SHARING THE SHOWS
Ahhh, New York City, my old stomping grounds, and probably my favorite place to see a show thus far. I love the subways, and it’s a place you can pretty much get any type of food any type of the day. And as a bit of a loner, I indulge in the anonymity being in a city of 8 million people provides. It’s fucking awesome.
After a day of solo travel around the Big Apple (did that not sound cheesy and touristy), I attempted to locate a place where I could get some wings and a good burger, and I stumbled into Johnny Utah’s on 51st Street. That’s this place where they have a mechanical bull. It’s quite a sight, New Yorkers trying to be cowboys. My brother, Jeremy (not pictured due to camera shyness) needed time to get into the city from his job in New Jersey, so I was dining solo at the bar. The group next to me wore their Brazil jerseys as they cheered during the World Cup, which made for some good dinnertime entertainment. The burger and wings were phenomenal; the fries were quite overseasoned, but this ain’t a Yelp review, so I’ll just stop here. When my brother came in, I gave him half my wings and fries before going to the bathroom. Once I was done, he was finishing up, and we went in. When we got in, the arena was close to empty, which I don’t mind. A little quiet time before the show (ironic for a concerthead, right?). Of course, I had to do my imitation of Frampton saying “do you feel” when he appeared on that Simpsons episode, Homerpalooza, trying to eject his pig. Apparently, Jeremy was making a bet with himself on how long it would take me to say that, being the Simpsons fan I was. I’ll also add that he got me the tickets for my birthday because he had genuine concern that I wasn’t going to enough concerts. It’s touching, the brotherly love he showed, so thank you, Jeremy. The show was scheduled to start at 7:30, and Frampton and his crew took the stage at exactly 7:29. Now, that’s a performer I can respect. He starts on time no matter how many are in the crowd, which is more than I can say for, ohhh, say Phish, who go on 45 minutes late. I love you guys and all, but seriously… I called the opener in my head: “Something’s Happening.” It’s the perfect track to open Frampton Comes Alive, and it was a good kickoff for the performance. He went into “Lines on My Face” and “Show Me The Way,” before he dedicated the following song to Chris Cornell and his family: Black Hole Sun, which he does as an instrumental on his Fingerprints album (I just learned this last night). I remember being blown away by it when he played it at Jones Beach in 2008. I also remembered the end of my third year at Hampton University being marred by hearing of Cornell’s suicide. Hell, Soundgarden provided much of the grungy soundtrack to my angsty adolescence. But I digress. He went into “I’ll Give You Money” and of course he played “Baby I Love Your Way,” along with a few other tunes with which I’m not familiar. They closed with (drumroll) “Do You Feel Like We Do.” A bit of trivia/humblebragging: that song was recorded at SUNY Plattsburgh, where I spent my undergraduate years. Now, another thing: now that I live far away from my brother (I’m in Virginia while he’s in New Jersey), we bond occasionally by sending quotes from The Simpsons. We had to re-enact the scene from “Homerpalooza” where Bart says, “that guy’s guitar is talking” to which a stoned Otto the bus driver replies, “my shoes are talking.” During setbreak, I shot the shit with the couple that had Ubered in from Bergen County, New Jersey (I lived in Fair Lawn and taught at BCC for a year, so there was a bond there). Apparently, they had thought the concert was a week early and had come down to Radio City to find out the show wasn’t that night. Freaking funny! The gal, Maggie (pictured at the top), asked us, “You’re into Steve Miller? You guys seem so young!” I replied, “this music transcends fucking generations!” I curse a lot when I’m at a concert, especially at a NY concert. Tough-talking NYC rock fans are some of my favorite people. They rock hard and don’t give a shit about who knows it. They opened up with “The Stake” and went into “Jungle Love.” My brother was hoping they would play “Abracadabra,” what he defined as their “sell-out” song. And they got it over with after “Jungle Love.” “Living in the USA” was next. That’s my theme song as I travel throughout the country this summer. After 50 years, it wouldn’t be fair to expect the boys to hit those high octaves like they used to, but they still rocked that one. They had some trippy guitar solos reminiscent of the Grateful Dead in 1968’s “Going to Mexico” and “Space Cowboy” (I only know the years because Miller took the time to educate us. Education rules). As they played, I realized they had to play some of their hits before exiting the stage. They played “The Joker” (and how do you not sing all the lyrics during that one?). They followed with “Fly Like an Eagle” (Ibid.). “Rock’n’me” (Ibid). “Swingtown” (Ibid.). I thought they were done after that, but “Jet Airliner” came. I still can’t believe I forgot that one. All in all, it was a true fine night. Thanks, Jeremy, for your intervention on the concert front. You get it when I say I don’t go to enough of them.
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Styx/Tesla/Joan Jett and the Blackhearts - Midflorida Union Ampitheater - Tampa, FL - June 17, 20186/18/2018 So we passed Day 6 of the AP Reading: read, score, repeat. I had a pretty awesome day, finding out that my scoring was more accurate than most of the folks at my table, and that I had read 1,025 essays up to that point. The post-it my Table Leader wrote that on had two exclamation points after the words “1,025 essays,” to which I was shocked. When I told Liz about it at dinner, she was impressed (and she’s one of the smartest folks I know).
So before the show, Liz and I had dinner at this Irish pub called Hattigan’s, where I ordered a turkey wrap (not bar food by any stretch of the imagination). I had been eating a lot of red meat and pork the few days prior and needed some white meat to balance things out. After Ridesharing it to the show, we walked in on Tesla doing “Signs,” which is the only song of theirs I know. But they sounded really good. Next, Joan Jett and the Blackhearts came onto the stage. “I have a huge crush on Joan Jett,” I exclaimed. “Everyone does,” Liz replied. “Thank you for validating that,” I said facetiously. The crush was reaffirmed when Jett said, “love between two people is a beautiful thing. But love between three people is even better.” This is from a never-married badass, which helps her credibility at all (see soldieringforsingles.weebly.com for more on this topic). Total rebel. I also associate some of Jett’s songs with TV and movies. The first time I heard “Bad Reputation” was the opening credits of Freaks and Geeks. “Cherry Bomb” was introduced to me through Dazed and Confused. I identify with both of those pop culture artifacts on deep, visceral levels, so it would make sense that Joan Jett would be my dream woman. Light of Day is a little known movie she did in 1987 with Michael J. Fox; there was a song by that title that she busted out. I had never heard it, but I was dancing just the same. Now I have a new movie to add to my to-view list. She also busted out “I Love Rock and Roll,” “I Hate Myself for Loving You,” and her remake of Tommy James and the Shondell’s “Crimson and Clover.” I couldn’t help but dance during her set, while most everyone else in my section was sitting. Liz said jokingly, “Save your energy for Styx.” My dancing also brought up two compliments from her: 1) “I vibe off of your because your dancing energy is so good; and 2) her comparison of me to one of those toys that dance when music starts playing (I take that one as a compliment). Styx started off in a more mellow fashion than the previous two acts. I sat during “Lady,” as well as a few others I had never heard. During “Come Sail Away,” our roles reversed: I sat while Liz danced. We each called an encore. Liz: Mr. Roboto. Me: Renegade (our favorite song). The journey to find the Uber pick-up spot was a long, interesting one. In this age of Rideshrea apps, the majority of arenas I’ve been to have signs pointing toward an Uber spot. However, the security people mentioned an “inflatable duck,” which Liz amazingly remembered (my visual memory sucks). It was a good walk to get there, other than Liz falling and twisting her ankle, which healed rather quickly. I got back to my hotel a little before midnight. Getting up the next morning was a bit of a drag, but a Diet Snapple and a coffee later, I was sailing away to a rockin’ last day of scoring those exams, which, of course, are way more fun than the concerts of which I don’t go to enough. So it’s been thirteen days since my last concert (to which a number of my Facebook friends expressed serious concern). Every year (well, for the past two years anyway), I’ve gone down to Tampa, Florida to be a Reader for the Advanced Placement English Language and Composition exam (one of the perks of my profession). Concerts are nowhere near as exciting as reading an essay, scoring it, and repeating it (stolen from a T-shirt they produced that reads “Read, Score, Repeat”), but I went to that show anyway simply because I don’t go to enough. And yes, I’m being facetious, so don’t get literal (a lot of “literal” intellectual types at this reading).
My friend Colin, who I knew from El Paso but moved here for a lucrative job opportunity, picked me up from a hotel, and after a nice palm tree-lined drive to Clearwater, we found what looked like a sushi place across the street from the venue. Upon pulling in closer, we realized it was a Pilates place, and as Colin stated, “you can’t eat pilates.” But we saw a hookah bar that read “Food” in it, so that sounded promising. We split a plate of pita chips with hummus, and entreed it with a chicken shwarma. Upon dealing with some traffic, we made our way in. I had to buy a CD, which came with a free DVD, because, well, my impulsivity. Both Colin and Evelyn, the nice law student in the other seat next to me, commented “I don’t think I even own a CD Player anymore.” My car, a 2007 Camry, has one, and I like to collect them, so call me a Luddite, I don’t care! As for the band, they killed it. The only other Pink Floyd tribute I’ve seen is The Machine. They’re awesome, but Brit Floyd played a greater variety of tunes, beyond the standard Wall, Dark Side, and Wish You Were Here. They played songs I had never heard before (I really need to step up my game in the area of Floyd), as well as songs I had never heard from The Machine (“Arnold Layne” and “One of These Days” for example). They’re a lot more theatrical, with a crazy light show and images behind the badn, which explains why they’re playing at a venue like Ruth Eckerd Hall and not at, ohh, say, the Norva. There was also a trance-inducing light show on the ceiling, and as I stared, I reflected back to my hazy college years (the less said about those, the better). I kept hearing a British accent in my head that said, “watch the lasers!” Additionally, I gaped at the disco ball that rotated during “Comfortably Numb.” All of this happened without any mind- or mood-altering chemicals. Yep. The political commentary throughout the show was pretty neat too. The crowd yelled an emphatic no when the singer asked, “Mother, should I run for President?” Donald Trump and George H.W. Bush managed to appear when they sang about the lunatic on the grass. My impatience started growing a bit during the encore when they kept teasing a song I couldn’t quite make out, and I kept thinking, play the damn song! I have to get up early tomorrow! But once “Run Like Hell” started, I grooved like hell; totally worth the wait. It was even better than “Pigs,” the first-set closer from Animals, my favorite album (a choice my friend Maggie questions, refer to May 18, 2018). This morning, scoring those essays was a little rough (but I’m still accurate; just letting any fellow AP people know that as they read). However, my thinking is, I may regret it in the morning, but if I don’t go, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life (same reason I chose to attend the Iron Maiden show before the first day of the reading last year). While in Tampa, I may have to follow Floyd’s advice to “Have a Cigar” after dinner. So after a morning of attending academicspeak at the Rhetoric Society of America conference in Minneapolis and a nice afternoon run (much needed after all the carbs and red meat and pork I’d been consuming over the past week), my friend Shova picked me up from my Airbnb to head to the time machine. This time machine would take us back to the 90s to see two bands that provided much of the soundtrack for my college years (Barenaked Ladies and Better than Ezra), along with a more recent artist I dig (KT Tunstall). Shout out to Theta Gamma, my fraternity; from what I remember, we may have played the two former artists at our parties.
On the way up to the show, Shova and I talked advocacy and Netflix and music. We met on a Facebook group called Community of Single People, which provides a safe zone to discuss being single in a world that wants you to pair up (see soldieringforsingles.weebly.com for this one). The casino itself was a labyrinth, but we made it as Tunstall finished “Suddenly I See,” her most well-known tune. I was a little bummed to have missed it, but hey, she wasn’t part of the time machine. Once we got in, I was famished, so we headed immediately to the concession. The menu was quite varied; it read “Hot Dogs $3. Chips $2. Popcorn $2.” After downing two dogs and some popcorn, I was ready to roll. As Shova and I walked through the crowd, I took note that the crowd seemed more conservative than I’m used to. Most people were seated in their lawn chairs. Us, we don’t mind a little grass and dirt on our buttocks. I found myself sitting and bopping along with Better than Ezra as they busted out “Good” and a bunch of other songs I had never heard. After they finished playing, Shova and I had an interesting talk about the phrase “Minnesota Nice,” which is really passive-aggressive behavior. We deal with that in the South too. When Barenaked Ladies came on, I couldn’t resist dancing, even though I was the only one in my section. Shova wisely suggested moving toward the front, to which I happily agreed. Once we found our spot, I started dancing as if I were at a Phish concert. Probably a little unusual there, but what do I care? I didn’t really know much about Barenaked Ladies beyond “One Week” and “If I Had a Million Dollars,” but I must say that in our patriarchal culture, a group of men must be comfortable in their own skin if they’re going to name themselves the Barenaked Ladies. And Ed Robertson, the lead singer, is great at connecting with the audience. He rapped to welcome Kevin Griffin and KT Tunstall to the stage during separate songs. I usually hate when singers talk too much during their performances (“Shut up and sing!” is what I’m thinking) but Robertson tells great stories. He also had good advice for his son, which is when your alarm clock goes off, never hit it until both of your feet hit the floor. That’s good advice for more. After the show, it took us about 45 minutes to find the car, but we made it! And I slept like a baby. This morning, I sit in the Minneapolis Hilton blogging about this before I give my academic talk, surrounded by theoretical conversations regarding “genre” and “rhetorical moves.” It’s nice to just get down and write from the gut. |
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