I love music, but concerts have never really appealed to me. I still have trouble not growling at people when they walk past me in the street, and you want me to stand amidst a crowd of the shuffling flesh sacks? I'm so antisocial I've written to the council on numerous occasions complaining about the narrowness of the pavements in my hometown allowing for only around six inches of personal space whenever I pass an inferior individual. Or at least I would have if I wasn't lying for the sake of a joke.
Oh! Here's one! I'm so antisocial I issue eviction notices to the bacteria in my stomach. There, just the right amount of absurd and believable.
Anyway, I recently forced myself to purchase some concert tickets to see one of my favourite bands, "Clutch", in Glasgow. Clutch are a stoner rock/blues rock band with, what I can only assume is, a Norse god for a front man. Neil Fallon was, I presume, born around 8000 years ago in a union between Odin and a lightning scarred mountain. His lyrics are a form of celestial poetry, his dance moves are "funkadelic" and he has a voice that would give the sound of Mjolnir violently contacting the Hulk's jaw a run for it's money. So of course I had to go. Who would forfeit the chance to absorb some of that power? I certainly wouldn't. In fact I didn't, which is why I'm writing this now.
It's not actually my first concert. It's actually my second, counting the one I attended with my parents and brother (also in Glasgow) to see the adult contemporary titans that are "Toto". I wasn't the biggest fan of their recent album but, really, I'm pretty certain most people in the audience were just trying to mentally process Steve Lukather's Hawaiian shirt. Well, that and wondering when they were going to play "Africa". It was a good show nonetheless.
But this gig was my first in a standing crowd. And the first with a series of supporting acts. I had known of this practice before hand. Basically bands such as Clutch will generously choose lesser bands to come and gain strength and sustenance from their fan base, what with them not having any yet. It's a bit like a male lion offering a younger lion the chance to rut with one of his females because none of the lionesses think he's experienced enough to provide for them yet and plus he's always been a bit of a twat around women so the older one thought it would straighten the boy out.
As far as I can tell this seems to result in a fairly patchy crowd gawping up at the musical fetuses on stage and trying to process songs that they've never heard before. Once a song is done a few people clap and the lead singer swans around as if he's been bathed with a tidal wave of panties, just like he dreamed when he was a teenager, two years ago. The first band had a kind of ego-stroking "Scott Weiland" air about them; the lead singer staring blankly down the mic as if he were too cool for emotions, and the lead guitarist spending the whole time with his hood up because looking like a serial killing NED is a thing nowadays. They were okay. Only other thing I could say is that they had the word "Tijuana" in their band name, and I spent most of my time after noticing that wondering if they had ever actually been to Tijuana or if they just decided to make it part of their name because it sounds authentically western and bluesy.
Next act up was a Doom Metal/Screamo sort of act who's front man had more personality but did the thing that all front men think is cool to do. Taunt the audience until their cheers of satisfaction are at the precise decibel level he was hoping for.
FRONT MAN: HELLO GLASGOW! ARE YOU READY?!
AUDIENCE: Why, yes we are ready. We bought the tickets, we showed up on time. I think it's quite safe to say that we are indeed ready, yes.
FRONT MAN: I CAN'T HEAR YOU! I SAID... ARE... YOU... READYYYYY!?
AUDIENCE: Well, yes, as I stated before, we are ready. Please continue with your particular brand of "rocking" and I'm sure we will all be suitably satisfie....
FRONT MAN: WHAT ARE YOU, A BUNCHA PUSSIES!? ARE... YOU... READYYYYYY!?
AUDIENCE: I am starting to become irritated by your insistence upon asking the same question over and over again. I am also concerned by your apparent hearing problems. Perhaps you have been standing too close to your amp this whole time my dear boy. It's a common proble....
FRONT MAN: GODDAMN IT I NEED TO KNOW! ARRRREEEE... YOOOUUUU... REEEAAAADYYYYY!?
AUDIENCE: Fuck off.
They got tiring very quickly. Their set list took up a good portion of the night and it largely comprised of vaguely rhythmic noise. I had to check my ears every now and then for blood.
Then Clutch came on and whilst I enjoy every second of their presence I often had to look round to keep an eye out on the mosh pit that seemed to gradually move around the floor like a geriatric great white. Not even sure what the appeal of those are anyway. You walk in, sustain massive bruising, then leave. I see little in the way of positive gain here. Next time I go to one of these things I'm going to take a bucket of mini whiskeys and chuck them to lure the pit away from me.
Oh and by the way; the crowd control workers don't want your shirtless drunkards. Stop passing them over the barriers like a misplaced corpse. Their parents clearly didn't want them, so why would they? You keep them.
Not entirely sure where I was going with any of this. I just wanted to complain needlessly. But then, isn't that what a blog is for?
As far as I can tell this seems to result in a fairly patchy crowd gawping up at the musical fetuses on stage and trying to process songs that they've never heard before. Once a song is done a few people clap and the lead singer swans around as if he's been bathed with a tidal wave of panties, just like he dreamed when he was a teenager, two years ago. The first band had a kind of ego-stroking "Scott Weiland" air about them; the lead singer staring blankly down the mic as if he were too cool for emotions, and the lead guitarist spending the whole time with his hood up because looking like a serial killing NED is a thing nowadays. They were okay. Only other thing I could say is that they had the word "Tijuana" in their band name, and I spent most of my time after noticing that wondering if they had ever actually been to Tijuana or if they just decided to make it part of their name because it sounds authentically western and bluesy.
Next act up was a Doom Metal/Screamo sort of act who's front man had more personality but did the thing that all front men think is cool to do. Taunt the audience until their cheers of satisfaction are at the precise decibel level he was hoping for.
FRONT MAN: HELLO GLASGOW! ARE YOU READY?!
AUDIENCE: Why, yes we are ready. We bought the tickets, we showed up on time. I think it's quite safe to say that we are indeed ready, yes.
FRONT MAN: I CAN'T HEAR YOU! I SAID... ARE... YOU... READYYYYY!?
AUDIENCE: Well, yes, as I stated before, we are ready. Please continue with your particular brand of "rocking" and I'm sure we will all be suitably satisfie....
FRONT MAN: WHAT ARE YOU, A BUNCHA PUSSIES!? ARE... YOU... READYYYYYY!?
AUDIENCE: I am starting to become irritated by your insistence upon asking the same question over and over again. I am also concerned by your apparent hearing problems. Perhaps you have been standing too close to your amp this whole time my dear boy. It's a common proble....
FRONT MAN: GODDAMN IT I NEED TO KNOW! ARRRREEEE... YOOOUUUU... REEEAAAADYYYYY!?
AUDIENCE: Fuck off.
They got tiring very quickly. Their set list took up a good portion of the night and it largely comprised of vaguely rhythmic noise. I had to check my ears every now and then for blood.
Then Clutch came on and whilst I enjoy every second of their presence I often had to look round to keep an eye out on the mosh pit that seemed to gradually move around the floor like a geriatric great white. Not even sure what the appeal of those are anyway. You walk in, sustain massive bruising, then leave. I see little in the way of positive gain here. Next time I go to one of these things I'm going to take a bucket of mini whiskeys and chuck them to lure the pit away from me.
Oh and by the way; the crowd control workers don't want your shirtless drunkards. Stop passing them over the barriers like a misplaced corpse. Their parents clearly didn't want them, so why would they? You keep them.
Not entirely sure where I was going with any of this. I just wanted to complain needlessly. But then, isn't that what a blog is for?
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