The broad’s side of… concerts

A While back, I found myself involuntarily subjected to the musical stylings of the Jonas Brothers. I didn’t want to be there on any level, but I’ll admit there was a certain amount of morbid curiosity. The be-dazzler definitely got a solid workout in many Northeast Ohio homes in the days and weeks preceding this fiasco of a show. Home-made glitter tee-shirts were certainly the rage amongst the pre-teen demographic, as were stripper-esque make-up and hairstyles. I was genuinely disturbed to see the blue trailer park eye shadow being showcased by the precocious prosti-tots crawling the arena prior to the concert. There were various mini vans and mobile homes adorned with streamers, balloons and Jo Bros paraphernalia parked outside. Some boasted openly about making the trek to follow these little boys on tour. As I was walking through the sea of obsessed fans, I happened upon a site that was truly heartbreaking. Someone’s chaperone was decked out in an obnoxious hot pink shirt with the words ‘JBs # 1 Fan’s Dad’ emblazoned across the front in giant sparkly letters. His wife had the mom version on and, I can only assume, his balls in her pocket. As I looked him in the eye, I realized that he was dead inside. The vacant look said it all…his soul had been lost forever.

As if I weren’t feeling like a candidate for social security yet, the next incident put me over the edge. I stepped on to the elevator with a really attractive guy. He smiled and made small talk in a clearly flirtatious manner. I was feeling pretty special at that particular moment. Just then, the elevator doors opened and he hopped on his Razor scooter and glided away. I’m fairly certain that he was also wearing a backpack. I actually considered turning myself in for my borderline predatory thoughts. Since the concert was hosted at Quicken Loans Arena where the Cavaliers play, I’m sure the Bros received some sort of memorabilia from the team…most likely jerseys. I envision the two oldest ones getting the LeBron and Shaq jerseys, while the little one gets stuck with Sasha Pavlovic or Eric Snow which are now on clearance for practically free. I’m sure he’s thinking, “This sucks. First I get Diabetes…and now this.” As I sat there considering calling in a bomb threat to free myself from the tortuous sounds I was being exposed to, something awful happened. The Teenage Mutant Brothers covered ‘Sweet Caroline’ by Neil Diamond! Are you kidding me? I understand that most renditions of this are performed in crowded karaoke bars after about twenty brewskis, so they probably weren’t that familiar with it… but they totally messed up the words and it left me feeling like I got stuck with the Eric Snow jersey.

My first concert ever was New Kids On The Block, and recently I had the chance to take a trip down memory lane by seeing them again. To put it gently, their fans have not aged gracefully. Imagine the homemade glitter tee shirts in size 3X on 35 year old fanatical women. It was as if an art supply truck collided with a plate glass window at the local Lane Bryant, creating this haphazard brand of fashion. There were also a lot of hair bows involved. Grown women should never wear any type of bow and/or ribbon related hair accessory of any kind. It’s not cute…trust me. Throw in a bunch of ‘Marry me Jordan’ signs, and you officially have a train-wreck on your hands. I now have a basic understanding of how it would feel to be America’s Next Top Model. It was hard not to have an inflated ego in the midst of that petting zoo. The second time my hair caught on fire was at a Bon Jovi concert during a very moving rendition of ‘Never Say Goodbye’. Yes, I said the SECOND time. It was, after all the Aqua-net years of my life. Remember the good old days, when they used to deploy butane lighters during ballads? Genius idea in an arena full of big haired 80’s tramps lacquered in aerosol hairspray. I’m actually hoping that hair bands make a comeback by the time my daughter wants to see a concert. I think I’d be on suicide watch if I had to go see Miley Cyrus or the Cheetah Girls. KISS came to Cleveland recently, and I have a distinct recollection that I’ve been to a handful of ‘Farewell’ tours with them being the guests of honor. I’m not buying into that crap until I hear someone deliver Gene Simmons’ eulogy. If you have the opportunity to see them, you should jump all over that. By miles, it is the best people watching you’ll experience in your lifetime.

I’ve been harboring an unhealthy amount of resentment towards Axl Rose for the past few years because of a Guns N Roses concert gone horribly wrong. That douchebag left me waiting for hours because his ‘flight was delayed’, which is clearly code for passed out backstage. Waiting is one thing, but when the beers are $10 a piece, I take exception. They were so desperate for filler, that I’m pretty sure they paid retired strippers in nachos to do cartwheels on stage. By the time Axl came to, the crowd was sloppy drunk and angry. There were about 30 people on stage for whatever reason. I’m not sure if he thought that he could trick us into thinking Slash was still in the band…not really falling for the distraction. The new gimmick was some idiot wearing a KFC bucket on his head while he played what appeared to be a bad game of Guitar Hero. Colonel Sanders better haunt his ass for that. I paid $40 for a GNR tee shirt prior to the concert, and I have to admit that I love it. I continue to worship Guns and Roses, but have now accepted the fact that they no longer exist. I’ll listen to my old school CDs, wearing my kick ass shirt, but I’m not going the ‘Chinese Democracy’ route. I’m kind of like Stephanie Seymour. I got my ass kicked by Axl and now I’ve moved on.


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About the Broad

A humorous look at dating in your mid-thirties and the other hilarious things that happen around us on a daily basis.

December 2009
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