Monday, July 10, 2006
Enjoying music and stealing souls
I just returned from an entertaining, yet frustrating evening at Myth in Maplewood tonight. The lineup was The Hush Sound, Dresden Dolls, and the headliner was Panic at the Disco (and I'm aware they spell it "Panic!" with the exclamation point, but I'd rather waste more time explaining why I'm not spelling it that way than fuck around actually spelling it that way). As I mentioned earlier, I went primarily for the Dresden Dolls, but also enjoy some of Panic's music. Unfortunately, this was an 18+ show, and a lot of chatty little teen princesses and preppy dipshits love Panic's music far more than I do. The Dolls' fans tend to be a little older or at least with more of an appreciation for angst than what's on sale at Ambercrombie and Fitch
I had never attended a concert at Myth before, as it's a relatively new venue in the Twin Cities area. I believe it's the first major concert venue in suburbia (or at least the first new one in quite some time), far flung from the hallowed halls of First Avenue & 7th St Entry or arenas like the Target Center. It is literally across the street from a shopping mall. My first impression was that it is much larger than I expected. The parking seemed inadequate given the capacity of the facility and the size of the crowd that was lined up around the building, through the parking lot, and down the street that ran past the mall.
As my friend Mary and I stood near the cordoned off area where the tour buses were pulled up to the building, a guy who looked like a skinnier version of Chris Cornell emerged and began asking people in the crowd if they new where the nearest movie theater was. He asked the same question to Mary, and as she explained to him that we didn't know this area very well, it dawned on me that I always drive by the 17 screen theater in White Bear Lake whenever I drive to or from Duluth (usually that's the only time I ever drive to suburbs that far to the north). I mentioned that to him, then Mary remembered the one in Oakdale. He asked if anything was closer, quipping that they couldn't drive the tour bus to the theater. Prior to this, I had it in my head he was a roadie, but after that remark, it dawned on me that he was far too delicate and fancy of a lad to lug around heavy speakers and sound equipment. He must be a performer, but I didn't recognize him.
Mary whipped out her new phone with high-speed internet access (I have internet on my phone, but it's marginally faster than dialup--my shit is so 2005, ya'll) and began searching for nearby theaters. Meanwhile, I made small talk with Chris Cornell's amiable and delicate doppelganger. He asked if I was familiar with all of the bands playing, and I explained how I'd originally bought the ticket for the Dresden Dolls, had heard a few Panic songs and dug them, and was not aware there was a third band. He said that the third band was The Hush Sound, who I'd heard of, but had never actually heard.
It was about this time that a bouncy teen girl behind us giddily suggested that he get her and her friend in backstage since it was her friend's birthday. He smiled, said he couldn't do that, but perhaps he'd try to somehow say hello onstage. At this point I asked him directly which band he was with (I didn't know what anyone from Hush or Panic looked like), and he said he was here with Panic as a dancer and had appeared in one of their videos (I suspect it's this one). Now it all made sense. His wiry build, the fact that he'd be onstage, yet he wasn't being mobbed by adoring fans. Click!
By that time, Mary had found a discount theater just down the road showing slightly older movies like Mission Impossible 3. He seemed quite happy with this since they'd been on the road for quite some time and hadn't had a chance to see some of the movies listed. He thanked us, and thus ended our brush with a guy who isn't a star but does stuff on a stage that stars are on. My postcard to Mom is in the mail.
Finally the doors opened, and we slowly made our way. Inside, Myth reminds me of a larger version of the Quest in Minneapolis. Granted, the Quest does not have semi-private VIP lounges with balconies overlooking the stage, but both a second floor bar area with an excellent view of the stage. The Quest, however, usually limits access to the second floor to 21+, serving booze there while keeping the main floor dry. It undoubtedly makes it far easier to limit underage drinking.
Once past security, we made a beeline upstairs to get away from the throbbing throng. All of the spots along the rail were taken, but we found a pair of very short girls standing nearly dead center to the stage and settled in behind them. Maybe 20 to 30 minutes later, several more of their friends arrived and wedged their way in front of us. I found this annoying (me, annoyed? try to hide your shock), but they were also on the short side so fine, whatever.
The Hush Sound came out first, did about 30 minutes of very catchy, upbeat songs, and skeddadled offstage to make room for the Dresden Dolls. The Dolls opened with the frantic "Moonlight Madness" from their latest CD at which point the girls who had wedged their way in front of us began yakking loudly, quite obviously disinterested in the Dolls. Mary is not a shy person, to say the least, and ordered them to quit their yammering or go somewhere else. They then shifted the conversation to the two ditzs nearest me, at which point I snapped at them to zip it. One made a half-hearted comment under their breaths about "being allowed to talk" but they fell mostly silent...for the time being.
After the first tune, the Dolls launched into probably their most well-known song, "Coin-Operated Boy," delighting the crowd with their usual on-stage replacement of the line, "I can even take him in the bath" with "I can even fuck him in the ass." Then waves of irony pulsed from the stage as the singer from Panic came out and helped them do a cover of (I can't make this up) Britney Spears' "Hit Me Baby One More Time." Evidently this is not the first time they've covered that song (portions of the linked video are NOT work safe).
This was followed by a cover of an obscure European songwriter from the 60's and an ill-advised Leonard Cohen cover that really started to lose the crowd. It was at this point that one of the airheads I'd previously barked at began yelling a conversation to her friend about 6 feet away from her. I gave them about a minute before saying something to the effect of, "Excuse me, but would you shut up??" Six-feet-away girl then loudly says to one of her friends, "Is this guy serious? He just told me to shutup!"
Blonde ditz girl struggles with a response for several moments, then turns to me and says, "I don't know what your problem is, but you have to accept that this is a social function and people are going to have conversations." A SOCIAL FUNCTION? Let's see. Looking at my ticket stub, it distinctly reads "Concert." Not a box social, ice cream social, or mixer. A concert. Where people come to listen to artists performing music on stage. Yes, concerts are loud, and people will be making comments to each other or yelling at a late-arriving friend to guide them over. But this conversation had narrative, characters, a climax and if I didn't stop the train in time, there would even be a denouement. Fuck if I was going to let there be a denouement!
"We're just talking!!!"
"Then go fucking talk somewhere else! I paid to hear the music, not you yelling 6 inches from my ear."
Then she thought she'd get personal, assuming Mary and I were "together" and said, "I'm sorry if you're having a shitty date, but don't take it out on us." I'm not even sure what that was supposed to mean.
"Who said I was on a date?"
She glared at me, intending to stare me down.
Side note and word to the wise, attempting to stare me down is like trying to stop a 747 with a Lincoln Log and a Coke can. I have a cold, dead stare that will drill a hole to the back of your skull. You will watch care and emotion drain from my visage and wonder if I have a soul, then realize that indeed I do--yours.
At a loss for further argument, she turned around and neither she nor her friends said anything above a whisper for the rest of the set.
Thankfully, this confrontation concluded before the end of the meandering Cohen cover, and I didn't feel I had really missed out on anything. But now we've had three cover songs, two of which no one has ever heard. Can we get back to YOUR stuff please? Hearing my telepathic request, they announced they would play "Half Jack," one of my favorites. They started with an improvised drum-heavy intro that must have gone on for 5, maybe even 10 minutes. Brian, the drummer, banged away so frantically that he broke 3 sticks. Impressive and fun to watch for a while, but they milked the intro to the point you could imagine the crowd collectively checking their watches. Finally, they moved forward, nailed it, and left the stage. I was disappointed they didn't play more of their own stuff, but happy with those they did play.
By this time, Mary and I were so hot, sweaty, and tired of being surrounded by the N'Sync teenybopper set that we decided to bolt. I seriously contemplated staying for the first two Panic songs and yammering with Mary about Home Depot and Bed Bath and Beyond as close as possible to the girls in front of us, but decided it wasn't worth standing there while they set the stage up. We stopped by Taco Bell for a quick bite on the way home, but I kept my order pretty small. I'd already feasted on the soul of a chatty blonde and was coming down with oral diarrhea. I knew I was going to be up all night with that shit.
I had never attended a concert at Myth before, as it's a relatively new venue in the Twin Cities area. I believe it's the first major concert venue in suburbia (or at least the first new one in quite some time), far flung from the hallowed halls of First Avenue & 7th St Entry or arenas like the Target Center. It is literally across the street from a shopping mall. My first impression was that it is much larger than I expected. The parking seemed inadequate given the capacity of the facility and the size of the crowd that was lined up around the building, through the parking lot, and down the street that ran past the mall.
As my friend Mary and I stood near the cordoned off area where the tour buses were pulled up to the building, a guy who looked like a skinnier version of Chris Cornell emerged and began asking people in the crowd if they new where the nearest movie theater was. He asked the same question to Mary, and as she explained to him that we didn't know this area very well, it dawned on me that I always drive by the 17 screen theater in White Bear Lake whenever I drive to or from Duluth (usually that's the only time I ever drive to suburbs that far to the north). I mentioned that to him, then Mary remembered the one in Oakdale. He asked if anything was closer, quipping that they couldn't drive the tour bus to the theater. Prior to this, I had it in my head he was a roadie, but after that remark, it dawned on me that he was far too delicate and fancy of a lad to lug around heavy speakers and sound equipment. He must be a performer, but I didn't recognize him.
Mary whipped out her new phone with high-speed internet access (I have internet on my phone, but it's marginally faster than dialup--my shit is so 2005, ya'll) and began searching for nearby theaters. Meanwhile, I made small talk with Chris Cornell's amiable and delicate doppelganger. He asked if I was familiar with all of the bands playing, and I explained how I'd originally bought the ticket for the Dresden Dolls, had heard a few Panic songs and dug them, and was not aware there was a third band. He said that the third band was The Hush Sound, who I'd heard of, but had never actually heard.
It was about this time that a bouncy teen girl behind us giddily suggested that he get her and her friend in backstage since it was her friend's birthday. He smiled, said he couldn't do that, but perhaps he'd try to somehow say hello onstage. At this point I asked him directly which band he was with (I didn't know what anyone from Hush or Panic looked like), and he said he was here with Panic as a dancer and had appeared in one of their videos (I suspect it's this one). Now it all made sense. His wiry build, the fact that he'd be onstage, yet he wasn't being mobbed by adoring fans. Click!
By that time, Mary had found a discount theater just down the road showing slightly older movies like Mission Impossible 3. He seemed quite happy with this since they'd been on the road for quite some time and hadn't had a chance to see some of the movies listed. He thanked us, and thus ended our brush with a guy who isn't a star but does stuff on a stage that stars are on. My postcard to Mom is in the mail.
Finally the doors opened, and we slowly made our way. Inside, Myth reminds me of a larger version of the Quest in Minneapolis. Granted, the Quest does not have semi-private VIP lounges with balconies overlooking the stage, but both a second floor bar area with an excellent view of the stage. The Quest, however, usually limits access to the second floor to 21+, serving booze there while keeping the main floor dry. It undoubtedly makes it far easier to limit underage drinking.
Once past security, we made a beeline upstairs to get away from the throbbing throng. All of the spots along the rail were taken, but we found a pair of very short girls standing nearly dead center to the stage and settled in behind them. Maybe 20 to 30 minutes later, several more of their friends arrived and wedged their way in front of us. I found this annoying (me, annoyed? try to hide your shock), but they were also on the short side so fine, whatever.
The Hush Sound came out first, did about 30 minutes of very catchy, upbeat songs, and skeddadled offstage to make room for the Dresden Dolls. The Dolls opened with the frantic "Moonlight Madness" from their latest CD at which point the girls who had wedged their way in front of us began yakking loudly, quite obviously disinterested in the Dolls. Mary is not a shy person, to say the least, and ordered them to quit their yammering or go somewhere else. They then shifted the conversation to the two ditzs nearest me, at which point I snapped at them to zip it. One made a half-hearted comment under their breaths about "being allowed to talk" but they fell mostly silent...for the time being.
After the first tune, the Dolls launched into probably their most well-known song, "Coin-Operated Boy," delighting the crowd with their usual on-stage replacement of the line, "I can even take him in the bath" with "I can even fuck him in the ass." Then waves of irony pulsed from the stage as the singer from Panic came out and helped them do a cover of (I can't make this up) Britney Spears' "Hit Me Baby One More Time." Evidently this is not the first time they've covered that song (portions of the linked video are NOT work safe).
This was followed by a cover of an obscure European songwriter from the 60's and an ill-advised Leonard Cohen cover that really started to lose the crowd. It was at this point that one of the airheads I'd previously barked at began yelling a conversation to her friend about 6 feet away from her. I gave them about a minute before saying something to the effect of, "Excuse me, but would you shut up??" Six-feet-away girl then loudly says to one of her friends, "Is this guy serious? He just told me to shutup!"
Blonde ditz girl struggles with a response for several moments, then turns to me and says, "I don't know what your problem is, but you have to accept that this is a social function and people are going to have conversations." A SOCIAL FUNCTION? Let's see. Looking at my ticket stub, it distinctly reads "Concert." Not a box social, ice cream social, or mixer. A concert. Where people come to listen to artists performing music on stage. Yes, concerts are loud, and people will be making comments to each other or yelling at a late-arriving friend to guide them over. But this conversation had narrative, characters, a climax and if I didn't stop the train in time, there would even be a denouement. Fuck if I was going to let there be a denouement!
"We're just talking!!!"
"Then go fucking talk somewhere else! I paid to hear the music, not you yelling 6 inches from my ear."
Then she thought she'd get personal, assuming Mary and I were "together" and said, "I'm sorry if you're having a shitty date, but don't take it out on us." I'm not even sure what that was supposed to mean.
"Who said I was on a date?"
She glared at me, intending to stare me down.
Side note and word to the wise, attempting to stare me down is like trying to stop a 747 with a Lincoln Log and a Coke can. I have a cold, dead stare that will drill a hole to the back of your skull. You will watch care and emotion drain from my visage and wonder if I have a soul, then realize that indeed I do--yours.
At a loss for further argument, she turned around and neither she nor her friends said anything above a whisper for the rest of the set.
Thankfully, this confrontation concluded before the end of the meandering Cohen cover, and I didn't feel I had really missed out on anything. But now we've had three cover songs, two of which no one has ever heard. Can we get back to YOUR stuff please? Hearing my telepathic request, they announced they would play "Half Jack," one of my favorites. They started with an improvised drum-heavy intro that must have gone on for 5, maybe even 10 minutes. Brian, the drummer, banged away so frantically that he broke 3 sticks. Impressive and fun to watch for a while, but they milked the intro to the point you could imagine the crowd collectively checking their watches. Finally, they moved forward, nailed it, and left the stage. I was disappointed they didn't play more of their own stuff, but happy with those they did play.
By this time, Mary and I were so hot, sweaty, and tired of being surrounded by the N'Sync teenybopper set that we decided to bolt. I seriously contemplated staying for the first two Panic songs and yammering with Mary about Home Depot and Bed Bath and Beyond as close as possible to the girls in front of us, but decided it wasn't worth standing there while they set the stage up. We stopped by Taco Bell for a quick bite on the way home, but I kept my order pretty small. I'd already feasted on the soul of a chatty blonde and was coming down with oral diarrhea. I knew I was going to be up all night with that shit.
You're not so tough.
Nope--I'm not tough at all. I consider myself to be a very nice guy. But I have zero tolerance for rude assholes with little consideration for people other than themselves.
But I could stare down Conan O'Brien if I had to. Midgets showering under a draining trumpet spit tube be damned!
Reminds me of a time when some friends, coworkers and I went to go see Big Boi at First Ave. 2 of my coworkers (about age 39 at the time)were totally minding their own business when a group of little frat boys and sorority sluts started shoving them and saying "You have no business being here! What are you?! 35?!". On a lighter note I lurves me the Dolls and I am starting to get into Panic! too. I'm sooo jealous. I miss out on all the good shows these days.
I definitely felt out of place at this show. My first such post-30 experience, and I'm sure not my last. So are you missing out on shows due to time? Money? Both? At least catch some good local bands for a couple hours of your time and $6.
It was money. Now it's just time.