The Worst Concert I Ever Attended

Ann and I don't get to concerts much anymore, what with the spawn and dear God the economy and just generally being old as dirt, but up until a couple of years ago we used to go to one every few months, often as birthday gifts to each other. For quite some time I'd been telling Ann that there were two bands I hadn't seen in concert that I'd really like to, Green Day and Counting Crows. (Shut it, you listened to August and Everything After just as much as the rest of us.) Anyway, one year Ann told me she'd gotten tickets for us to a Goo Goo Dolls/Counting Crows show. Man, I was stoked. I can take or leave the Dolls and I'm not a fan of CC's entire repetoire, but I really like their fast songs, "Einstein on a Beach" and "A Murder of One" and like that, and pretty much anything from August is money. Ergo, excitement.

So the day of the concert finally arrived and we settled into our seats, ready to rock like it's 1995. And I give them a lot of credit- like I said, I wasn't as excited for the Goo Goo Dolls, but they really put on a great show. Lots of energy, they genuinely seemed to want to be there and did a nice job of pumping up the audience, and they played a lot of their greatest hits. No complaints there. In fact, after they finished, I was even more excited for what was undoubtedly going to be a Counting Crows set that would blow my Generation Y mind.

And finally, finally the Crows walked out onto the stage. Adam Duritz picked up the microphone and promptly informed all us concertgoers that they were sorry for being late, but a very good friend of theirs died yesterday. Well. That sucks. I remember feeling sympathetic and wondering if they were going to cancel the show. No, in fact; what Adam went on to slur in a 110% stoned voice was that, in their friend's memory, they were going to have a night of beautiful, beautiful music, to honor him, man.

Well, damn. Now I know Counting Crows are kind of a hippie band; I know that songs like "December" and "Perfect Blue Buildings" could double as funeral dirges in some countries. I was kind of hoping we'd get more of the upbeat peppy songs than emo ones, or at least an even split, but okay, fine... I can deal with some of their slower songs. That could work.

Uh-uh. Nope. Believe me when I tell you that what followed was the most mournful, depressing, slit-your-wrists-at-the-snack-bar music you've ever heard in your life. If you can imagine the Smiths, stoned and in mourning for murdered kittens, you've just about got it. Every single song began low and got lower, and even the short ones were so long it felt like a Phish concert. How on earth do you turn "Mrs. Potter's Lullaby" into a requiem? Somehow they managed it. After about 30 minutes (read: four songs), Ann looked at me and hesitantly asked, "Uh, do you... do you want to stay? I mean, we can if you want to, I know you were looking forward to this..." I remember answering back, just as uncertainly, "Well, let's... let's give it another couple of songs, maybe they'll pick up energy as they go and play some faster stuff." You will not necessarily be shocked when I tell you that this spectacularly failed to happen. We walked out of there when their set couldn't have been more than half over, and I've never regretted that decision for an instant. I'm sure there was someone sitting in that stadium who really dug it, who couldn't get enough of that music to cut yourself by, but brother, he wasn't me.

So that's the story of the worst concert I ever attended. I've been to concerts where I've had beer spilled on me, I've been to concerts where I've seen people thrown out by security, I've been to a concert where I couldn't stop sneezing because I'm allergic to horses and my girlfriend forgot she'd last worn her jacket while working in a stable. (Really.) Shit, I've even been to a Kelly Clarkson concert (not my idea), and at least there the opening act was a band I liked. But I tell you now, not one of them was as disappointing as that Counting Crows set. I'm sorry their friend died, I really am... but if you're not able to temporarily put your grief aside -- and I don't blame you if you aren't -- then you've gotta cancel the show and refund everyone's money. Don't subject people to... that. It's not like we killed him.

It came out HOW long ago?

If you want to feel old (and who doesn't?), I have some advice for you: get satellite radio. Just recently, at about the same time they merged with Sirius, my XM radio's display screen changed so that it scrolls the song title across, same as it always did, but now with the year the song was released right after it. That's simultaneously very informative and extremely depressing, because if you think too hard about it, it reminds you of just how long ago the song was released. As an example: a few weeks ago Ann and I were driving home from work when a song came on the 90s station. I think it was "The Sign" by Ace of Base, but it's not important; what is important is that the year listed was 1993. And actually, even that didn't bother us because, you know, 1993 wasn't that long ago, right? Right, except... then one of us, I forget which, happened to mention that in fact it was sixteen years ago. And that was sobering.

Why's that, you ask? Well, because "The Sign" came out a while back, sure, but it wasn't TOO long ago. I remember listening to it on the radio when it first came out, for God's sake. Whereas if that lying bastard radio were to be believed, it would suggest that for our daughter Molly, "The Sign" and any other song from 1993 will be as much an oldie as songs released in 1964 were for me. Nineteen sixty-effing-four! The Beatles made their first appearance on Ed Sullivan in 1964! (Yes, I had to look that up.) The Rolling Stones released their very first album in 1964! Sixteen years is bleeping forever ago, whereas "The Sign" is, you know, just a shade on the dated side. I absolutely refuse to believe that the time between the Beatles' debut and my birth is the same as the amount of time between songs from 1993 and my daughter's birth. No way.

So that's why satellite radio is evil. And the next time someone tells you "Cherub Rock" came out sixteen years ago, remember that what they actually meant to say is that it came out in 1993, which really wasn't that long ago. Trust me, you'll feel a lot better.