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Well ladies and gentlemen, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.
There comes a time in all of our lives where we just have to stop wondering Who’s Crying Now and just Rocket.
At least I’m pretty sure I’ve said that before.
I mean certainly I can think of some practical applications to such a poignant statement, but in the grand scheme of things, it appears I’m just using word play on a few song titles to make a point.
That point is readily obvious. On the surface, it says kwicherbichen and git-r-done.
Look deeper though.
What does it really say?
Give up?
Fine, I’ll tell you.
It means that I saw Journey and Def Leppard last night.
Less than 12 hours later, after smearing copious amounts of cream cheese on an Everything bagel and sharing it with the owner of the puppy dog eyes who would rather plunge her be-whiskered muzzle into the tub of cream cheese before smearing it on anything, let alone a bagel, I’ve begun the process of introducing a coffee flavored energy drink at the very, very, very top of my urethra and then have come here to the internet to tell you about the event.
Isn’t that great?
TharpSter’s talking about seeing Def Leppard live.
A-gain.
Hang on, I gotta make sure I used one of those words from up above in the correct context.
Tube….
Male…
Yeah, I got it.
While we’re on the subject, the dog is sitting here in great anticipation of going to the dog park and then for a walk. She’s made it abundantly clear to me this morning that she’s more than ticked off about me taking off last night to the concert in the requisite dress code (Astros cap, sunglasses, t-shirt, cargo shorts, and old New Balance shoes) without her at the end of the leash.
As such, please excuse me for a few while I step away and dispense with that nasty “Go to hell” looks she’s giving me right now.
Okay, I’m back.
We went to the park. I picked up her poop. She continued to exhibit misanthropic behavior with the other dogs who wanted nothing but to sniff her butt.
We then went for a walk around the park where real live grown adults carry around backpacks and push carts loaded up with plastic discs in accordance with their spirited game of disc-golf. Certainly the sport looks interesting. I don’t understand why one needs a bag loaded up with the requisite equipment when all you really need is a frisbee that smells like liverwurst and a caddy of the canine sort that has a good appreciation for the process of fetch.
I digress.
Speaking of digressing, take a walk with me if you will to the year 1983. The month was April, just a few months before TharpSter New Years where I would get my learner’s permit. My brother and I had 7th row tickets to see Journey on their Frontiers tour. Bryan Adams opened for them, and some band named The Tulk (I think) kicked the show off.
Sitting in the 7th row on the floor at my very first rock concert absolutely sucked. Everyone was standing, which made it especially sucky and claustrophobic as a short person. Journey had a screen up above the stage where they were broadcasting the show via closed circuit.
Realizing I could take in the whole show without being mauled by those near me who just wanted to rock, I made my way to the section in the back of the arena and watched the rest of the show from there. I was able to see the whole stage as well as what was being broadcasted.
Quick side note involving a whole lot of useless information. The picture I’ve posted from that particular tour comes from the Faithfully video which portrays the visual story about bands on the road. In this case, the footage I grabbed from the video was actually taken at the venue where I saw them all those years ago. The blue and purple horizontal stripes on the wall behind the stage are a dead giveaway. I worked at the venue for a while. I would know.
Aside from nearly drowning in vast pool of human debris (the dog ain’t the only misanthrope around here), a fun time was had by all.
Fast forward a handful of months to August of that same year. My brother and I were a little older and a little wiser. After begging and pleading with Mom and Dad for several months, we were granted permission to go see Def Leppard. We had been watching these guys on MTV lately and had the Pyromania album (literally) burning up the record player that summer.
This time around we got seats in that section in the middle at the back of the arena so we could see the whole darned thing. Claustrophobia and general mauling averted, and yet again, a fun time was had by all.
And now, 35 years later to the month, I’ve now seen Journey 3 times and just chalked up number 10 for Def Leppard. Now I could tell you where I sat last night, but I’d like to think I don’t need to.
All things being equal, I went into last night’s show with some trepidations. I generally had some concerns about the show itself.
I know. Stupid, right?
Since August, 2009, I’ve seen these guys five times. The set-lists have changed slightly in that time, but overall the show has stayed the same. There’s been a big video production on the wall behind the stage. A vast assortment of lights and lasers adorn the stage and flash the audience in seizure triggering patterns designed to synchronize with the music being played.
There’s only one real solo, and that’s a bass solo that leads into a song. Otherwise, the guitarists don’t come out individually on their own to occupy the stage in a few minutes of glory to show us what they can do. The last time I saw them do that was in 1992.
The drummer doesn’t come out on his own either, even though for just over 30 years he’s been playing with one arm and a solo is the very thing we would love to see.
All things being equal, I’m pretty sure I know why we don’t see drum solos from Def Leppard. Given the limitations of what a one-armed drummer can do on a customized kit, technology infused with a small portion of the ghost of Keith Moon is necessary sometimes.
Speaking of drum solos, I’ve got a quick tangential non-sequitur to mention.
Last night (and on this tour), Steve Smith of Journey commandeered the stage for his own drum solo. At one point, the projection of the event on the video wall behind him was an overhead shot of what the he was doing on the snare drum. Ladies and gentlemen, the things that man was doing with the stick in his left hand were artistic and impressive to say the least. The stick rolled to different positions in his hand and generally took on a life of its own.
Okay, where was I?
There are about ten songs that have to be played every time at a Def Leppard concert. If you go to a Def Leppard concert and don’t hear those songs, then the disposable income you just dispatched to see these guys has gone to waste and the money could have been better allocated resolving old student loan debt instead.
That being said, I’ve pretty much seen the same show every time in the last 9 years. The way they’ve started the show has been different every time, but that’s about the only difference. No solos. No improvisations. No deviations from the well-oiled machine that has done one thing one way in the years following their ability to put butts in the seats with their newer music.
Of course, you see what I’ve done to myself, don’t you?
There’s nothing wrong with what Def Leppard is doing in order to continue to make a living and giving fans what they want.
The problem is that I’ve gone to the movie theater week after week to watch just one movie over and over again. Now I’m sitting here wondering to myself if that final light saber dual between Obi-Wan Kenobi and Darth Vader could feature more acrobatics. I sit here and hope against all odds that we get to see some womp rats getting bullseyed by a T16 back home. I’m begging for the opportunity to see the Death Star enter into light speed.
It would seem that stuff isn’t available anymore.
Two old men continue to side step around with light sabers in hand and guitar solos are limited to double and/or dueling leads in elaborate instrumentals.
Mere references are made to offing womp rats back home with the T16, and throwing caution to the wind by letting a fan come up on stage to take over some of the instrumental work are relegated to the antics of other bands.
We’ll continue to be told that a large object like the Death Star is coming out of hyper-space, and the same setlist model will continue to be used.
Good Lord in Butter.
I just spent the last several paragraphs harshly criticizing two of my favorite things.
Maybe I need to take up a new hobby to take some of that edge off.
I’m hearing some wonderful things about that disc golf stuff.
