Just Another Quiet Sunday Night (Book III--the finale)
For those of you that have trekked this far, you've found yourselves at the beginning of the end of the Metallica journey. This, I promise, will end here.
As I left you last, Godsmack had taken the stage and we took our seats. I looked around the arena to see that the impressive crowd was really into it. Scott and I were too, because the energy was palpable. The sound wasn't so great where we were sitting, but we still got great effect from the stage setup. The stage was indeed on the arena floor, but was not simply a round stage like I'd seen Yes or Rod Stewart perform on. This behemoth was rectangular and took up at least the square footage of a basketball court. Godsmack's four members (Or was it five?--shit, I don't remember or care) each took up positions on one of the four sides of the stage and played to that side of the arena's audience. It was pretty interesting to see them each playing virtually alone instead of side by side. I wondered if that took some getting used to. The lead singer or lead guitar player had enough stage presence to captivate the crowd because, frankly in a band like this, that's where the action is. Every once in a while, they'd all switch sides. But when the poor bass player played to your side of the stage, it was like being at a really hopping party and being cornered by a boring friend-of-a-friend while he/she talked about some sort of work related nonsense, all the while you're looking over their shoulder trying to hear/catch a glimpse of the good times. I think if I was in the pit, I'd probably try to "rock out" more when Mr. Bass was on my side just out of pity.
As for any kind of actual performance related review here, I thought Godsmack was really good. No, seriously. In fact, I would pay to see them again and would hope they were headlining so I could see the full set. I don't know if I'm interested in buying their CDs, but I came in with low expectations and they blew them out of the water. I can see the band reading this (yeah, right!) and high-fiving each other with, "Alright! We impressed the dork in Fresno whose approval we pined after".
I should mention that as we made our way to our seats, we passed by--in our row-- Kimberly, a friend of Scott and Jean. Scott entered the row first and had to say the loud "excuse me"s to the folks already sitting down as we scooted by them, which left me the luxury of checking out the show while he navigated. There was a pause; I only noticed because the guy whose view I was blocking stood up to ask me "what was up". I shrugged to him (a very common loud music response) and looked ahead to see Scott hugging a blonde woman and wondered how I was going to explain this to Jean. But it was Kimberly and we were able to get by to our seats after brief re-introductions.
Back to the rocking-out. We're digging the show just fine when we saw what appeared to be a huge Party Animal looking to negotiate the pass between us and his tribe. He approached and as we stood to let him pass, he greeted us each with vigorous handshakes, the likes you have when a long-lost buddy sees you at the high school reunion. He shifted by us and took his seat with...... Kimberly's party. Scott and I, because of the loud music, leaned into each other and simultaneously yelled, "Who was that?" We each leaned back to acknowledge that we heard each other and then leaned in again to yell, "I don't know, I thought you knew him". We laughed, shrugged and waved down the row to Party Animal, who had been staring at us since he'd taken his seat. He gave us a "thumbs up" and I thumbed him back, thinking "Rock on, Psycho".
After Godsmack's set, we set out to drop off some liquid and pick up some more. We knew we had to be quick, because the signs at each stand stated clearly: NO BEER SALES ONCE METALLICA TAKES THE STAGE. (I wish now that I'd taken one of those signs for the garage poster collection) Once again, getting a beer was no problemo and faithful TONY readers will know why. We ran into Kimberly and Party Animal (who has no other name that I can remember) in the concourse. During the usual, "isn't this cool--these/those guys are great--I saw them last time they came here--" concert talk, we heard that sound again; The Roar.
Upon returning to our seats, I now noticed that the stage looked a little different than before. Godsmack played on a stage that looked a little like a house on moving day. Tarps were covering things. Certain areas were not in use. Now, it looked like a loading dock on a Star Trek series like DS9 or TNG or BLT--whatever. Very uncluttered and open, like some kind of heavy metal sundeck. It also had various trap-doors that the band members could sneak off into. After awhile, I began to see it as some sort of human-scale Habitrail.
Metallica will kill you if you're weak. I think they like this thought. We were way out of reach of any physical harm and I still had my guard up. The pure battery of beats, thumps and hyper-speed guitar riffs could make an unsuspecting person think it was a nuclear bombing duck-and-cover drill. For the first 35 minutes of the show, all Scott and I could say was, "damn".
When you're at a show with about 12,000 others, you have to realize that with that many people, you could populate a small town. And in that town, you'd have neighborhoods. After Metallica had played a few songs, our neighborhood started taking shape. On our left was Kimberly's block. That was a place to party down righteously. We never did get to know the people to the right. I think they were a bit stuck up. Behind us was Shady Rows Retirement Community. They were a bit quiet and were probably just happy that something exciting was happening around their parts. Of course, down in the Valley of the Black, things were happening by the minute and the smart buyer wasn't going down there until the time was right.
We lived in nice place I'd like to call Latecomers Hollow. Those of us who waited to buy tickets ended up with this parcel of land. Decent folk, mostly, who paid fair coin for fair seating with no argument for their procrastination. Right in front of us was a father and son that I watched with amusement as the cub learned to head-bang from the bear, not from direct instruction, but from careful observation. Cute, I suppose, in the way that baby alligators are cute, but with a careful eye knowing what they will grow to become.
Also in our neighborhood were guys seated in front of us. Scott thought it was another father/son, but I was never convinced. The younger of the two rocked hard, head-banging away and flashing the Dio devil-horned salute. You know the one; kind of like the "hang loose" thing, but you put your thumb over your folded middle and third fingers. The other guy was much more reserved, but he had the hair. Man, did he have the hair. Feathered, parted in the middle and reaching down to the middle of his back. I've heard this style described as a Kentucky Waterfall and I wish I'd come up with that. He rocked too, but only nodded approvingly when nudged by his excited younger counterpart.
After ahwile, Scott and I dreamed of greener pastures. We had a great view of an open plot down in the Valley. Not too populated, not too busy and what looked like a quick commute to the pit. What we needed was a way in and a good reference wouldn't do it. What we needed was a wristband.
It turned out that the General Admission ticket holders entered through a seperate entrance and had their tickets examined closely. They received a wristband, not unlike the over-21 wristbands you might get at some venues, which enabled them to get down to the arena floor. I really felt the urge to get down there and we decided we'd try to fake our way on the floor.
At first, we thought we could just walk right down and blend in. But upon arrival to the base of our first stairway, it was an obvious mistake. The guy in front of us was trying to bluff his way onto the floor and was turned away by a very big man that was not interested in this guy's plight, genuine or not. We looked down a few more stairways, only finding men that matched or exceeded the first guard's mass. Not to be denied, we plodded on.
We finally found a stairway that looked like a way in; there was a woman security guard at the bottom. Say what you may, but I saw it as a possible break in the wall. We started down the stairs and Scott waited at the halfway point for my signal. I delved deeper into the stifling air, row by row, until I got to the female in the yellow "STAFF" jacket. She had just dismissed another guy and he headed back up the stairs, but I was not deterred. What follows is a transcript of our exchange as I approached the gate to the arena floor. Keep in mind we are yelling at full tilt so as to hear each other.
Her: Do you have a wristband?
Me: What?
Her: Do you have a wristband?
Me: Ahh, no. But does this get me two? (I show her a folded Twenty)
Her: (smiling) No. You need a wristband.
Me: Oh, c'mon. Look over there (pointing to obvious square footage on floor). It's not like me and my bro are gonna put you over the fire limit.
Her: My supervisor's looking at us right now and you gotta go back upstairs.
Me: Who, that guy? (Pointing at some spot in the distance over her left shoulder) I know that guy (I didn't). Tell you what, I'll go talk to him and straighten him out on the deal, okay?
Her: Uh, no, he's over there (pointing to a spot over her right shoulder) and you really got to get back up those stairs (then pointing over my left shoulder).
With her having called my bluff, I smiled, turned and headed back towards the top the stairway where I was met by Scott. He was smiling and simply said, "No, huh?". I told him that she was a humorless bitch and that we should move on.
We watched more of the show from various lookouts around the arena, all of which were better than our original seats. Once in a while, an usher would send us on our way and we'd find another place to view the show like squatters. At the end of the song "One", there was a series of loud, concussive explosions that actually had me covering my ears for the first time in all my concert going days. It was as if Metallica said, "Okay, you took all we could give you by playing loudly, but can you take this?". I seriously hope nobody suffered any hearing loss from that because it was unexpected and relentless.
I figured that had to be the end of the show and Scott agreed. We called Jean and started to make our way out of the building. Jean picked us up at the freeway offramp and we made a clean getaway with no traffic.
Come to find out, they played three more songs, including Queen's "Stone Cold Crazy", which I would have liked. If you know me at all, you know I never duck out early for any reason. Not work the next morning, not traffic (it's Fresno, c'mon), not nothin'. But for some reason, we felt like we'd seen all that Metallica had to offer and took off. So I blew that one all the way. The bright side is that I did download the show today from the band's website, so we can hear what we missed. Bittersweet, I suppose, but I have no real regrets because we missed what was sure to be a destruction derby in the parking lot after the show.
The lessons I learned that night I will keep with me from now on; $20 don't go as far as it used to, be happy with the seats you paid for and (this one I learned many years ago but somehow forgot that night) it ain't over 'til the house lights come up.
As I left you last, Godsmack had taken the stage and we took our seats. I looked around the arena to see that the impressive crowd was really into it. Scott and I were too, because the energy was palpable. The sound wasn't so great where we were sitting, but we still got great effect from the stage setup. The stage was indeed on the arena floor, but was not simply a round stage like I'd seen Yes or Rod Stewart perform on. This behemoth was rectangular and took up at least the square footage of a basketball court. Godsmack's four members (Or was it five?--shit, I don't remember or care) each took up positions on one of the four sides of the stage and played to that side of the arena's audience. It was pretty interesting to see them each playing virtually alone instead of side by side. I wondered if that took some getting used to. The lead singer or lead guitar player had enough stage presence to captivate the crowd because, frankly in a band like this, that's where the action is. Every once in a while, they'd all switch sides. But when the poor bass player played to your side of the stage, it was like being at a really hopping party and being cornered by a boring friend-of-a-friend while he/she talked about some sort of work related nonsense, all the while you're looking over their shoulder trying to hear/catch a glimpse of the good times. I think if I was in the pit, I'd probably try to "rock out" more when Mr. Bass was on my side just out of pity.
As for any kind of actual performance related review here, I thought Godsmack was really good. No, seriously. In fact, I would pay to see them again and would hope they were headlining so I could see the full set. I don't know if I'm interested in buying their CDs, but I came in with low expectations and they blew them out of the water. I can see the band reading this (yeah, right!) and high-fiving each other with, "Alright! We impressed the dork in Fresno whose approval we pined after".
I should mention that as we made our way to our seats, we passed by--in our row-- Kimberly, a friend of Scott and Jean. Scott entered the row first and had to say the loud "excuse me"s to the folks already sitting down as we scooted by them, which left me the luxury of checking out the show while he navigated. There was a pause; I only noticed because the guy whose view I was blocking stood up to ask me "what was up". I shrugged to him (a very common loud music response) and looked ahead to see Scott hugging a blonde woman and wondered how I was going to explain this to Jean. But it was Kimberly and we were able to get by to our seats after brief re-introductions.
Back to the rocking-out. We're digging the show just fine when we saw what appeared to be a huge Party Animal looking to negotiate the pass between us and his tribe. He approached and as we stood to let him pass, he greeted us each with vigorous handshakes, the likes you have when a long-lost buddy sees you at the high school reunion. He shifted by us and took his seat with...... Kimberly's party. Scott and I, because of the loud music, leaned into each other and simultaneously yelled, "Who was that?" We each leaned back to acknowledge that we heard each other and then leaned in again to yell, "I don't know, I thought you knew him". We laughed, shrugged and waved down the row to Party Animal, who had been staring at us since he'd taken his seat. He gave us a "thumbs up" and I thumbed him back, thinking "Rock on, Psycho".
After Godsmack's set, we set out to drop off some liquid and pick up some more. We knew we had to be quick, because the signs at each stand stated clearly: NO BEER SALES ONCE METALLICA TAKES THE STAGE. (I wish now that I'd taken one of those signs for the garage poster collection) Once again, getting a beer was no problemo and faithful TONY readers will know why. We ran into Kimberly and Party Animal (who has no other name that I can remember) in the concourse. During the usual, "isn't this cool--these/those guys are great--I saw them last time they came here--" concert talk, we heard that sound again; The Roar.
Upon returning to our seats, I now noticed that the stage looked a little different than before. Godsmack played on a stage that looked a little like a house on moving day. Tarps were covering things. Certain areas were not in use. Now, it looked like a loading dock on a Star Trek series like DS9 or TNG or BLT--whatever. Very uncluttered and open, like some kind of heavy metal sundeck. It also had various trap-doors that the band members could sneak off into. After awhile, I began to see it as some sort of human-scale Habitrail.
Metallica will kill you if you're weak. I think they like this thought. We were way out of reach of any physical harm and I still had my guard up. The pure battery of beats, thumps and hyper-speed guitar riffs could make an unsuspecting person think it was a nuclear bombing duck-and-cover drill. For the first 35 minutes of the show, all Scott and I could say was, "damn".
When you're at a show with about 12,000 others, you have to realize that with that many people, you could populate a small town. And in that town, you'd have neighborhoods. After Metallica had played a few songs, our neighborhood started taking shape. On our left was Kimberly's block. That was a place to party down righteously. We never did get to know the people to the right. I think they were a bit stuck up. Behind us was Shady Rows Retirement Community. They were a bit quiet and were probably just happy that something exciting was happening around their parts. Of course, down in the Valley of the Black, things were happening by the minute and the smart buyer wasn't going down there until the time was right.
We lived in nice place I'd like to call Latecomers Hollow. Those of us who waited to buy tickets ended up with this parcel of land. Decent folk, mostly, who paid fair coin for fair seating with no argument for their procrastination. Right in front of us was a father and son that I watched with amusement as the cub learned to head-bang from the bear, not from direct instruction, but from careful observation. Cute, I suppose, in the way that baby alligators are cute, but with a careful eye knowing what they will grow to become.
Also in our neighborhood were guys seated in front of us. Scott thought it was another father/son, but I was never convinced. The younger of the two rocked hard, head-banging away and flashing the Dio devil-horned salute. You know the one; kind of like the "hang loose" thing, but you put your thumb over your folded middle and third fingers. The other guy was much more reserved, but he had the hair. Man, did he have the hair. Feathered, parted in the middle and reaching down to the middle of his back. I've heard this style described as a Kentucky Waterfall and I wish I'd come up with that. He rocked too, but only nodded approvingly when nudged by his excited younger counterpart.
After ahwile, Scott and I dreamed of greener pastures. We had a great view of an open plot down in the Valley. Not too populated, not too busy and what looked like a quick commute to the pit. What we needed was a way in and a good reference wouldn't do it. What we needed was a wristband.
It turned out that the General Admission ticket holders entered through a seperate entrance and had their tickets examined closely. They received a wristband, not unlike the over-21 wristbands you might get at some venues, which enabled them to get down to the arena floor. I really felt the urge to get down there and we decided we'd try to fake our way on the floor.
At first, we thought we could just walk right down and blend in. But upon arrival to the base of our first stairway, it was an obvious mistake. The guy in front of us was trying to bluff his way onto the floor and was turned away by a very big man that was not interested in this guy's plight, genuine or not. We looked down a few more stairways, only finding men that matched or exceeded the first guard's mass. Not to be denied, we plodded on.
We finally found a stairway that looked like a way in; there was a woman security guard at the bottom. Say what you may, but I saw it as a possible break in the wall. We started down the stairs and Scott waited at the halfway point for my signal. I delved deeper into the stifling air, row by row, until I got to the female in the yellow "STAFF" jacket. She had just dismissed another guy and he headed back up the stairs, but I was not deterred. What follows is a transcript of our exchange as I approached the gate to the arena floor. Keep in mind we are yelling at full tilt so as to hear each other.
Her: Do you have a wristband?
Me: What?
Her: Do you have a wristband?
Me: Ahh, no. But does this get me two? (I show her a folded Twenty)
Her: (smiling) No. You need a wristband.
Me: Oh, c'mon. Look over there (pointing to obvious square footage on floor). It's not like me and my bro are gonna put you over the fire limit.
Her: My supervisor's looking at us right now and you gotta go back upstairs.
Me: Who, that guy? (Pointing at some spot in the distance over her left shoulder) I know that guy (I didn't). Tell you what, I'll go talk to him and straighten him out on the deal, okay?
Her: Uh, no, he's over there (pointing to a spot over her right shoulder) and you really got to get back up those stairs (then pointing over my left shoulder).
With her having called my bluff, I smiled, turned and headed back towards the top the stairway where I was met by Scott. He was smiling and simply said, "No, huh?". I told him that she was a humorless bitch and that we should move on.
We watched more of the show from various lookouts around the arena, all of which were better than our original seats. Once in a while, an usher would send us on our way and we'd find another place to view the show like squatters. At the end of the song "One", there was a series of loud, concussive explosions that actually had me covering my ears for the first time in all my concert going days. It was as if Metallica said, "Okay, you took all we could give you by playing loudly, but can you take this?". I seriously hope nobody suffered any hearing loss from that because it was unexpected and relentless.
I figured that had to be the end of the show and Scott agreed. We called Jean and started to make our way out of the building. Jean picked us up at the freeway offramp and we made a clean getaway with no traffic.
Come to find out, they played three more songs, including Queen's "Stone Cold Crazy", which I would have liked. If you know me at all, you know I never duck out early for any reason. Not work the next morning, not traffic (it's Fresno, c'mon), not nothin'. But for some reason, we felt like we'd seen all that Metallica had to offer and took off. So I blew that one all the way. The bright side is that I did download the show today from the band's website, so we can hear what we missed. Bittersweet, I suppose, but I have no real regrets because we missed what was sure to be a destruction derby in the parking lot after the show.
The lessons I learned that night I will keep with me from now on; $20 don't go as far as it used to, be happy with the seats you paid for and (this one I learned many years ago but somehow forgot that night) it ain't over 'til the house lights come up.
posted by Tony at 8:58 PM
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