Being a Captive Audience

Well.

When I was younger I didn't go to a single musical event.  Friends went to concerts, but I didn't have the money or the parents that would allow me to go see Aerosmith, The Doobie Brothers, Fleetwood Mac or any of the high-powered bands that provided the musical score to high school.  As a result, when I began to attend concerts, I really didn't know much about how they operated.

Before I met Karen I attended a couple of concerts, Billy Joel's right after he got engaged to Christie Brinkley (yes, I'm dating myself) and then October Project before they disbanded.  After meeting Karen, my concert attendance increased exponentially.  I've seen diverse acts ranging from Flogging Molly to Ricky Skaggs to Great Big Sea.  We've seen some entertaining acts -- mostly -- and a couple of clunkers.  But in the process I've learned a thing or two about concerts.

One thing I haven't acquired is patience.  Typically, I'm very patient with others and impatient as heck with myself.  I tend to give the benefit of the doubt when things don't go just the way I want them to go because, well, things happen.  But what happens with concerts is beginning to get on my nerves.

The absolute nadir was the first time I was held as a member of a captive audience.  Given the fact that the Plain White T's concert was on a Sunday night, and given that we relied on public transportation to get us home in the suburbs after the concert, and given the fact that the Metra runs on a limited schedule on weekends, the timing of the concert was of major concern to us.  Karen badly wanted to hear the group and I bought the tickets.  When I bought the tickets, I specifically asked what time the concert began.

And that was my mistake.

Being a literalist and somewhat naïve about these things, I assumed that when I asked what time the concert began, it was understood that I meant the one band whose name was on the ticket:  The Plain White T's.  Big mistake.  Huge.

Although they opened the doors at 5p as they told me they would, music didn't begin for at least an hour.  When it began, it wasn't the Plain White T's up there.  For the life of me, I can't even remember who it was, other than it wasn't memorable.  Two other warm-up bands later, we were treated to a bunch of doofi (plural of doofus) who encouraged Chicago to Slut It Up -- whatever that was supposed to mean -- and the lead singer opened his raincoat to reveal a bare chest with electrical tape crossed over his nipples. 

Nevermind that we didn't have seats (that's a completely different story).  Nevermind that there were children there (it was the Plain White T's after all).  That we were now pushing nine-thirty was the real concern.

But it wasn't over. 

There was a fourth warm up band.

Just how warm an audience is needed to perform?  What's more, when you're the headliner, aren't you concerned about boring or angering your audience?  Even assuming that you're trying to give young acts a chance and some exposure, how many acts do you foist on your audience? 

After the fourth warm-up act finished it was around 10.10p.  We had a train to catch at 10.30p.  There was no way we could stay and hear the Plain White T's.  So we paid money to see one group and ended up seeing four mediocre acts who weren't even listed on the tickets we bought.  Talk about bait and switch.

One Flogging Molly concert we attended had some lame Limey act named Beans On Toast open.  Not only was he not advertised, he was politically awkward, lecturing Americans about our war.  The next act, although markedly better than BOT, looked like Carter's Pills advertisements.  The only cool thing they offered was the playing of the theramin.

Then there was this past weekend.  Again, we bought tickets to see the main act, Weird Al Yankovic.  Nowhere on the advertisement or the tickets were mentioned Stay 'Til Dawn or the horribly inappropriately named -- if unintentionally so -- Slick Jimmy.  The first act was like a garage band and the second act -- which I liked better than Karen, who preferred the second -- was like a bunch of geisers trying to reclaim their youth.  The worst part of Slick Jimmy -- besides its name -- was the bass guitarist's annoying habit of going over to the lead guitarist in every song and doing some ridiculous head bob after he compared guitar abilities.

The two acts pushed the six o'clock start time to closer to eight-thirty.  Neither was advertised.  Neither was very good.  And they delayed us so much that we finally got home at one o'clock in the morning.

This is tantamount to someone coming to me for a consultation at six o'clock in the evening only to be told that they had to wait while I first finished my conference call that then lasts an hour  and then my break for dinner, during which time they're forced to sit in the waiting room listening to muzak.  The clients would be rightly outraged.  Why music acts are allowed to get away with this stuff is beyond me.  About the only time we hear complaints is when someone like Madonna doesn't show up for three or four hours after she's supposed to take the stage.

Next time we're scheduled to attend one of these concerts I'm going to make a point to ask very direct questions about who's taking the stage when.  I'm tired of this.

PD:  Weird Al was great.

(c) 2016 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles