Thumbs Down on Big Shows

I'm officially sick of going to big shows. The last one I hit was Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers outside Buffalo, where I grew up and my brother still lives. We did the requisite Buffalo thing -- tailgating in the rain, talking sports, drinking Labbatt Blue and mocking eachother. I brought a few cans of Boddingtons and looked all exotic 'n' shit. Our buddies brought their bean bag toss game and a giant beer pong table painted to look like the Buffalo Bills field at Rich Stadium. Clearly an intellectual crowd.

The parking area was a mob scene of glassy eyed college kids, intent on getting hammered before the show. Crawling lines for the port-o-potties were dominated with talk of last year's Petty show, and debates over whether or not chicks should go over and slap the asses of guys pissing in the bushes. I convinced one girl in front of me to slap a guy's ass. "C'mon, while his friends are watching!" General lamenting that women can't just whip it out and pee abounded.



The show was a sold-out mob scene. Petty started off with "You Wreck Me," to which my brother and his girlfriend began screaming along. I came to hear Petty, so moved down near the gate blocking off our section and stood there for a lot of the show. A wasted kid at least 10 years younger tried to talk a good game. I got reprimanded by a security guard for lighting up a smoke. The usual.

Petty and the gang seemed measly way up there on a stage that seemed miles away despite the fact we paid over $100 for the tix. Obnoxious garishly-colored graphics pumped across digital screens above the stage. They certainly didn't fit my mind's image of Petty. Before the show had even started people were puking up the day's diet of hops and barley. The lady in front of us got it all over her purse.

Give me the Charleston's dank Brooklyn basement -- where I saw and heard one of my recent faves, The Pets, rockin' 3 feet in front of me -- any day. (Their new LP is awesome, by the way).