ghostsinthegrooves.com

Reminiscing and reflecting on concerts and life

recent posts

Writer, Wanderer, Observer of the everyday

  • The Organism

    Outdoor concerts by big acts were rare in the Twin Cities, then a rundown, forgotten amphitheater conjured up the Prince of Darkness.

    The Twin Cities gained something this year that was sorely missing for far too long. A proper outdoor music venue. The new amphitheater, about twenty miles from downtown Minneapolis, is state-of-the-art, has amazing sound, good sightlines, and is big enough to draw major summer tours. 

    There was a time when another amphitheater served the Twin Cities. Although calling it a proper amphitheater gives the wrong impression. It was rustic, essentially a stage nestled by three hills. 

    Somerset Amphitheater is a 45-minute drive from the Twin Cities. The concert venue, originally called “Float-Rite Park Amphitheater”, opened in 1981 with an inaugural concert by the Charlie Daniels Band. Built to welcome 40,000 fans, the stage lies nestled in a natural amphitheater, cradled by gentle hills.

    Throughout the 1980s and early 1990s, the venue hosted a smattering of concerts each year by artists who were either on their way up, “Goo Goo Dolls” and “Soul Asylum” in 1993, or by artists who were on the backside of commercial success, “Warrant” and “Blue Öyster Cult” in 1991 and “Foghat” in 1993. Then in the mid-1990s, something in the Twin Cities changed that altered the fortunes of Float-Rite Park. 

    Radio Station 93.7 KRXX was sold in early 1994. The station flipped its call letters to KEGE, started calling itself “The EDGE,” and switched to an alternative rock format, tapping into the new sound of grunge and modern rock. The change ushered in new listeners and high ratings. 

    Seeing the popularity of the new station and watching the success of popular summer music festivals, Lollapalooza and H.O.R.D.E., on Harriet Island in St. Paul, “The Edge” decided to host its own festival.  

    “Edgefest” was first held in July 1994 at what was then known as Apple River Amphitheater. The festival was a hit. In 1995, it was held again and headlined by some of the biggest artists representing the modern rock genre, including Bush, Collective Soul, and punk rock pioneers the Ramones. 

    The success of these festivals being held at Float-Rite Park led to Ozzfest announcing a tour stop there in 1997.

    These two festivals, both being held at Float-Rite Park amphitheater, seemed to be the turning of a corner for Minnesota concert lovers. Being a live music fan in Minneapolis & St. Paul around that time was tough. Especially in the summer. With no large outdoor amphitheater, a lot of touring bands would bypass a Twin Cities date during summer tours. It was annoying to see popular bands announce summer tour dates and never be coming to your city. If by the off chance there was a big act coming to town, it was going to be held indoors, no matter the time of year. With the resurrection of Float-Rite Park, that was slowly changing with successful dates for Ozzfest and Edgefest. And now I was going to experience an amphitheater show that I had heard so much about. 

    In 1998 my older brother, Hunter, attended Edgefest, his first music festival, and came home talking about how amazing it was and saying that next year we should go to Ozzfest. 

    At the time I didn’t put much thought into it because it was a whole year away. Mid-summer of 1998 gave me a new concert experience that was festival-like in its own right.  That summer the Minneapolis Aquatenniel Festival put on a free concert headlined by The Smashing Pumpkins. It was the biggest concert of the summer, in both hype and attendance. At the time the Smashing Pumpkins were one of the biggest bands in the world. Official estimates put the crowd somewhere between 200,000-250,000. To be honest, I wasn’t a big fan of the Smashing Pumpkins. It’s not to say I didn’t like them, I just wasn’t all that familiar with them. Of course I had heard some of their songs because they had been getting a ton of airplay for the last couple of years and it seemed like every guy in junior high owned a “Zero” shirt. Still I was excited for the show, music aside, the popularity of the band and the fact that it was free ensured it was the can’t-miss event of the summer. By that time the largest concert I had attended had been The Rolling Stones the previous fall, but that had been inside a domed football stadium and was a seated event. So, the idea of just being a part of the energy of a giant crowd, outdoors, in the middle of summer was intriguing to me. It didn’t disappoint, the energy was palpable, and it gave a sense of what the festival crowd might be like the next summer at Ozzfest.

    Hard Rock and Heavy Metal were not a big part of the music I was listening to when I was a teenager. I did, however, like Ozzy Osbourne. I had first become familiar with his music when I was ten or eleven years old, and in the most unlikely of places. 

    My grandparents were both deaf and belonged to a deaf camping club. I would go on these trips with them occasionally. We would load into their motor home, drive to a campground a couple hours away, and enjoy, for me anyway, a mostly silent weekend. There were other kids my age and older who would be there, some of them hearing, some not. One afternoon, a bunch of us kids were hanging out and one of them grabbed a stereo. They put on a CD, and we carried on with the conversation. A minute later, one of the deaf kids signed something I didn’t understand to the guy next to the stereo. He cranked the volume up. It was loud, with heavy bass, and a lot of guitar. It was Ozzy. Before I could even ask the question, the girl sitting next to me, who also was hearing, turned and said “Yea, we listen to a lot of metal, Ozzy, Metallica, and Megadeth, so the deaf kids can feel the music.” 

    I was blown away by it but it made sense. For the next 48 hours I became really familiar with loud, metal music. Metallica and Megadeth were just loud with indiscernible lyrics. Ozzy was loud, but there was a definable melody, and I could even understand some of the lyrics.

    Early in 1999 Ozzfest was announced, and the headliner was not just Ozzy, but the original Black Sabbath. 

    Settling into the summer vacation groove for a couple of weeks, the day of Ozzfest finally arrived on July 1st, 1999.  

    The midsummer air was thick, but we cut through it in my brother’s Lebaron Convertible. As we crossed into Wisconsin, we stopped off at a bottle shop. Hunter wasn’t a drinker, but he was twenty-three and willing to buy my cousin and I some booze to drink before we went into the show.  As it was a beautiful warm summer day, we went classy and told Hunter to buy us some Boone’s Farm. It seemed like it would be refreshing on a hot summer afternoon. Hunter returned for the hooch and we continued on our way. We were only about twenty minutes away from the venue, so while Hunter drove, Cody and I got busy chugging the cheap, fruity, Strawberry Hill. As we were waved into the parking lot I realized I had been talking too much because I was still on my first bottle. I drank down the rest of it quickly and immediately opened my second bottle. The idea was to drink as much as we could now because once we entered the venue there would be no more drinking. Such is life for an underage drinker. I finished my second bottle in about five minutes. By now, I could feel the warmth and lightheadedness brought on by the alcohol. Drinking two liters of Boone’s Farm in fifteen minutes will do that to you, and in my case it also left me feeling incredibly full. As Hunter, Cody, and I stepped from the car I could feel the wine cooleresque fluid reversing course. I threw up, not from drunkenness, but simply from being too full. I immediately felt better and now was ready to rock.

    As we made our way through the gate I got my first look at the bowl-shaped venue. The main stage was located in the bottom of the bowl surrounded by hills, already packed with fans watching the mid-lineup bands performing. The music was heavy and loud. We wandered along the hillsides checking out the various merchandise stands and watching the concert from an uncrowded vantage point. The mass of people in front of the stage was packed in tight and moved like one giant organism. It looked like a wave as the mass was pushed one direction and then another. 

    Cody announced he was going to the restroom. Unfortunately for him that meant backtracking across the hillside towards the gate. Hunter and I got sodas from a vendor and stood watching the show. From the corner of my eye I saw something or someone moving quickly. I turned my head to the right and saw Cody sprinting towards us, he leapt over blanket dwellers on the hillside and dodged people standing. He had a huge grin on his face as he moved. When he arrived back at our location, he was laughing and gasping. Before we could even ask him why he was running he turned to me.

    “Holy crap! Cooper, you have to try it.”

    “Try what?” I responded.

    “Running as fast as you can and dodging people.” 

    “You drunken fool,” Hunter chimed in. 

    Cody agreed, “No doubt, it’s only fun because I’m half buzzed.” 

    Without saying anything else, I, in my drunken state, followed his suggestion and took off running across the sloped bowl. I juked left, I juked right, I hurdled blankets, and I laughed as people yelled at me. I was just the right amount of intoxicated to see two or three moves ahead. 

    As I got to the other side of the bowl and pulled to a stop, I turned to see Cody was following me. When he reached me, we stood laughing and trying to catch our breath. The band that had been performing finished and the organism in the middle of the bowl shrank as people moved away from the stage and up the hills. 

    We made our way back around the bowl to where we had left Hunter. When we got there, Hunter suggested we go down the hill towards the stage. It was evening now, and just two bands were left to perform; Rob Zombie and Black Sabbath. 

    We snaked our way through the crowd and were roughly half-way from the stage. As Rob Zombie finished his set, Hunter, Cody, and I decided to try to move close to the stage for Black Sabbath. The sea of people became more dense as we melded further into the crowd. The atmosphere was energized down here and I felt my skin prickle as we weaved our way ever closer to the stage. The house music pumped up and the crowd started shifting. I was now part of the organism that I had watched from the hillside earlier. Suddenly, but not unexpectedly, we could no longer dictate our direction. Now, we moved as the organism moved. The movement was gentle, swaying left and right, but that was short-lived. Soon the roadies that had been setting up the stage as a Fleetwood Mac tune played over the P.A. were gone, the music ceased.

    As if they had been synced beforehand, the second the stage lights went dark, the gentle swaying stopped, and was replaced by a violent surge forward from the back of the organism. The limited movement that was possible just a minute earlier was gone. The crush from behind propelled Cody and I through a gap in the crowd, and finally closed back around us. We were just twenty feet from the front of the stage. 

    “This is crazy!” Cody shouted. 

    I couldn’t even respond, I was too focused on holding my ground. At six and a half feet tall, seeing the stage certainly wasn’t a problem, but weighing only 160 lbs, it took everything to stay in place. 

    I quickly glanced behind to see if Hunter was still with us, only to find he had been swallowed up in the crowd. The crowd burst forward in a new push, as a flashlight on the side of the stage indicated the band was being led out. The speakers came to life with an air raid siren blaring through them. The crush from the crowd moved us to the right. A quick burst of energy from behind propelled it forward. This sudden change of direction caught me with a foot off the ground, and so tightly packed in, I floated forward as the crowd’s momentum carried me. 

    “GENERALS GATHERED IN THEIR MASSES…”

    I looked up as I heard Ozzy singing the opening lines of “War Pigs” and was surprised to see Cody still in front of me, and that we couldn’t go any further. We were now in the front row, pressed against the steel barrier. Looking up, Ozzy Osbourne towered directly over us from the stage. The show rolled on as we did our best to hold back the thousands of people pushing forward. We held firm and soaked up the music (and the water that Ozzy sprayed over the crowd with a fire hose) as long as we could. Eventually, the force of the crowd pushing from behind became too much. Every time the organism lurched forward, my ribs were jolted into the metal fence in front of me. Halfway through the show we did what the people who had been in front before us had, and signaled to security that we needed out. They grabbed Cody first, as they did I pushed backward as hard as I could to give them space to pull him out. Once he was over the barrier, they grabbed me. It was more of a struggle though as the guy behind me was pulling my shirt. They finally got me over the barrier. Security was quick to usher us off to the side, but I stopped for a second and turned back to look out at the organism, to see for just a moment what Black Sabbath saw on that summer night.

    The new amphitheater is beautiful and modern, but it’s also sterile and seated. The organism from Float-Rite Park can’t exist here. But maybe somewhere, maybe on another plane or in another dimension the energy that made up that night is still exactly as it was, frozen in place. 

  • The Pulse of Possibility

    Discovering Teenage Freedom and Feeling through Live Music

    Five days ago, I stood in a sea of people as the lights went out, and I lived a new experience. It was the first concert I had ever attended. Friday I went to my second. Man, what a week! My brother Hunter, my cousin Cody, and I saw Boston on Tuesday night at the Minnesota State Fair. Then, Friday, at the same venue, it was the Steve Miller Band. It was awesome!

    I’m 15 years old, and this is the last week of summer vacation. Come Tuesday, I will be a Sophomore in high school. My cousin Cody, who is the same age as me, lives a few towns away and goes to a different school, but we have been as thick as thieves pretty much since we were born. Hunter is twenty-one and is going to a broadcasting college in Minneapolis. Over the last year or so, Cody and I have been hanging with Hunter quite a bit. He’s fun to be around, and since Cody and I aren’t old enough to drive, it’s advantageous to be close to him.

    Hunter and I have been going to the state fair most of our lives. Growing up, it was a tradition to go to the fair with our mom and her friend Mae. Over the last couple of years, it’s changed. I’m old enough to be allowed to navigate the world on my own a little bit. Luckily for me, Hunter has his driver’s license and is viewed as a “responsible” adult. Last summer, Hunter, Cody, and I ventured to the fair by ourselves. It was a little taste of independence, wandering the grounds, eating a lot of fried food, and playing games at the midway. As we got ready to leave last year, I remember hearing this music coming from inside the Grandstand. I didn’t think much of it as the sounds and lights of the fair dissipated as we got on the freeway.

    Earlier this summer, Hunter told me that the band Boston was going to play a concert at the Grandstand, and a couple of nights after that, it would be the Steve Miller Band. I had never been to a proper concert before, but I was eager to check it out, as music has become a central fixture in my life. Hunter is a big Boston fan. I was lukewarm on them, but I was into Steve Miller. We decided to go to both shows. We invited Cody along, but he could only make the Boston concert.

    Hunter has been to a few concerts over the years, and I know Cody saw Billy Joel a couple of years ago. While going to the concerts sounded fun, I wasn’t overly excited about it, which was a little strange. I read Rolling Stone every month, have a CD playing on my stereo constantly, and love to watch VH1 when they show classic concerts. And while those concerts always seem incredible, I just didn’t understand the magic of live music because I’d never experienced it.

    The day of the show, the three of us wandered around the state fair grounds most of the afternoon, eating fried food, testing our skills with games of chance, harassing the carnies, and scoping out cute girls. As the afternoon turned to early evening, we decided it was time to make our way to the Grandstand for the Boston concert. When we were driving to the fairgrounds that day, Hunter had thrown on a Boston CD. Hearing some of those songs had gotten me a little more pumped up for the concert that night.

    As we walked through the gates and headed to our seats, I glimpsed the stage for the first time and heard the murmur of the fans already seated. We stopped at the concessions window on our way inside. Popcorn in hand, we found our seats and got situated. Hunter started talking about something from earlier in the day, but I wasn’t paying attention. I was busy getting a feel for where I was. I scanned the expanse of the Grandstand as daylight started to fade beyond the stage. The music coming through the public address system grew a little louder, and the seats began to fill with people. There was an energy inside there that didn’t exist on the other side of the ticket gate. I got a sense of tension and anticipation, not just my own but of everyone in attendance.

    I turned back to the stage, and the lights on it went out just as the music coming from the PA abruptly ceased. The din of the separate conversations in the crowd suddenly turned into one voice, cheering and whistling towards the stage. I felt something in that moment that I’m sure I have never experienced before. It was as if every cell in my body was vibrating, and my skin was buzzing, as if I could feel all of the energy from this mass of people passing through me. And just when I was sure that I couldn’t endure this feeling, the stage lights shot on and the zing of an electric guitar rang out. Boston lit into their first song of the night, and all that tension was gone.

    Man, what a rush! The concert flew by. It was two hours of Classic Rock radio staples. Following the customary post-concert fireworks show, Cody, Hunter, and I headed for the exits. As we got to our car and started the drive home, I couldn’t believe I would get to do this again in just a few days! I didn’t know what to expect, and now I knew why. Those feelings I had during the buildup to the show can’t be recreated outside the concert environment.

    Another thing I got from the concerts I attended this week was a new sense of freedom that I hadn’t experienced before. I’m always a little tentative about trying new things, lest people judge my actions. In the environment of a concert, though, things feel a little looser. There’s a sense of unpredictability; that a little more is being allowed to go on than should be. A feeling that you could try something new and not be immediately judged or scolded. I realized this wrinkle while at the Boston concert, and tested the theory again three nights later at the Steve Miller show.

    At the Boston show, all the anticipation and excitement that had built up were released with the opening guitar riffs and a roar from the crowd as we first glimpsed the band. In that moment, I was holding my bucket of popcorn. As the band hit the stage, I joined the collective roar by whooping out and simultaneously raised my popcorn in one fast movement. As my arm reached its apex, the cup in my hand stopped; the popcorn, however, just kept riding the momentum and showered over the crowd around me. I pulled the cup back down quickly and snapped into reality, going from feelings of elation to embarrassment in an instant. I quickly scanned around and assessed the situation. Hunter and Cody were both laughing wildly at my antics, but it appeared that no one else had even noticed. The embarrassment of my faux pas receded, and happiness and elation came back. At the Steve Miller Concert, this sense of being able to take a chance and try something new, propelled me to take a much bigger risk….

    Two years ago, when I was in eighth grade, I attended a birthday party at the local bowling alley. The party was for a buddy of mine that I attended West Junior High with. At the party, he had invited a few girls he knew from East Junior High. I hit it off with a couple of them, and became good friends with both Ashley & Lauren over the next few years. One of the things we bonded over was our love of classic rock. Over time, I had developed a closer friendship with Ashley, but I really dug Lauren. So, while on the phone with Ashley a couple of nights before the Steve Miller concert, she mentioned that Lauren was going to the show, and I got excited. I hadn’t seen her all summer. As soon as I hung up with Ashley, I called Lauren to see if she wanted to meet up at the concert. While our seats weren’t near each other, we made a plan to meet up before the concert started.

    The day of the Steve Miller Band show, Hunter & I arrived at the Grandstand just minutes before the show was set to start. I told him I was going to run and see Lauren for a minute and would meet him at our seats. I was annoyed that we were late and was hoping she hadn’t gone to her seat yet. I went as quickly as I could, weaving through people. I was looking straight ahead and ran right into someone’s back. The person turned to me and said, “Geez, I haven’t seen you for two months, and you forgot what I look like!?”

    It was Lauren. We only talked for a few minutes before the lights went down and the music on the PA got louder, indicating that the show was about to start. She told me where her seat was, and I told her I would find her later.

    I started back to my seat with a huge smile on my face. She had looked better than I remembered and seemed cooler somehow. That feeling of anticipation I had at the Boston concert was back now, it seemed more intense tonight, the vibrating cells, waiting for those opening notes, the whistles and cheers of the crowd. I made it to my seat just as the tension broke when the band lit into “Swingtown”. The band was fantastic and sounded the same as their album. I didn’t want to ditch Hunter, but when I leaned over and told him I was going to sit by Lauren, he was cool with it. We arranged to meet up at the end of the concert.

    As I made my way to find Lauren, that sense of freedom and possibility began to return. With the perfect sound of Steve Miller coming from the stage, I turned and started up the stairs of the Grandstand with a new anticipation and a bit of nervous energy. I was so excited that I didn’t realize that climbing up to row 58 was quite the trek. As I passed row 45, I realized Lauren was sitting in the very last row.

    The view of the fairgrounds from here, all lit up, was spectacular; the view of the stage, not so much. It didn’t matter; I wasn’t looking down there anyway. I turned into the row and saw a big smile on Lauren’s face. She opened her arms and gave me a big hug. I reached over and grabbed hold of her hand. She looked up and smiled.

    That feeling of anticipatory tension and possibility was high as Steve Miller launched into the guitar solo of “True Fine Love,” and I took my chance. I leaned over and kissed Lauren, and she grabbed me, kissing me right back. As the music ended and the fireworks bloomed overhead, I felt like I was on top of the world.

    I get it now. Witnessing live music did something to me; it seeped into my skin, eliciting emotion and revealing something that seemed hidden before. In two days, it’s back to school, and it looks like it’ll be a good year.

  • “Those Lies You Tell Make Me Wanna Be Your Lover”

    Subscribe to continue reading

    Subscribe to get access to the rest of this post and other subscriber-only content.

  • “If Music Got to Free Your Mind, Let it Go Cause You Never Know…”

    I’m 16 years old and I’ve got a driver’s license. My first real taste of freedom. I could go anywhere but, honestly, I’m afraid of going East of the western suburbs. I’ve got a part-time job flipping burgers which keeps a couple of bucks in my pocket. I’m socially aloof, friendly with my peers from a distance. I spend a lot of my time listening to music and reading about the people who were making that music. I am a Rolling Stone loyalist. If I’m not learning about my rock star idols, I am fantasizing of being one myself or at least knowing them.

    Before I got my driver’s license, I honed my skills as a wheel man by spending one afternoon each week sitting on our Toro tractor. The lawn might have been nice to look at but I dreaded the 4 hours it took to mow. To make it slightly enjoyable I would listen to my heroes on my headphones and get lost in daydreams. Those long rides on the tractor were spent with the Eagles, the Stones, the Cars, the Doors, Fleetwood Mac. The daydream I would get lost in usually was along the lines of being their manager and trying to control the chaos that was cocaine and rock stars.

    Now that I’ve got my driver’s license, I have the ability to travel to a spot that can inform me about more of this world I’ve been dreaming about. I hop in my car on an August afternoon and cruise into Wayzata, my de facto hometown though my family currently resides a little farther west. My destination on this day is “Down in the Valley” — the local record/head shop. They are a purveyor of counter-culture. Bongs, bongos, oversized posters, and a huge selection of CDs. I peruse the music selection, choose a couple of new discs to expand my mind, pay, and head toward the door.

    Then something catches my eye: a 3×5 index card tacked to the wall.

    FIRST AVENUE PRESENTS:
     “Monday Sept. 7 — A Special Evening with The Black Crowes

    8 PM — 21+
    Tickets @ The Electric Fetus & Down in the Valley”

    MY MIND EXPLODES!

    The Black Crowes are my favorite band. A funky mix of modern southern rock infused with jam band vibes and a free-thinking flair. I mentally catalog all the details from the index card and head home.

    I have to be at that show.

    At 16 I’m a seasoned concert goer. And not the standard, buy my ticket at the box office and show up, no, my first concert was the Rolling Stones, and I bought my ticket from some guy who posted an ad in the newspaper, who I then called and arranged to meet outside a seedy bar in downtown Minneapolis. The ticket was in the 7th row, and I paid a small fortune for it.

    This one has got a little different flavor to it though. Firstly, it’s at 1st Avenue, the club that used to be a bus station and was made legendary by Prince. Secondly, it’s 21+. Hmmm, that’s an obstacle but, obstacles are meant to be overcome. I figure I can talk my brother, Hunter, into going, he’s 22. I don’t bring it up to him that night though, I need to do a little research first.

    I know that you might be wondering about now, just where the parents are in this kid’s life. They were around, around in a big way and they have always encouraged me to have rich experiences. I realized through years of observation that there was a certain formula to best go about informing my parents of plans/schemes that I was working on. I go to my dad first, try to catch him when he is sitting in the driveway having a cigar. Start with a little idle chit chat, maybe about fishing or the Vikings, feel him out his mood and demeanor a bit. Then when the moment is right, I make my move.

    “Yea, I think Hunter and I are going to see the Black Crowes” I say.

    “Where are they playing?” He asks.

    “First Ave. Next Monday.”

    He looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “Isn’t that bar? They going to let you in?”

    I tell him “Ahh, as long as I’m with someone over 21 it shouldn’t be a problem. That’s why I’m getting Hunter to go with me”.

    The eyebrow softens a little and the grin of a Cheshire cat creeps on his face. He then says the two things that he says anytime I tell him what I’m up to.

    “Well, be smart and have fun.”

    The key is to always tell him the plan, never ask permission. Once I ask, he then feels he has an obligation to think through the possible outcomes of said plan. My father is a smart guy and if I’m asking him for permission, he’s going to know that my plan has a hole in it. He likes creative thinking as long as it’s legal.

    Alright, dads onboard. Now to sweet talk my mom. The same principles applied in my approach to her, wait until she is relaxed, maybe working on a crossword puzzle on the three-season porch in the evening. Mom was going to be a bit harder sell than dad though, so I do something unexpected to curry a little favor. Usually, it’s along the lines of washing dishes after dinner or washing her car. Once I divulge my plan to her and make sure she knows that my brother is going to be there, she doesn’t seem too excited about it, but she doesn’t say no. I get up and start to walk back in the house. Just as I’m through the door I hear her getting ready to change her mind.

    “Did you say the concert is on Labor Day?” She inquired.

    Argh, I know where this is headed.

    “Yea, Monday night.” I reply.

    “Well, isn’t that a school night? School starts the next day. Do you really think that’s a good way to start the year?”

    “Well yea, it’s gonna be awesome to tell everyone about it and also, it’s the first day of school, nothing happens on the first day. Plus, I’ll be so tired after the first day from the concert the night before that I am assured to get a great night’s sleep and will be extra well rested when the real work starts on the second day of school.” I tell her.

    I can’t believe I just put that line together on the spot. I see her face soften and I know before she opens her mouth that I’ve got her blessing back.

    She says, “Alright but, you better be sure to start the school year off well”.

    Phew! Parents out of the way. Now the real work begins.

    I pull out the phone book (yes, we did use those) and look up the number for First Avenue. I’m nervous as I dial the number, it feels like I’m calling someplace that doesn’t suffer fools or people that aren’t hip. In my mind I know that when someone answers and I ask how someone under 21 can get into that show they are going to know I’m not supposed to be there, that I’m not hip, that I’m fake. When I finally get someone on the phone I’m told if I come with a parent or legal guardian I will be allowed in. To me this sounds promising and worth the risk. If I say my brother is my legal guardian when we show up, how strongly are they going to try and disprove that claim.

    Now, I need my brother to get into this idea. I lay my cards on the table right away; I NEED him to go in order for me to go. He is into the Black Crowes, and I offer to pay for his ticket. He agrees even though he is a little hesitant about the scheme.

    Hunter is a pretty solid brother to have. We’ve always gotten along well enough, but we are different in just about every way. That’s to be expected with a near six-year age gap but the differences just start there. We don’t look much like brothers, I’m 6’2 and weigh about 140 lbs. He’s 5’6 and probably about 150 lbs. And while he lives at home and is attending a broadcasting college in Minneapolis, he is not someone I seek advice from or talk to about life experiences.

    A couple days later I drive to “Down in the Valley” in Wayzata to buy tickets. “I need two tickets to the Black Crowes” I say. “Oh, sorry man, we are sold out.” SHIT! My mind starts racing, how can this be sold out?! My plan was in place; my brother was on board. There has to be a way to get tickets. I’m just about out the door when I hear a voice behind me. “I can call the Golden Valley store and see if they haven’t any left?” I turn around and stammer out “uh, yea, that would be cool”.

    I’m in luck, the Golden Valley location still has tickets. I get in my car and drive directly there. $42.50 later and I feel untouchable because all the pieces to the puzzle have fallen into place.

    Monday, September 7th. Tonight is the night. I can barely get through my day. It’s the last day of summer vacation and I’m having to get myself together for school the next day. I am so amped up for the concert tonight. Most of the day is spent hanging around the house with a non-stop rotation of Crowes cd’s blasting on my boombox. My energy feels like it must be palpable to anyone I speak to. I’m moving fast and can’t sit still. I wonder what they will play, what they will wear, what music they will take the stage to. I wonder if my scheme is gonna work, if I will be let into the club, what the club is like inside.

    At about 7pm Hunter yells upstairs “Hey, are you ready to go”? Ha, if he only knew, I have been ready for hours. We tell our parents we are leaving and head out the door. We hop in Hunter’s car as he’s driving to the show. As we cruise the freeway into Minneapolis we’ve got the top down on Hunter’s convertible. With the wind rushing by, my excitement level is creeping higher and higher and still is tempered by the fact that the biggest hurdle of this whole scheme is yet to come.

    We park a couple of blocks away from the club. As we make our way from the parking ramp over to 1st Ave we go through our story one more time. The pitch is simple, that our parents have passed away and that Hunter is my legal guardian. When we get to 1st Avenue we take our place at the back of the quick moving line. I’m nervous. For as sure as I was while concocting this ruse it’s now in this moment standing in line that I think this has to be the dumbest idea I’ve ever had. Who is really gonna buy this story?!

    “IDs please” I hear a voice say while I’m looking down.

    I look up to see a large bouncer standing over me and eyeing me up. I snap out of my negative thoughts and comply. He takes a look at it. Before he says anything, I start spewing out our cover story. He looks up from the ID and tells us to wait there for a minute and he walks away. He comes back shortly with a woman with a nose ring.

    “Have fun.”

    “Follow me.” The nose ring says.

    We follow her inside. At the box office our IDs are checked again and I tell them the cover story. The guy grabs a black marker and tells me to hold out my fists. I do as he says, and he takes the black marker and draws a giant X on the back of each hand. It’s a clear sign that I’m underage. “Enjoy the show” he says, and hands are IDs back to us.

    That’s it! It worked! We are in.

    We walk away from the window and begin to snake our way through a mass of people to get into the main room. As we enter, my eyes glance towards the stage but it’s blocked by a large projection screen showing a football game.

    I’ve never been in a nightclub before. Having only been to arenas and stadiums to attend concerts before I feel as though this is real, where dreams are born. It is crowded though, there are no seats anywhere, just open space to stand.

    Hunter and I wind our way across the club and over to the merch stand. I need to buy a t-shirt to commemorate seeing my favorite band. I look up at the t-shirts hanging on the wall. A small piece of paper is taped up next to the shirts that reads “Sorry your city is not listed on the shirt”. A little disappointing but it won’t deter me. I make my purchase and slide it over the shirt I’m wearing.

    Hunter says we should try to make our way down to the front of the stage now because to try to get a good spot. I agree and we start snaking our way through the crowd. I feel a little bad asking people to move so I can get closer to the stage, but no one seems to have an issue with it. We end up in the middle of the floor about 3 rows back. The air is a thick mixture of cigarette smoke and Nagchampa incense.

    We stand there talking and watching the football game when suddenly the house lights go down and the screen starts to go up. The anticipation that I have built up for this moment at this concert has been building for weeks. I believe I am feeling true elation, my skin is covered in goosebumps, I am cheering and whistling along with everyone else in the club.

    The screen ascends into the ceiling.

    My eyes are glued to the pitch-black stage.

    This is it.

    Then the lights come on perfectly timed with Rich Robinson hitting the opening notes of “Remedy”.

    There they are, The Black Crowes.

    Chris Robinson’s heroin-thin frame struts the stage in white bell bottoms, a long-sleeve shirt, and a top hat with a red feather. Glitter sparkles all over him.

    The crowd surges, fists pump. We hold our ground. I’m dancing, yelling, lost in the music.

    They play for two hours, say goodnight, and exit the stage.

    We cheer in appreciation.

    Hunter and I make our way to the exit and into the Minneapolis night.. I’m floating.

    This concert was everything.

    It’s after midnight when I crawl into bed. School starts in six hours. But my mind is replaying every second of the night — every note, every flash of light, every movement on that tiny stage.

    I had dreamed about this world for so long.

    Tonight, I was in it, and I can’t wait to go back.

  • “Is There A Beach Around Here?”

    Led Zeppelin disbanded in 1980, the year before I was born. They had a couple of botched reunion shows during that decade, but the thought of a full tour with members of the original lineup seemed like a long shot. 

    Now, here, June 12th, 1998, the biggest tour of the summer is in Minneapolis. Jimmy Page and Robert Plant have worked out their differences and have a new album out, their first together since the early ’80s. Tonight, their “Walking into Everywhere” tour is walking into the Twin Cities. Hunter, Cody, and I have managed to score tickets from a local scalper and will be sitting in the 12th row on the floor of Target Center. 

    If you are a fan of classic rock from the 1960s & 1970s, the 1990s might be the true golden era or the Second Coming. Most of those bands from the 60s or 70s broke up sometime in the early 1980s, but then, through a change of heart and seeing the massive dollar signs in front of them, they decided to reunite and tour in the 1990s. Those fans who were teenagers and twenty-somethings in the 70s were now forty-somethings with careers and disposable income, and they couldn’t wait to see their favorite band. And if you hadn’t been around during their original run (this includes me, born in 1981), you still knew of all these bands; you grew up with them. This music seeped into your core from your parent’s record collection and, more importantly, through the advent of a new staple radio format, Classic Rock.

    By the time of tonight’s Page & Plant concert, I’m halfway through my 16th year of living, a week removed from finishing my sophomore year of high school, and have managed to see rock concerts by Boston, the Steve Miller Band, The Rolling Stones, the Black Crowes, and Bob Dylan. Only one of those bands is played on modern format radio, and all of those bands are played on classical rock radio. 

    All of these concerts have been amazing, but for my brother, the one tonight is extra special. Led Zeppelin is Hunter’s all-time favorite band. Last September, we saw my favorite band of all time, the Black Crowes, and the excitement I had for that concert was beyond description, so I understand the excitement Hunter is feeling about the Page and Plant concert. Or maybe I don’t get his excitement. See, the Black Crowes have only been around for about a decade and have actively toured since they broke on the scene. No one thought that anything resembling Led Zeppelin would ever tour again and play all the songs that made them famous, so, in that respect, I don’t have the appreciation that Hunter does for seeing Page and Plant.

    In addition to the classic rock radio that I regularly listen to, VH1, a music channel on TV, shows a classic music movie late every Friday night. Hunter and I watch it most weeks. Sometimes, it’s a movie that features a famous musician like the Rocky Horror Picture Show or is known for the soundtrack like Purple Rain, and sometimes it’s a classic concert film like “Let’s Spend the Night Together.” It’s the concert films that I really enjoy, they give me an insight into the bands’ on-stage persona and a feel of what the culture was like. Of course, we are big fans of “The Song Remains The Same,” the Led Zeppelin concert film recorded at Madison Square Garden in the mid-70s. In watching it, I get the idea that a Led Zeppelin concert was special and that concerts in the 70s were a little bit wilder and more unpredictable than today. Beach Balls, M-80s going off, fights, they have an air of wildness.

    This afternoon, Cody and I are just riding around and talking when we decide to incorporate a piece of those concert films into the Page & Plant show tonight. We’re not looking to get arrested, so the M-80s and starting a fight are off the table. We settle on bringing a couple of beach balls and batting them around in the crowd. There is some risk with this; every concert we have been to has security at the gate that gives a light pat down, and you can’t bring anything with you into the arena. We decide that if we tuck them into the waistband of our jeans, we would probably be safe, and if security does catch it, they will just take it away. We decide it’s a risk worth running. It’s early June, and the local Target has plenty in stock. We buy a couple and then drive out to my house to meet up with Hunter. 

    That feeling is coming over me again. The same one that comes on before any concert I’ve been to. An anxious, anticipatory energy that grips my shoulders. It starts a few hours before the concert. It’s a fun feeling that’s a mixture of suspense, glee, and anticipation. By the time we walk into Target Center that night I feel like I’m nearly floating. We had secured our tickets through our usual ticket broker and they didn’t disappoint. As we got to our seats just 12 rows back from the stage, I noticed two empty chairs next to Hunter. 

    The house lights go down, and the crowd barely acknowledges the band, which is now playing their hitless music on stage. It’s the opening act, and while I respect that they are there trying to make a name for themselves, it’s always the biggest drag of the concert experience. All I want as a fan of, in this case, Page & Plant, is to hear their music. The forty-five minutes or so that this no-name is on the stage is agony. 

    Then it happens. The opening act plays their final tune, thanks the crowd, and walks off. Almost immediately, the house lights come up, music starts piping through the PA system, and the din of the conversations in the crowd begins to grow. Over the next thirty minutes or so, I can feel the energy of the crowd building. The conversations get a little louder, people let out a random yell every now and then, and the seats in the arena start to fill up. 

    I’m taking it all in. My beach ball, which is securely placed in the waistband of my jeans, made it through the gate without being noticed. Cody, Hunter, and I are just shooting the breeze when I happen to glance at the empty seats next to us. As I lift my gaze, I see a figure walking through the row to those seats. It turns out to be a former pro wrestler and the man who, if he can “shock the world,” will be the governor of Minnesota come November, Jesse “The Body” Ventura. We think that this is a pretty good sign to be next to him. Before we can even acknowledge his presence, though, the house lights go down, and some eastern, sitar-type music starts coming through the PA. 

    This is the moment—the greatest moment of the concert experience for me. In a pitch-black arena, thousands of people yelling all at once, the sound of energetic anticipation leaving the body. It’s the instant when you are no longer awaiting the moment but are now in it; the image you dreamt up is now reality. The music cuts from the PA system just as a few shadowy figures make their way onto the darkened stage. The crowd is at its zenith at this moment. 

    BOOM! The stage lights come on just as Jimmy Page lights into the opening riff of “The Wanton Song.” The anticipation has given way to elation, and we’re off and running. The following two-plus hours fly past as the audience gets to see something they were sure would never happen again! The surviving members of Led Zeppelin had been clear that they would never get back together, so getting two of the three living members, plus the original drummer’s son, to sit on the kit was a dream. Jimmy Page and Robert Plant had indeed recorded an album together, which is why they are touring at all. They play two or three songs off the new record, but outside of that, it’s nothing but classic Led Zeppelin songs. 

    As Robert Plant is saying they are going to try a track from the new album, Cody leans over to me and shouts, “Beach ball”! I was so mesmerized listening to the music and watching Robert Plant spin like a whirling dervish with the mic stand that I had forgotten about blowing up my beach ball.  I stealthily get it unfolded under my t-shirt, lean my head forward, and blow it up. I don’t know if the security guard will confiscate it or not, but I’m not going to flaunt my contraband in the open and find out.  Once it’s sufficiently inflated, I close the valve. I look over to Cody, who has his ball ready to go. He pulls it out mid-song and launches it into the air. We watch for a couple minutes as the audience bats it around, and security doesn’t seem too concerned. As the song comes to a close, I smack my beach ball and watch it sail. It sails right onto the front of the stage! Hunter punches me in the arm and says, “There’s no way you hit it on the stage”! 

    Before we can say anything else, Robert Plant turns and sees it. A smile crosses his face, and he reaches down and picks it up. He turns to the crowd and waves the beachball, MY BEACH BALL, and coyly asks in the mic, “Is there a beach around here”?!! They then launch into a big hit, “Going to California.” He holds onto the beach ball for about half the song and then launches it back into the audience. All the while, Cody’s beach ball is floating around the arena. At the end of the next song Jimmy Page is shredding the guitar as Cody’s beach ball hits the stage and rolls towards him. He gives a big smile towards Robert Plant and then proceeds to boot the ball back to the audience mid-solo! 

    Hunter, Cody, and I can’t believe it! We all have huge grins on our faces, and we know we have a story to tell from this show. Having watched all those old concert films from the 70s and loving all the shenanigans taking place in the crowd, this was a special moment that we thought had passed us by. By the time I first started going to concerts, security had clamped down on bringing anything into the arena with you. The fact that we were able to sneak in a couple of beach balls and then for them to both make it onto the stage and the band to comment on it felt like a massive win to us, as though it made it more authentic. In my mind, that is how it was for the band as well. When Robert Plant saw the beach ball and got that Cheshire cat grin on his face, I like to think it reminded him of concerts from Led Zeppelin’s height. 

    The concert rolls along “Ramble On,” “Heartbreaker,” “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You,” and “Whole Lotta Love” are some of the songs that they play. After “Whole Lotta Love,” Robert Plants gives a quick thank you to the audience. He and Jimmy Page take a quick bow and walk off stage as it goes dark. We in the audience are clapping, shouting, and whistling. The nonsense of the seemingly obligatory ten to fifteen-minute encore break is the biggest annoyance of live concerts. Luckily, tonight, Page and Plant don’t waste too much time backstage as they come back out after about five minutes. They play a couple more tunes, say thank you to the crowd again, and then launch into “Rock and Roll.” The whole concert has been fantastic, and clearly, the sentiment is held by the crowd because even after the band has walked off the stage, the house lights have come up, and non-descript music is being played through the PA, everyone is still hooting and hollering! 

    We turn to leave, and there stands Jesse “the Body” Ventura. Without thinking about it, Hunter says to him, “What did you think of the show?” and hits him in the stomach!! To me, it seems clear that Hunter can’t contain this playful punch at this moment of excitement.  However, I immediately recoil in shock. I am sure that the gentleman that he has just hit in the stomach is about to return the favor and punch Hunter in the nose. This isn’t going to be a good or fair fight. One punch will end it. Hunter, who on his best day is 5’6″ and tips the scales at maybe 160lbs, isn’t going to have much of a chance against a man who is universally recognized by his nickname, “THE BODY,” that’s not a nickname you get for being out of shape. Jesse “The Body” Ventura, a former professional wrestler, is well over six feet tall and, by my eye, has to be about 275lbs. 

    I look at Hunter. He appears frozen in place, realizing what he did. I look up at Jesse, who turns his head and gazes down at Hunter. Jesse raises his hand and clenches it in a fist. 

    “Here it comes,” I think to myself. 

    To my surprise, and more so to Hunter’s surprise, Jesse pumps his fist in the air and responds by saying to him, “Little Man, if Bonham were alive, they would’ve played for another two hours!” and breaks into a big smile. He was as giddy to have been at the concert as we were, and he could tell my brother meant no offense and clearly wasn’t a threat. Relief washed over Hunter, Cody, and me, and we all shook the future governor’s hand and told him we would vote for him. 

    We made our way out of the arena and back to our car in the parking ramp. We opted to take the elevator to get to our floor, and we packed ourselves in when the doors opened. As the car starts to go up, Cody announces to the other people in the elevator, “Hey, that was my beach ball”! To which he receives a “yea, sure, buddy” and an “Aww, bullshit.” The doors open, and we walk to Hunter’s car, laughing, smiling, and recalling our favorite highlights from the concert. I’m sixteen years old, and I know I’m making memories that will last.

  • Wonderland

    Thoughts from a Vampire Weekend concert

    Manhattan in winter, Montauk in summer, the hipsters of the mid-aughts. No wonder Vampire Weekend had a song on the soundtrack to “Nick and Norah’s Infinite Adventure.” Art school kids that were TCFS.

    Their audience has aged right along with them. Most are married now; some have kids. A few still live in the city; most live in the ‘burbs. Their world is Volvos, PTA meetings, and power lunches. They have grown into the people they knew they would be.

    Tonight, tonight though, they get to relive that glory of past dreams and uncertainty. To fall down the hole into Wonderland once more. That portal opens less and less the further away they get. Most of them just aren’t looking for it anymore. Some fall down here more often than others, the ones that feel that they left something behind, the ones that didn’t like what awaited them outside of Wonderland. The ones who are still certain that they should have married that person, the ones who know that they should have split for Prague or Tokyo, the ones who missed this band and that incredible weekend at Bonnaroo, the ones who weren’t sick in Wonderland, the ones that come back here to be with ones that didn’t get past Wonderland.

    When they first came here, they truly believed. Some knew where they were and how special it was; they also knew it was fleeting. They still tried to believe though. Others were sure that this was the epitome of everything and that they would find a role so that they could stay in Wonderland. And the few that seem to just that they were destined to disappear in Wonderland.

    In a few hours, they will walk out the doors and wake up to hangovers, regrets, and memories. Some of them will have a smile on their face when they awake. A genuine smile was felt for the memories of Wonderland and the gratitude that they had found something better than Wonderland.

    They thought they could return to Wonderland and find it exactly as it was, but you can never go back to Wonderland.

    You know too much.

  • Perfectly Programmed: A Night with Kraftwerk

    What did I just witness? Was that the most incredible concert I’ve ever attended or a waste of two hours? And I mean two hours on the dot, perfectly timed out. The time listed on the ticket was 8:00 p.m., and they hit the stage exactly at 8:00 p.m. and left the stage at precisely 10 p.m.

    It all started with a text message from a friend on Friday afternoon. She posed a simple question: Would my wife or I like to accompany her to the Kraftwerk concert in Minneapolis on Sunday night? I could tell my wife wasn’t jumping at the opportunity, nor was I. My wife and I enjoy live music of just about any genre, and we are both friends with the woman who extended the invitation, so we knew one of us would attend. After a bit of back and forth, it was decided that I would go. We let our friend know and went about our weekend.

    I was familiar with Kraftwerk, although I don’t believe that I had ever knowingly chosen to listen to their music. My knowledge of Kraftwerk is knowing that they are commonly cited by other artists as pioneers in electronic music and that I had found their music to be a little odd on the occasions that I had heard them.

    Sunday afternoon rolled around, and my wife and I were working on a jigsaw puzzle (it was the end of March, but to glance out the window, you would swear it was the beginning of February, the wind blowing fierce and the snow falling hard), my wife decided to put on some music. She asked what I wanted to listen to. I replied that maybe she should put on Kraftwerk so I could familiarize myself with them a little more. For the next two hours, we puzzled and listened to the strange noises that were emanating from the stereo.

    I’ll be honest; after listening to a handful of songs that afternoon (including a 28-minute version of a tune called Autobahn), I felt indifferent about Kraftwerk.

    The evening rolled around. The friend who extended the invitation and I arrived at the theater and found our seats. I glanced at the stage as we sat down and noticed it was nearly bare. There were no instruments, just a foot-high platform with what looked like a row of four small podiums about two feet apart and a projection screen behind.

    The house lights went down, the crowd started to cheer, and green numbers began to appear on the screen. Four figures in a single file line walked onto the stage. Each took a place behind one of the podiums. The figures were dressed in tight black bodysuits, the trim of which was LED lights. They looked like extras from the movie “Tron.”

    While my afternoon listening session gave me a good idea of the music I would hear that evening, I wasn’t sure what I would see. Once the show started, it quickly became apparent. I had seemingly been transported back to the mid-1980s. Graphics fit for Atari or Nintendo appear on the screen, interspersed with old video reels. The images on the screen during the opening song eventually filled the screen as binary code, a look reminiscent of an MS-DOS operating system.

    The screen provided a story for the songs. During their hit “Autobahn,” a clip art style video with graphics reminiscent of the 1980s arcade game “Pole Position” showed German cars driving along an animated version of the famous freeway. When they played “Tour De France,” 8-bit graphics with video clips of bicyclists were spliced in. As the graphics on the screen would change, so would the color of the LED lighting on the band members’ outfits. Throughout the evening designed simplicity seemed to be the rule.

    During one song, “Radioactivity”, it was just single words appearing on the screen in a font that conjured memories of a mid-90s Apple computer. While visually odd, the words still struck today: Chernobyl, Harrisburg, Sellafield, Hiroshima.

    The music, aside from saying it’s electronic, is hard to define. I never said to myself, “Yes, this song is amazing!” but I also never said to myself, “This is terrible.” Easy beats, made with synthesizers and drum machines. I still was unsure what exactly Kraftwerk’s “musicians” were doing; the podiums that they stood behind must have contained various buttons and keys to produce the music. One band member did most of the singing, sometimes in German and sometimes in English.

    I’ve seen lots of concerts, some with elaborate choreography, some with very barren stages, some that started on time and some started hours late. Kraftwerk’s concert was as perfectly planned and executed as any band I have seen. While it appeared simplistic two hours earlier I now realized that everything was about perfection; clean stage lines, precise tones, impeccable timing.

    And then, in the midst of performing a song, one band member turned and walked off the stage. The music continued, but the crowd began to cheer; I realized he had left the stage intentionally, and the exit of the band members was designed into the show as well. In doing this, you could tell what each band member was adding to the sound. After another minute, the next band member turned and exited in the same style. As the last band member made his way off, he stopped and faced the crowd. Everyone was on their feet, showing their appreciation. As he exited, I looked at the time; they had performed for exactly two hours.

    So, was it the greatest concert ever? I don’t know, but it was flawless.