Death of the Rock Concert: an observation way after the fact

Death of the Rock Concert:  

An observation way after the fact

The excitement is contagious, giving me a semi-stiffy as I stroll through the arena.  I've dreamed of seeing this band since I initially raged out to the first song I heard by them.  They rock loud and hard and I want to rock out in the same manner.  I want drug-fueled antics and fire and sloppy girls whipping out their boobs.  I want to see clouds of cannabis haze and lasers while somebody od's in a stairwell. 

The lights go down and the crowd begins to build up the anticipation of seeing their heroes storm the stage, the lights to erupt, and the fire show to begin as loud, buzz saw guitars screech through the sound barrier and grab you by the sack.

But it doesn't happen.  A couple of jangly smack addicts (with real or feigned British accents) amble on to the stage, wave at the crowd with shit-eating smiles and commence to lame-fuck your hopes and dreams of awesome.

Welcome to today's rock concerts.  And, boy, do they suck ass.

1. I needn't sell my kidney on the black market in order to enjoy some tunes

Want to see the Rolling Stones?  Fork over your left testicle and nearly $350 for decent seats to watch the living dead perform "Brown Sugar". Want to see Jay-Z wave a towel around with his posse while he rhythmically spouts rhymes to the music of Korn?  Sure you do.  Cough up your next month's rent.

Of course, many people blame Clear Channel, which is, in fact, an evil monopoly in the music industry.  They own massive amounts of radio stations, billboard advertising, arenas, and concert promotion. I don't know how a company can own concert promotion, but I did my research and that's what ABC and CNN say. So whatever.  The fact remains that these corporate fucks have a stranglehold on WHO you see, WHERE you see them, and how much you will pay.  Fuck that.  I don't even like my wife telling me we need to be at some lame baby party next weekend (Uh, I mean other people's baby parties, not those of my close friends and family.  Your baby parties aren't lame, as far as baby parties go.  I so totally meant other people and their babies.).

You pay the processing fee, a convenience fee (of which nothing is convenient), and a ticket fee (if you can't buy them at the boxoffice).   I've read about government taxes and committees with less fees and bend-you-over-the-barrel ass-fuckery than these shitwads.

And for what?  So I can pay $60 for a so-so shirt that generically alludes to the very show I attended?  I remember when Iron Maiden played the Giant's Stadium after the Giants beat the Broncos in the Super Bowl.  I didn't go, but hell, if I wasn't jealous when people came back from the show with shirts that portrayed Eddie in a Giants jersey (with the player number 666 on his jersey) as he sat upon a pile of corpses dressed in Broncos gear.  That shirt said, "Hey, I saw Maiden, Maiden recognizes the Giants' victory, and I am also a Giants fan.  Eddie is fucking bad -ass. End of story."

No other show had those shirts.  NONE!  And that is what made it so cool.  Damn, I wish I got that shirt, but no.  But the following year, I made sure to give my brother money ($20) and go one one with the Statue of Liberty. I can bet that Missouri didn't have on of these.  Maybe one with Eddie dry-docking the Steel Arch, but not this international symbol of freedom. 

That's right, Lady Liberty.  You can't stop the rock.

At the Floyd show I went to, I treasured my concert t-shirt because it was designed for NY with only the NY dates listed on the back.  It gave me cred and endeared me to Floyd even further.  And you know what?  I paid $20 for that shirt.  If I didn't get so fat and tall, I'd probably would have held on to it...


Admittedly, I still have the urge to buy a shirt whenever  I attend a concert.  I still like to be somewhat nostalgic and keep up with a tradition of sorts.  But I will be damned if I pay $60-100 (yeah, you read that right).  I'll buy a bootleg off the crackhead in the parking lot.

And when did people start demanding more than beer, pretzels, hot dogs and drugs for consumption during a concert?  Sure, they were always overpriced, but $8 for a hot dog?  I guess people are too lazy to tailgate before a show.  That was the means to get smashed and eat (and piss yourself) for a reasonable price before going into the venue that is designed to rape your wallet. You hung out,m barbecued, smoked a doobe, blew some lines, threw back some shots, and then limped your way into the show.  Not today.  People are willing to have a micro-brew with their ciabatta panini with crusted artichoke flakes and side of wheat grass juice for the bargain price of a $45.  You deserve to be taken for your ducats and miss out on the show waiting on that ungodly line.  You know what I do?  If I am at a show and lose utter interest, I like to wait on the lines.  When its my turn, I ask questions and change my mind for about fifteen minutes before I just ask for a cup of ice. Then again, I'm an asshole and anti-social.  But that's neither here nor there.

Concerts are obnoxiously overpriced.  But there are some artists trying to make the difference.  Kid Rock charged $20 for his "Best Night Ever" tour.  He went on record saying he wants his fans to come out and enjoy the show and not rape their wallets.  Kick ass.  Or you can just regale yourself to awesome no-name acts that charge a $10 cover to sit in a dank bar and watch them rock until they eventually get huge and/or self-destruct like Semi-Precious Weapons.

Hey, Justin, how's that coke habit going?

I will suck the cheese from your toes if you just let me look at a heroin balloon.

2. I came to rock...and see shit EXPLODE

In 1987, I saw Pink Floyd's "Delicate Sound of Thunder" tour.  It was my first concert.  Beds flew out from the rafters and exploded on stage.  Flames shot out from behind the band.  Sparklers and booms emanated from all around.  I was in awe.  It was like the greatest 4th of July show I had ever seen.  Plus there was an ominous pig that bounced above the audience with its lit-up eyes and giant testes.

OK, this isn't a Floyd show.  It's the offering I presented to my Filipino in-laws.  No wonder they love me...

I knew right then and there that there was no place greater than a rock concert.  At any moment, lasers would erupt from a fireball and Jesus would descend from a cloud playing the most bitchin' solo I ever heard shred along the neck of a Fender Strat.  It may never happened, but, man, the possibility that it could was enough to keep me coming back for life.

Until I hit my 20s and Great White lit a small club on fire with some Tijuana sparklers.  Now, it's a lame fuck around. 

You know that moment when the band plays their greatest song (usually their last) and the stage is supposed to erupt with lasers and smoke and fireworks that shake your butt cheeks?  Gone.  All we get is a flash of lights and some fucking confetti shot into the crowd like a fat girl's bachelorette party.  (Thanks, Journey.  Although you put on an energetic and awesome show overall, the party poppers used to close the set reminded me how ancient and decrepit the original members of the band are.  I bet they checked the thermostat several times during the show, fucking grandpas...)

Maybe you might see some cool inflatable characters on stage, but now they're safe. No more pigs with bulbous testicles or hookers with blow-up titties that could rescue the titanic.  Nope.  I saw Ben Folds and was treated to a giant smiley face like you'd see on those "Have a nice day" shirts.  Sure, I'll bet that there was some element of hipster sarcasm attached to the prop, but all I wanted to do was storm the stage with a ka-bar knife and slash it out of existence.  Then again, I do have anger issues. But that's neither here nor there.

More times than not you will witness a screen playing videos and other weird technological shit.  A handful of lasers, sure.  But essentially I am watching a shitty slide show the moves at such a frenetic pace I might as well eat some shrooms and wear a comic book on my face. Perhaps the only upside to such jarring visuals would be when people eventually start having epileptic fits and foaming at the mouth.  Then, I could rifle through their pockets and gather enough dough to buy a shirt.

Fuck you, Great White and your shoddy pyrotechnics guy.  Your murderous stunt ruined it for exciting live performances forever.

"Hey, I got an idea! Let's endanger our dozens of remaining fans by putting on a stadium show in this rat-hole deathtrap.  Brilliant!"

3. The following rebellious rock band is brought to you by Quicken Bank...

We can blame Clear Channel.  Better yet, we can blame the artist.

OK, we understand that the whole digital age has gutted the lifestyle of a rock star, making record sales pointless unless you can move millions of units. Need we see Chase Banking or Taco Bell on your posters?  As a capitalist, I can see how this may alleviate the financial burden of a beach house in Malibu, private jet, an unscrupulous rider, and child support, but don't be too much of a shill.  That's what TV commercials are for.

Alice Cooper plays golf, did an insurance company commercial and some other commercial for a hotel chain.  However, his shows are not presented by Pepsi or All State.  He keeps his business and music fairly separate. I'll wager that Kid Rock does the same thing.  He keeps it about the music and not advertising at his shows. And dare I mention the Insane Clown Posse?  They are a wholly independent venture that has a voracious following of fans.  Yet, they keep their music and business separate. Good form, gentlemen, good form.

Once the boys in advertising figure out how to market to these sociopaths,
 the world will probably implode in a final act of vengeance.

 
But it's too late, I guess.  The revolution wasn't televised.  It was sanitized, censored, and shrink-wrapped for public consumption, given away with a Big Gulp and a KFC nibbler meal.  

To all rock artists, I say this: make your money.  I won't fault you.  You're an industry puppet and that's OK.  That's the business.  But do have some semblance of trying retain a shred of artistic integrity and opt out of having Pizza Hut present your show. Even street walking prostitutes turn down unsavory offers and clients from time to time.  So can you.  

4. You paid good money to see me play, now watch me stare at my shoes...

Give me danger.  I paid some good money for a show and I'll be damned if I'm not made to believe someone's life is being jeopardized.

I want to see a lead singer scurry around stage and antagonize fans like the coke head I know he is.  Let's have the guitar player snarl at the crowd and jump off of his amp, mid-solo.  The bass player should be thrusting his crotch in girls' faces as he pretends he is an integral part of the band.  Drummers better be flinging their sticks into the audience every other songs, causing unaware audience members to justifiably lose an eye.

Nope.  We get one of two things.  Either we have the old, arthritic rock star crippling along the stage as a shell of the awesomeness he once was, hobbling to and fro in such a pathetic hoax of rock stardom.  Or we get what I HATE the most: shoe-staring mannequin fucktards.

It even has its own genre known as shoe-gazing.

"Liam, i just tied the best double knot EVER!"

Shit, I can go to the nearest bodega and watch the local drunk stare at his shoes as he mumbles incoherent ramblings that I guarantee are far more interesting than most musician's lyrics. I don't care if you're Jimi Hendrix; I did not come out of my way for you to ignore me and not acknowledge my efforts, even if you have been dead for over 40 years.  Look at me, dammit.

It is like we walked in on a practice session and the band, unable to get rid of us, is visibly annoyed and uncomfortable.  If you are so put off by people watching you play, hide behind a sheet or a wall.  Better yet, put up a wooden fence and yell at us for being too noisy.  

You're not that important.  You're not that good of a musician.  You think you're better than me?  I hope so because I have a pretty long track record of telling off and intimidating celebrities and musicians. But that's neither here nor there.

We came out to see a show.  We want to see you jumping around and being theatrical.  Ask me how I'm doing tonight.  Ask if anybody's getting laid or if we abused massive amounts of illegal substances.  Dry hump your guitarist and acknowledge the drummer. Something, anything other than forcing us to watch you play as you ignore and bore us to death amidst a flurry of slow moving lights that slowly change color with the occasional laser beam.  I'd almost make it forgivable if you closed out the entire shoe-watching set with, "Hail, Satan, Dark lord.  Drink Blood tonight, New York. Thank you. "

"What about the dancers?" you may ask.  Yes, what about them?  I do believe that you are talking about hip-hop and R & B shows.  We're talking about rock concerts.  But since you brought that up, I'll entertain you.

If you want to see dancing, go check out Alvin Ailey or a strip club.  Same difference, really. At least to me.  Sure the Roots put on a great show of musicianship and are overall entertaining, but that's it.  Where is the experience?   Where's the excitement.  Sure, ?uestlove is one of the best percussionists in human history, but I've seen him walk all around stage and keep the beat.  It was cool, but it would have been a lot cooler if his drumsticks were on fire or if he played angrily atop the heads of his adoring white, middle-class audience.  Kanye West hobbles around black lights and worships himself.  We could only hope he has a stroke mid-song.  Maybe Eminem came the closest to being exciting and dangerous when he came out dripped in blood wielding a chainsaw. But that was short lived because D-12 immediately followed him on stage and continued to parade around with towels and water bottles.

5. I want fury, beer and tits, not philanthropy and cuddles.

Eddie Vedder once wore a Bush mask and lampooned onstage until he tore it off and smashed it with his microphone stand.  And I have forever thought of him as an asshole since then. Not because of his politics.  Fuck it, I don't care about the secret society of rich dudes that are working hard to enslave us with biometrics and economic policy.  I want a release from all that shit.  I want to let go and get lost in the music.  And Vedder ruined that for his entire audience that night.

Alas, Horatio, I knew thee well...oh wait, I'm supposed to be rocking the fuck out...

Music is expression and a connection between artist and audience.  It's intimate.  But how much of a narcissist can one be to assume that I will agree with your views about rain forests and economic policies mid-show? Because I bought a ticket and a shirt?  Don't flatter yourself.  Guys buy a lot of shit and it really has no intrinsic purpose, aside from getting laid. There are no real philosophical or moral alignments made. The same holds true for rock concerts.

Indulge me here. Ask any single guy, honestly, if he's buying dinner for his date because he really feels it's the right thing to do.  While you're at it, ask if he ever laughed at a crappy joke or listened to an inane, pointless story she told about her co-workers because he wanted her to feel good about herself.  OK, you're back? If he said yes, he lied to you and you're probably a chick, his boss, or some strange hybrid of chick boss. Or he suspects you might be a chick.  If he told you, "Hell, no, bro.",  you have an honest friend. 

And I made my point: guys don't get too deep about stuff just because they're spending money.  I don't care if Honda is conservative or liberal just as long as my CR-V operates well and does so for an extended period of time.  I didn't buy it to make a statement about my beliefs or to reinforce those of Honda.

The same holds true for rock concerts.

A snide comment here and there? Fine.  I can live with that.  But entire diatribes and heavy-handed speeches about music piracy (thanks Dave Grohl) or Catholicism/Christianity (Marylin Manson...any fucking surprise?) belong on your DVD or podcast or magazine interview, now.

I don't know about anyone else, but when I rob a bank in order to pay for my concert ticket, I am not doing it with the intentions to hear pseudo-intellectual ramblings from a musician.  When I go the bank, I want financial advice and not suggestions about how to improve my sexual prowess.  You're paid to do a job, so do it and shut the fuck up until the proper opportunity arises.

6. You mean I can get backstage?!?!

Yeah, you can.  It's called the "meet and greet" and it will cost you $350 to watch the band eat fruit and drink sparkling water harvested by the indigenous people of Kerplakistan and imported via fair trade, encased in recycled bottles that are made in a factory who's workers fastidiously save the platypus on their lunch breaks.

Long ago, only the band, the crew, drug dealers, journalists and slutty girls with low moral standing and minimal self-worth were allowed backstage.  It was a magical and exclusive place that was off limits and once held an air of mystery.  Not any more.

Kid, I don't care how much you paid.  You met Paremoire. You shoulda bought crack.

For a hefty ransom, you can meet the band, take a photo, maybe get an autograph, and then get shuffled away.  I'm sure some bands are cooler than others and make more time for fans.  But most people I know that have spread the bread for such an experience told me that it lasted for roughly 15 minutes and the artists are so preoccupied with business, egos and pre-show rituals that it wasn't such a personal experience.

And when you purchase this meet-and-greet experience, pay close attention to the regulations.  You are not guaranteed to meet the band, speak to them, or take pictures.  Your camera can be confiscated and if the band is made to feel uncomfortable for ANY reason by your presence (not the best time to wear your clown outfit and do balloon tricks, I suppose), you will be escorted out with no refund.

So let's see here...$350 for 15 minutes of pleasure?  Sounds a lot like prostitution without the sex (though I am sure the chance of catching an STD, most likely airborne, is just as likely). 

7. Worship me as I stop the show to a grinding halt with extended solos

The concert is trucking along.  The lights, the stage, the excitement?  They're all there.  Then suddenly, the guitar solo you remember from the album begins to change.  One by one, the other musicians stop playing.

You just entered into the concentric circle of hell known as extended solos.

The guitarist will go on and on, playing licks that you'll never be able to play, making you feel more inadequate than you already do.  He writhes around in self-importance for a few minutes more and eventually stops.  But it's too late.  The bassist has caught the fever.  The bassist starts plucking along to let you all know how funky he can get.  And don't leave the drummer out.  He wants to impress you with how fast and rhythmically he can bang on shit.  What started out as a rock concert has now become an ashram, sans the chanting.

This is also the time when the lead singer wants to show you he is not just a pretty voice.  Nope.  He is just as talented as a musician as the rest of the band, or so he thinks.  The singer will pick up a harmonica to show they have a blues degree (Steven Tyler, you big-lipped mook) or maybe start playing the piano in order to get the ladies wet.

Hurray, I was raging in full on rock mode and you killed it.  Perhaps I may have the picture of a puppy that I find particularly cute that you want to torture and maim while you're at it.

No band is really free from this.  I got trapped at an Yngwie Malmsteen show and it was an hour worth of solos.  I know he doesn't really have a singer or lyrics and all of his songs are solos.  But really, an extended solo?  I fucking hate you.

Sure, it's cool for the first 5-10 minutes, but I couldn't take it.  After 20 minutes or so, I got front stage and gave him the finger, yelling my rage at him.  He smirked at me, but his fans went ape shit on me.  You think I pissed on their mom's leg, when all I wanted was to see Twisted Sister for chrissakes.  It turned into a small brawl because I was much angrier and quick to flip back then.,  But that's neither here nor there.

We know you're decent musicians and that you can shred.  We've listened to the albums, we saw the videos.  Enough.  Play some more songs and leave out the solos.  And for God's sake, don't pick up the acoustic for a sentimental number...

8.  You, the fan, have ruined the rock experience

I can only blame the industry and artists for so long. It's time I start blaming you, the concert goer, for this as well.

I'm on the fence about bringing your kids to a concert.   I love going to a KISS or Alice Cooper show and seeing the younger generation singing the songs and dressing like the band.  That's fucking spot-on parenting.  But other parents, not so much.  Your child is not an accessory for you to impress other people into thinking you're cool.  If your kid hates the band, leave them at home.  Better yet, you stay home with them because you are a shitty person for raising a kid that can't appreciate good music and you don't deserve to share the same area of Earth that I occupy.

Top-notch parenting in action.

And don't you dare protest the band or the venue because the show became "objectionable" at some point.  If you were seeing Raffi and he pulled his cock out mid-song, I'd say, sure, you have a case.  But if you are at a Van Halen show and David Lee Roth's crotchety crotch-thrusting is too much for you or your lame child to handle, fuck you.  You should have known better.  After months and years of leaving your child to be raised by an iPad or TV, you suddenly are concerned for what's going into your kid's brain?  You have no right.

And let's be real, when taking your child to such an event, you better be prepared to answer questions about alcohol, marijuana, cleavage, creeps, and vomiting.  That's the price. I knew that when I took my niece to her first concert.  Many questions had to be answered, particularly when the drunk guys behind us got too rowdy, and after several polite requests to calm down went unresolved, I throttled him by the neck.  It was a new life experience for her, positive and negative combined.  And that's what made it a rite of passage.  Now it's an opportunity to sue or protest.

And I want to smash those dickwads who must film the show on their shitty smart phone right in their repugnant faces with the broken armrest of my seat that I managed to wriggle off in pure rage.

Bro, I'm recording you record the guy recording the show. 

Sure, taking pictures are fine, but recording the whole concert?  Doesn't that negate the experience of WATCHING the band perform?  You're missing out on the gig, guy.  And the light on your phone is distracting me from enjoying myself.  And that's the problem. You're messing with other people's experience because you're too much of a fucking idiot to make real memories that don't exist on your phone so you can post them later to your lame-ass friends on whatever social medium you subscribe to.

Choose another planet, Zorg. We'll torch your ass.

And the phones are a testament to how lame we have become.  Instead of lifting our lighters, we lift the lit screens of our phones in a sign of solemn devotion to the band.  Sure, nobody really smokes anymore (and that's a shame in itself),  but we have become too soft as a species to wield fire unless it comes in the form of an electric glow. There's something more powerful and primal when you wave a flame side to side versus that of an Apple product.  Aliens are watching us and laughing at how lame we are. I just know it.

You're also to blame for the high prices.  You're WILLING to pay exorbitant fees for tickets, shirts, and water.  FUCKING WATER!

In closing...

Concerts are not what they once were.  Very far and few in between are the bands that really push the bounds, give you a real show and don't molest your finances.  Between the companies, band egos, and the stupidity of the population, we're doomed in the realm of live entertainment. Soon, it will be The Real Housewives LIVE!, the world tour.  And it will be everyone's fault.  Except me. 

So when you come to an Adios Mafia show, and you see me running around stage, stripping out of my clothes, passing out knives (yes, real knives, but that's neither here nor there) while passing out pornography and yelling at the audience, you'll know where I'm coming from and that the rock n' roll show spirit is dangerously alive and well.

Let me leave you with this...

Welcome to the...cough-cough-wheeze...please kill me and put an end to my life as a rock n' roll couch...

Best regards,

Nick Marv


Nick Marv is lead singer, frontman and rhythm guitarist for the band Adios Mafia.  He wants you to buy their stuff at adiosmafia.bandcamp.com/ so he, too, can become a bloated rockstar and put on lame shows that will disappoint the audience.