in the afternoon (remember last summer when it rained every day) so by the time I showed up they had already gone on and they had a looooooooooooooooooooooong line checking vaccine cards and I don’t know. I wasn’t feeling it and went home. This summer the few decent shows were all around the time I was moving and  I was sort of afraid of spending money. Dead and Co. again, Jack Johnson, Dave Matthews, Phish. Even Kiss. I would have totally rock and rolled all night with them if the beer was cold enough. (Or the gin). 

Next year! 

The first show I ever went to was John Mellencamp. I think he was past his John Cougar phase, long past his Johnny Cougar phase, and not yet in the mature and sophisticated John Mellencamp phase. I think it was the John Cougar Mellencamp era—the transitional hybrid phase apparently designed to not put too much on his fans’ plate all at once. This was a gift from my aunt who took my brother, my two cousins, and me to the show. I was in 7th grade. Great first show but as I was a tween and this was an adult supervised event it was a concert event minus any embarrassing moments that I can recall. Boy would that change. 

I don’t think I’ll even try to go in order because some of these were a long time ago and I’ve probably destroyed so many brain cells attending concerts it's hard to remember precisely. Let me jump all the way to the summer of 1994. I attended two shows in which I learned a lot about the karmic balance of the universe. I even formed my very own groundbreaking Puke Equilibrium Theory that I think any Buddhist guru would totally get on board with. Sometime early in the summer a bunch of us decided to go see Lynard Skynard last minute at Riverside Park. (I’ll start calling it Six Flags the minute after I start calling The Meadows “Xfinity Theater”). This was a blisteringly hot June day and I decided the only reasonable way to beat the heat was to start pounding beers early and often. I also don’t think I ate. I think I just forgot? And did I want to kill my buzz in any way when they launched into Freebird or Simple Man? Of course not. So the end of the show is a bit hazy but I was TOLD the next day that I vomited and when my friend’s girlfriend went to assist me I puked on her shoe. Accidentally. Oops. 

A month or so later a few of us took a road trip to see Pink Floyd at the old Giants Stadium. 2nd straight year there: we saw Guns n’ Roses and Metallica in the summer of ’93. Believe it or not, I didn’t get tooooooo drunk although I can distinctly remember having to pee incredibly bad as we were driving through New York City traffic on our way there. Did I end up peeing in a lidded container to stave off bladder explosion? I want to believe I didn’t. About midway through the show a kid stumbled into his seat right next to mine. He was clearly comfortably numb. Once in a while you have a moment of total clairvoyance where you can actually see into the future like a Prophet standing on a mountaintop. I experienced once of those spiritual breakthroughs in this multipurpose football stadium. I thought to myself, “Dude, you better not puke on me”. I am not making this up or exaggerating, not 5 seconds later he puked on me. On my shoes. Well set the controls for the heart of the sun. As a knee jerk reaction, I yelled, “You’re the biggest asshole!” or something like that.   

Was this all a coincidence? You must be joking. He who liveth by the puke shall die by the puke. Was he even the biggest asshole, really? Or was he an agent of karmic Justice? A Budweiser pounding Shiva? I had to go up to the Men’s Room and take off my puke soaked socks and throw them in the garbage. (Before I discovered the beauty of sandals—still sneakers and socks back then). The legend of Roger Waterless Floyd lives in. This was the only show I’ve seen that literally knocked my socks off.  

But my summer of ’94 concertgoing wasn’t over just yet. In August four of us went to Saugertees, NY to see Woodstock ’94. We might call this The Forgotten Woodstock. Woodstock ’69 is all the peace and love hippies dancing naked in the rain. Woodstock ’99 is all the Limp Bizquit bros doing it all for the nookie and breaking (and burning) stuff.  99 has earned not one but two documentaries in the last year on HBO and Netflix. ’94? Well it’s the only one Dylan performed at so there’s that. Shannon Hoon of Blind Melon put on a dress and spouted incoherent ramblings on stage before his eventual drug overdose. Green Day mudfights anyone? So my Woodstock was pretty good too!

But I got lost. Now there’s lost and then there’s 1994 lost. With smartphones I feel like getting lost has almost become obsolete. Not so then, my friends. No cell phones anywhere. After we set up our tent, one of my friends said something like, “Now everyone look around and note where we are. Especially you Ryan”. Oh I see. Single out the blind guy? My indomitable 21 year old stubbornness aside, I did take a long around and made a mental note of all these canopies they had set up with white and yellow stripes. Done.  

The problem started, like all problems, with beer. This was a non-alcohol event! But then people broke down the gates, rumors spread like wildfire that a package store down the street was selling 30 packs of Bud for the low, low price of $30 and we were just the target demo he was looking for so we went for a walk. Things of course get somewhat hazy after that as we started pounding beers like we were Lawrence of Arabia downing lemonade after trekking through the Arabian Desert on a camel. 

Things went next level apeshit when Nine Inch Nails took the stage caked in mud from head to toe. (Oh—it had poured rain and turned the field into a mudpit). Mosh pits, puddles, Budweiser patrons, and Industrial Metal collided in an apocalyptic maelstrom of mayhem. It was glorious. Two random dudes picked me up and tossed me in a giant mud puddle. I tell people this and they’re like, “Those assholes!”. No, you had to be there. It was all just good clean fun! Unfortunately, I lost my binoculars in the puddle somewhere. 

Metallica (3rd time seeing them in two years) was followed by another moonson/thunderstorm causing me to hide under these roofed gazebos they had. Then Aerosmith hit the stage at 2AM. The last notes of Dream On didn’t sound until 4AM. 

No sign of my friends anywhere. But I started walking looking for a yellow and white canopy. And I found one! Then another. Then other. Oops. I guess that wasn’t the landmark I thought it was. But I kept walking. And walking. And walking. Must have walked by the same Nobody Beats The Wiz stand 20 times. (Or was there an infinite amount of those too?). This was turning into some David Lynch nightmare. I was definitely starting to get a little worried. Also, after a tropically hot and humid Saturday the rain had brought in a cold front. Oh, and it was still raining. And I had no umbrella or hoodie. Just my T-shirt and shorts. (Jorts probably). And I hadn’t slept all night. And was maybe just a bit hungover. I actually laid down on a blanket where the owners were nowhere to be found and attempted to sleep but not possible.  

I did find a tent for all the lost sheep to go. They said put your name on a big bulletin board and maybe your friends will see it. Also they might read your name from the stage but priority wen to lost children, not lost 21 year old binge drinking idiots.  

I did meet some kids I would have never met otherwise. Some girl whose name I have forgotten. Think she had black hair with some punk rock highlights. She was actually FROM Saugerties. So Woodstock came to her hometown. But I mean how lost was she really? I was 132 miles from home. I ended up staying around this tent all day figuring I would be harder to find if I was a moving target. The girl ended up going back to her tent and invited me to go with but again I figured I should stay put. Wait a minute………….this story isn’t adding up at all, is it? Am I remembering It right? Was the lost at all!?

On Sunday night, following the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Peter Gabriel, they said they were going to take us overnight to some hostel or something and then in the morning drive us to the bus station where they would help us find our bus home. I think they might have even paid for the bus ticket? In the meantime they had a nurse on site who took my temp. I believe it was 92. She asked me when was the last time I had slept? I said not since Friday night. (With an all night rave going on—I can remember Dee Lite’s Groove Is In The Heart thumping). Have I eaten? Well I bought a slice of pizza that morning but I was worried about running out of money. She was like, “So you are hypothermic, sleep deprived and malnourished”. I thought, “Gee, I guess when you put it that way”. She told me to go get some soup and get warm in the heated tent area they had.  

The hostel (or homeless shelter or what was it?) was like this bunk bed setup—but without the beds. They were these almost cubicle looking things made of wood. Was there mattresses or even a sleeping bag? I can’t remember for sure but I’m thinking no. But two days without sleep caught up with me so I slept anyway. I called home from a pay phone at the bus station and told my brother I was lost. By this point, word had got out. My friends were already home and told him I was MIA. My mom picked me up from the bus station in Springfield. I think I horrified her. I had dried mud on my clothes. I hadn’t showered since probably Friday morning? I looked like Martin Sheen coming out of the mud before going to kill Marlon Brando at the end of Apocalypse Now. The horror.  

But it wasn’t boring! I was weirdly happy about how the whole weekend had gone actually. Saw some good music and had managed to get myself home on my own—well, with the help of the festival staff and a spirit boosting Green Day loving girl who was lost in her hometown.  

Oh, I also got lost a few years later. I went to see the Allman Brothers at the Meadows when I lived in Vernon in the late 90’s. I went by myself and took the bus. Plan was to take a cab home but when I went to the McDonald’s across the street where they had pay phones inside I discovered they had just closed. So I was stranded in the North Meadows of Hartford at around midnight on a Sunday unless I could find a phone. Finally a guy saw me wandering lost and confused. I think he was in an all night warehouse? Or maybe an all night security guard? He let me use his office phone and this midnight riding rambling man found his way home. 

Wait……………there are actually a lot of lost stories come to think of it. I went to see The Police’s reunion tour at Rentschler Field in 2007. So in 2007 I would have had a cell phone. So how the heck did I get lost? I think I decided there was too much post show traffic right outside the stadium so I needed to find another spot for the cabbie to pick me up. Only I don’t know Silver Lane like the back of my hand so I aimlessly wandered around there at night until I found some bar and called a cab. 

Oh I was also violently shoved at Dave Matthews show at The Meadows. This was also the summer of ’07. That was a challenging time as my apartment AC broke, the awful management staff never fixed it, annnnd the building got a bedbug infestation. So I was maybe a bit edgy. I heard this older, creeper looking guy talking to a girl who looked like she was 17 or something. He said something like, “Have you done any modeling? Would you be open to doing nudes?”. I’m like great so this guy running Porn Hub from section 400. Again………..common theme here….but I had been drinking. I think I said something like, “You’re a fucking creep!” and he shoved me back hard. Actually fell off my feet and landed a couple seats back. So I just walked away and found a spot at the other end of the row. Was I going to lose my teeth over this guy? Would I really rescue this damsel in distress? I always wanted to be the savior. I’m basically Don Quixote. Obiouslyv it was up to the girl to basically decided for herself whether to ignore the guy or not. Well I meant well. I think. 

I was also blatantly ripped off at a show. Guns n’ Roses was supposed to play Lake Compounce in the summer of ’91. But it was cancelled. Then the promoter filed for bankruptcy and in doing so somehow got out of having to pay us back. My frugal, raised during The Depression in Fall River, MA grandmother literally never got over this. She would bring up how “you kids got ripped off!” for years to come. Me? I was over it. I had gotten to see G n’ R three times on the Use Your Illusion tour anyway and I was really more disappointed about not getting to see them than losing the $45. 

I went to a Phil and Friends show in about 2006 and had my one and only mind bending mushroom experience. Folks, magic mushrooms are illegal and you shoudn’t touch them. But some bad kids I was with offered them. My prior shroom samplings had been non-events. I took such small tabs out of paranoia of having a bad trip and seeing dragons and mastodons or something that I didn’t get any buzz from them. Not so this time. Ohhhhhh boy was everything groovy all of a sudden. I couldn’t stop laughing for an hour straight. At nothing. Life was just completely hilarious and I had never realized it before. I also couldn’t stop staring at my hands. From six inches away. This must have looked pretty normal. I realized that it was so weeeeeird to have hands. I mean these things are just hanging off us like this. They’re so bizarre looking! Why is no one talking about this? Unfortunately, the shrooms combined with—reader, you will be shocked—copious amounts of beer caused one of the worst hangovers of my life the next day. Spent. Like someone hollowed out my insides. I remember going down to my building’s parking garage and just sitting there hanging out. Why? Reader, I just don’t know. 

I will have you know that not ALL the shows I’ve gone to involved alcohol and (occasionally) other things. I went to see Nine Inch Nails again in the early 2000’s at The Meadows. This was nothing like the insanity of the Woodstock show. I did not drink a drop of booze. Okay. Full disclosure: I didn’t have the opportunity as there were no sales of alcohol. Unbeknownst to me! It seems their liquor license was suspended after they sold to an underage girl a month earlier at a John Mayer show. Your body is a wonderland boy does it again. Fathers be good to your daughters because I’ve decided any girl who rejects me must have daddy issues and it can’t possibly be because she’s just not that into me. That freaking guy. NIN was good but let’s just say March Of The Pigs doesn’t have quite the same visceral impact when you’re not blitzed and caked in mud and wondering where your binoculars just went. 

I can recall one incident of feeling kind of scared at a show. Again, back to Lake Compounce. This was CT’s makeshift answer to an outdoor concert venue after the industry was shifting that way but The Meadows hadn’t opened yet. Great Woods in MA was open but we are slow to get everything. There were no seats. We went to see Motley Crue in about 1990. As the band was getting closer to going on stage the rowdy, largely teenaged crowd started pushing to get closer to the stage. It was slightly suffocating. Started to feel like I was getting crushed. And of course, people have been crushed to death at concerts. Maybe it was because I had watched the episode of WKRP In Cincinnati when they all went to see The Who in Cincy and fans were crushed to death. (An actual real life incident). Johnny Fever was inconsolable. Don’t even talk to Venus Fly Trap right now. Gordon Jump was nonplussed. So having watched this chilling cautionary tale, I thought to stave off death by suffocation I should move back, so I had to enjoy Shout At The Devil from a safe distance. The devil probably couldn't even hear me shouting I was so far back. Satan wins again.  

I already wrote a blog about another completely insane thing that happened at a Bruce Springsteen show in Hartford so let me just give you the Cliff’s Notes. I had a seat in the second row in the 100 section area. I stood up as soon as the show started because I mean it’s Bruce and it’s rock and roll baby! The people behind me motioned and asked me to sit down. A lady said, “My mom can’t see”. But I mean…..this isn’t the symphony orchestra, am I right? They even narc’d on me but I heard the usher say, “I can’t make him sit down”.  Halfway through the show Bruce crowdsurfs his way down the floor and up to my section. He was standing 2 feet from me! He tells the crowd of 16,000 adoring fans, “This is Max’s mom! She turned 90 years old today!”. Max Weinberg. The drummer. Conan O’Brien's band leader. National treasure. Awkward. But she was a youthful looking 90. Probably drank a lot green tea. How was I to know?! But it gets worse. During the encore Bruce always has the arena lights turned on as they play Born To Run. They started to leave and I see one of the ushers bringing out a wheelchair for Mrs. Weinberg. In conclusion, I’m the worst person in the world. But I do want to pitch this to Larry David because this is totally an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm waiting to happen.

Another time I took a cab to a show and I was basically openly mocked by the cabbie. I think this was the summer of 96? I went to see Hootie And The Blowfish. Look, I was super bored! I actually wasn’t even a huge fan. I mean they are okay but they’re the reason CVS background music was invented. So the cabbie is on the phone (I considered people with mobile phones pretentious douches back then—that stance didn’t age well) and he says, “I’m driving someone to see Hootie And The Blowfish. You know that fake rock band”. Buddy, I’m right here. 

In the summer of ’91 I took my longest concert road trip. A few of us took a bus organized by WCCC (or WHCN?) to Old Orchard Beach, Maine to see AC/DC. They were supposed to play here but I think it was another Lake Compounce promoter disaster so they let fans either use their tickets to the show in Maine or get a refund. We chose to pack up the coolers and ride the highway to hell up there! We got back to Ellington at maybe 4 in the morning and all the cows had organized the kind of jailbreak even Bon Scott would have admired by breaking through their pen and taking a little pre-dawn stroll around the neighborhood. They created a massive traffic jam at the corner of Hoffman Road and Muddy Brook. Post script to this story: the first class I ever took at UConn was a Com Sci 101 class in the auditorium at next door E.0. Smith High School. (Strange feeling taking your first college class and walking through a hallway of  high school kids to get there). The professor actually started with “Did anyone go anywhere nice this summer?”. A kid raised his hand and said Old Orchard Beach, ME. Another raised his hand and said Old Orchard Beach. A third raised his hand and said Old Orchard Beach. I was sadly too shy to raise my hand. The professor finally said, “Wow! I guess Old Orchard Beach was a real hotspot!”. Of course I think it’s also a vacation spot but I wanted to say, “Hey did you guys check out Angus and the boys too? Was Whole Lotta Rosie sick or what!?”.   

I was also asked to sit down at a Rolling Stones show at the Civic Center. By an usher! A woman behind me had ratted on me. Wow. We are a looooong way from Altamont here, aren't we? Another time we went up to Foxborough to see the Stones in the Patriots’ old stadium in the early 90’s. So….I missed half the show. Not sure what got into me. Was it just the long car ride? But I passed out. But the second half of the show rocked on this rainy night! 

Probably the hottest show—literally—I ever saw was Blind Melon at The Sting in New Britain. A very hot summer night and no AC in what was maybe some sort of converted sweatshop or something? Also up there in the heat department was another Bruce show at The Meadows—the only time he’s played there—in 2010 or so. A scorching hot night and I was in The Pavillioin in the middle of one of those long rows. Obv cold beer solved that. There was one of the most awkward group actions at a show I’ve ever seen. Let’s see…just looked this up…..they opened with Sherry Darling, Badlands, and Out In The Street. The crowd was in a frenzy! Then the opening notes to Outlaw Pete hit—the dreaded “new stuff”-- and thousands of people sat down simultaneously like they were in a Catholic Church and the priest just said, “Please be seated”. Ended up getting picked up as I was walking downtown by a kid from school and his buddy—a boisterous gentleman with a thick Irish accent I had met at UConn basketball games. Having planned to go into work the next day, I was not aiming to drink more. They had other plans and stopped at The Half Door before dropping me off in West Hartford. Incredibly, I still made it to work the next day. I would never in a million, billion years be able to do that now. 

Have I ever walked in the wrong bathroom at a concert? I have. At a Phish show at Madison Square Garden. This might have been New Year’s Eve of 1998/99. This has happened to me a couple times in life and the first reaction is always, “Wait, where are the urinals. Oh……no. I’m in the wrong place”. But a very nice girl with one of those long dresses hippie girls always wear just kind of laughed at me and said, “You look lost”. Of course at concerts the Men’s Room often become unisex anyway so I guess it all evens out.                    

Loudest show? Cinderella at the Springfield Civic Center in 1990. Actually won these tickets off the radio. A few songs into their set the sound died completely for a few minutes. Yeah probably because it was a bazillion decibels. The only time my ears rang, like really rang, afterwards. I mean for a few days I would hear this ringing sound. I thought I was going deaf for sure. But then it went away. Good thing. You don’t know what you got till it’s gone. Now I know what I got it’s just this song.

Lest this whole thing seem like a long rant about problem drinking, I would like to note that I have attended some concerts where I voluntarily abstained from drinking. Lately I’ve become more of a seasonal drinker where I pretty much take the winters off. The lure of an ice cold beer is just stronger on a hot summer night. Plus dealing with any sort of hangover when it’s gray and 23 degrees or raining and 39 degrees is just an experience I decided I wanted out of. So a few years ago at the XL Center, which was literally across the street at the time, within a 2 week span I saw Mumford And Sons and Fleetwod Mac (without fired Lindsey Buckingham). Alcohol was on sale! But I didn’t drink. And it was still pretty enjoyable I must say. And I kind of felt proud of myself. Concerts have been my Achilles heel for awhile. Generally I can drink in moderation these days, but some of the biggest slip ups have been at shows. Partially because the band hits the stage and you think, “This is great! Life is great! Who cares about tomorrow!? We’re

going to live forever! Let me go grab another $17 24 ouncer!”. Also there’s the cutting off of sales where you don’t always know when it will happen thing. I would always overcompensate to avoid a dreaded horrifying outcome like sobering up by the encore. Of course I have no funny stories to tell about these two shows. But actually that’s become more common for all shows. Middle age FTL. 

Well I’ve taken up quite a bit of your time. In summary, I’ve been shoved, thrown in the mud, I’ve sweated, I’ve frozen half to death, I’ve gotten lost, I’ve been ripped off, I’ve drained my bank account—but I would do it all over again! Concerts make no logical sense. You fight crowds, you stand in 100 lines, you pay through the nose, you risk heat stroke, hypothermia, and lighting strikes. Half the time your view of the stage isn’t great and the sound definitely isn’t great. It makes a lot more sense to stay home and listen to your favorite band on Spotify! Maybe get a turntable and listen to them on vinyl from the comfort of your own home. No lines to the fridge or the bathroom! But there’s still that excitement when they hit the lights and everyone starts screaming and the band hits the stage. It’s a communal experience you can’t duplicate at home. Or a Catholic church. Makes it all worth it. 

I think.