For the longest time, I didn't go to music concerts, despite my love of the rock. I always saw the album recording as the definitive version of a song, so it took me a while to understand that the live performance was a unique beast worthy of consideration and enjoyment, an alternative version that could even better the original recording, if circumstances were right. Once I came to that conclusion, the live show floodgates were opened, and 1992 was ground zero.
Now, when I say "floodgates," keep in mind that I started off cautiously, more a trickle than a flood. I needed to find my sea legs, the rituals and patterns that the seasoned concertgoer takes for granted. For example, in my early shows, I never brought earplugs. [A major contributing factor to my tinnitus, to be sure.] And for a few shows, I thought that being at the front was paramount, even if it meant that I was being elbowed and beset by the body odor of my neighbors. At any rate, here's what I remember as my concert-going experiences from 1992:
Matthew Sweet [Blind Pig, Ann Arbor 3.25]
Curve [St. Andrew's Hall, Detroit 5.27]
Peter Murphy [Chene Park, Detroit 6.6]
The New York Rock 'N Soul Revue [Pine Knob, Clarkston 8.30]
Morrissey [The Palace of Auburn Hills 9.26]
Again, this is what I remember based on me finding a shitload of my old ticket stubs last week. I have a nagging suspicion that I saw more shows than this in '92 (for example, I'm pretty sure I saw The Cure at The Palace of Auburn Hills on the Wish tour; there's no ticket to be found, but I have a t-shirt from that tour), but this is a good start. And it also tells the casual reader where my musical tastes were at that point: somewhat Gothic, mostly British, with a taste of alternative pop and classic rock.
What are my memories? My biggest concert memory of '92 -- aside from instantly hating the Blind Pig and instantly loving Matthew Sweet's guitarist (former Television ace Richard Lloyd) and instantly wishing I had brought earplugs -- was waiting with ever-mounting anticipation at the front of the stage for Curve to begin. [Who's Curve, you ask? Read this. They were like a cool and dark and sexy version of Garbage, but years before Garbage was even a twinkle in Butch Vig's eye.] In the darkness, after the fog machines laid down a blanket of chemical mist for what seemed like an hour, the strobes hit and the band started, while lead singer Toni Halliday (looking like an Egyptian goddess of sex and death and rock and roll) began her seductive croon. It was at that point on that I figured out rock concerts weren't all that bad, and so began my decades-long live music habit. And 1993 was soon to follow.
Now, when I say "floodgates," keep in mind that I started off cautiously, more a trickle than a flood. I needed to find my sea legs, the rituals and patterns that the seasoned concertgoer takes for granted. For example, in my early shows, I never brought earplugs. [A major contributing factor to my tinnitus, to be sure.] And for a few shows, I thought that being at the front was paramount, even if it meant that I was being elbowed and beset by the body odor of my neighbors. At any rate, here's what I remember as my concert-going experiences from 1992:
Matthew Sweet [Blind Pig, Ann Arbor 3.25]
Curve [St. Andrew's Hall, Detroit 5.27]
Peter Murphy [Chene Park, Detroit 6.6]
The New York Rock 'N Soul Revue [Pine Knob, Clarkston 8.30]
Morrissey [The Palace of Auburn Hills 9.26]
Again, this is what I remember based on me finding a shitload of my old ticket stubs last week. I have a nagging suspicion that I saw more shows than this in '92 (for example, I'm pretty sure I saw The Cure at The Palace of Auburn Hills on the Wish tour; there's no ticket to be found, but I have a t-shirt from that tour), but this is a good start. And it also tells the casual reader where my musical tastes were at that point: somewhat Gothic, mostly British, with a taste of alternative pop and classic rock.
What are my memories? My biggest concert memory of '92 -- aside from instantly hating the Blind Pig and instantly loving Matthew Sweet's guitarist (former Television ace Richard Lloyd) and instantly wishing I had brought earplugs -- was waiting with ever-mounting anticipation at the front of the stage for Curve to begin. [Who's Curve, you ask? Read this. They were like a cool and dark and sexy version of Garbage, but years before Garbage was even a twinkle in Butch Vig's eye.] In the darkness, after the fog machines laid down a blanket of chemical mist for what seemed like an hour, the strobes hit and the band started, while lead singer Toni Halliday (looking like an Egyptian goddess of sex and death and rock and roll) began her seductive croon. It was at that point on that I figured out rock concerts weren't all that bad, and so began my decades-long live music habit. And 1993 was soon to follow.
aw, come on! being upfront with the smelly, enthusiastic, dancy people is the best tho!
ReplyDelete(speaking of that, if ever you get a chance to see the What Cheer? brigade DO, saw them last night, best, most energetic, show i've been to in weeks.)