131. old fart
The Crue concert was…underwhelming. The mix was awful, of course part of that is the Blaisdell Arena – I’ve never heard a band sound good in there, even Toto (back when Jeff Porcaro was still alive) – but I don’t think the room was the only problem. The bass was muddy beyond belief, the toms on the drum kit all sounded alike, couldn’t hear the cymbals, couldn’t hear any of the bass lines, sounded like he was just playing one note all night. The vocals were usually buried in the mix. Only thing that really sounded great was the guitar.
Now the fact that I can remember this much about the mix should say something about the performance aspect of the show. The Crue used be known for the most in-your-face, cram-it-down-their-throat, take-no-prisoners shows of the 80’s. Although they swore a lot and tried to get the audience worked up, their stage presence left much to be desired. I give a pass to Mick Mars who’s performing with a painful bone-fusing disease but even the healthy guys in the band looked like they were reading off a script rather than rocking off the cuff.
Sadly, even Tommy Lee was not what he used to be. I mean, he was still the most entertaining of the four, but his stick twirling wasn’t nearly as crisp and a lot of his athletic drumming style was hidden behind a monster kick drum.
Now here’s the thing that’s got me worried. I think I’m going to have a better time at the Beethoven concert later this month than I did at the Crue show. Crap! Doesn’t that basically make me certifiably old? And it’s not just these concerts – I got a 30% off coupon from Borders and my first thought was, “ooh, I’m going to pick up Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite!” And while I was there I also bought a copy of Handel’s Messiah. What’s happening to me?
Maybe being single this long, I’ve become the male equivalent of those old maids with a house full of cats. I believe term for women like that is spinster. Is there term like that for males?
Of course I’m being facetious. I know I’m not (that) old. Besides, age is a social construct. Still, I’m going to be 34 in two months which is one year away from 35. I didn’t care about turning 25 or even turning 30, but for some reason the thought of being 35 freaks me out. Age may be a social construct, but I happen to live in that society and so am subject to its perceptions.
That’s okay, I’m a rock-n-roll drummer which comes with a license for perpetual adolescence.