When I'm asked to think of my first concert, I have to first define my personal parameters of "concert" and whether or not that's the same as a Rock Show. If we say that a concert isn't the same as a Rock Show, then I would have to say that my first concert was seeing pre-"Don't Worry, Be Happy" Bobby McFerrin, although the details -- mid-'80s, some college auditorium in southern lower Michigan -- are a bit fuzzy. (I do remember that he did a Wizard Of Oz bit where he sang some of the songs and did some of the voices. Yes, he was pretty awesome.)
In general, I wasn't interested in seeing live music for some time, as I had a weird belief that the recorded performance was the more "real" and definitive version of a song; however, in time I learned to understand the subjectivity of that belief, that there were different pleasures to be extracted from recorded music and live music, so in early 1992, I decided to drop my defenses and see my first Rock Show. (I almost bit the bullet a year earlier, as I was given an opportunity to see the first Lollapalooza in August of '91. But who would want to see Jane's Addiction and Nine Inch Nails and Living Colour and Violent Femmes and Siouxsie & The Banshees and Fishbone and JESUS CHRIST WHY WAS I SO STUPID AND CHICKENSHIT ABOUT GOING BY MYSELF?!?) And that first Rock Show, at the Blind Pig in Ann Arbor on 25 March 1992, was Matthew Sweet.
A few month earlier, Matthew Sweet had released his killer album Girlfriend, which pushed him into the semi-limelight of multiple spins from the impressionable record store employees at WHR #9. When we yokels heard that Matthew Sweet was doing to do an in-store signing at the Ann Arbor WHR location, a few of us WHR #9 kids piled into the car and did a road trip to meet the guy, who proved to be likable and shy. (Of course, not shy enough to turn down smoking pot with one of WHR's owners and an unnamed WHR #9 employee on the roof of the Ann Arbor location.)
After the store signing, we spun our wheels until the evening's show, which was heavy on those great and timeless tracks from Girlfriend, with a rough yet appealing energy boosted by some significant volume, as I wasn't into the wearing of earplugs yet. The Blind Pig was hot and cramped, the sound was just short of painfully loud, the ride home was over three hours long, and yet that show flicked a switch that turned me into a consumer of live music. Soon after in '92 came live shows from Curve and Peter Murphy and The New York Rock 'n' Soul Revue (a.k.a. Almost Steely Dan) and so many more over the years and decades.
And then, on 11 September 2016, almost two and a half decades since the first time, I saw Matthew Sweet at The Magic Bag in Ferndale. My biggest problem with the show, of course, was me -- I'd never had the experience of seeing the same artist after so much time had elapsed, so there were bound to be age-related issues that would guarantee that my expectations wouldn't be met. But it's hard to remember a show that was more disappointing on every level, from the corroded vocals to the limp and hurried musicianship to the wan sound to the ossified set list, heavy on Girlfriend at the expense of his other work. It made me go straight to my iPod and pull up his music for my drive home, just to remind me of his recorded brilliance and to chase away the sour disconnect between what I've heard and remembered and what I just witnessed.
In the middle of his set was "We're The Same," a highlight and personal favorite from his '95 album 100% Fun, and the irony of that song was never more stark than it was a few nights ago. The chorus of "sometimes it's me / sometimes it's you" gained a bit more clarity with the added lenses of age and experience, and I wish I would have let those memories of Sweet at his peak stay the same, because nothing else in life ever does, and we're foolish to think and wish and hope for otherwise. You can't go home again, even if Girlfriend is waiting for you each and every time.
In general, I wasn't interested in seeing live music for some time, as I had a weird belief that the recorded performance was the more "real" and definitive version of a song; however, in time I learned to understand the subjectivity of that belief, that there were different pleasures to be extracted from recorded music and live music, so in early 1992, I decided to drop my defenses and see my first Rock Show. (I almost bit the bullet a year earlier, as I was given an opportunity to see the first Lollapalooza in August of '91. But who would want to see Jane's Addiction and Nine Inch Nails and Living Colour and Violent Femmes and Siouxsie & The Banshees and Fishbone and JESUS CHRIST WHY WAS I SO STUPID AND CHICKENSHIT ABOUT GOING BY MYSELF?!?) And that first Rock Show, at the Blind Pig in Ann Arbor on 25 March 1992, was Matthew Sweet.
A few month earlier, Matthew Sweet had released his killer album Girlfriend, which pushed him into the semi-limelight of multiple spins from the impressionable record store employees at WHR #9. When we yokels heard that Matthew Sweet was doing to do an in-store signing at the Ann Arbor WHR location, a few of us WHR #9 kids piled into the car and did a road trip to meet the guy, who proved to be likable and shy. (Of course, not shy enough to turn down smoking pot with one of WHR's owners and an unnamed WHR #9 employee on the roof of the Ann Arbor location.)
After the store signing, we spun our wheels until the evening's show, which was heavy on those great and timeless tracks from Girlfriend, with a rough yet appealing energy boosted by some significant volume, as I wasn't into the wearing of earplugs yet. The Blind Pig was hot and cramped, the sound was just short of painfully loud, the ride home was over three hours long, and yet that show flicked a switch that turned me into a consumer of live music. Soon after in '92 came live shows from Curve and Peter Murphy and The New York Rock 'n' Soul Revue (a.k.a. Almost Steely Dan) and so many more over the years and decades.
And then, on 11 September 2016, almost two and a half decades since the first time, I saw Matthew Sweet at The Magic Bag in Ferndale. My biggest problem with the show, of course, was me -- I'd never had the experience of seeing the same artist after so much time had elapsed, so there were bound to be age-related issues that would guarantee that my expectations wouldn't be met. But it's hard to remember a show that was more disappointing on every level, from the corroded vocals to the limp and hurried musicianship to the wan sound to the ossified set list, heavy on Girlfriend at the expense of his other work. It made me go straight to my iPod and pull up his music for my drive home, just to remind me of his recorded brilliance and to chase away the sour disconnect between what I've heard and remembered and what I just witnessed.
In the middle of his set was "We're The Same," a highlight and personal favorite from his '95 album 100% Fun, and the irony of that song was never more stark than it was a few nights ago. The chorus of "sometimes it's me / sometimes it's you" gained a bit more clarity with the added lenses of age and experience, and I wish I would have let those memories of Sweet at his peak stay the same, because nothing else in life ever does, and we're foolish to think and wish and hope for otherwise. You can't go home again, even if Girlfriend is waiting for you each and every time.
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