Somewhere before dawn I lay in my van listening to people still staggering past to piss in the bay or throw up, hopefully not too near me. The piledriver beat of the bass echoed through my tired brain.
Even the carnies had turned in – their bumper cars, rides and screaming children fading long before the last of the crowd found the exit. A sudden downpour forced dozens to stuff themselves into a row of filthy porta-potties earlier in the night and things didn’t get better.
One of the warm-up bands, claiming to be from Nashville, and they probably were, kept bragging they wrote every song. Then, like Toby Keith with Bullets in the Gun, they played rip-off familiar melodies with different words. The first started with the opening riff of Tracy Chapman’s Fast Car, followed by the exact tune from beginning to end, but now with insipid lyrics added as they passed it off as their own song.
Then the main act appeared – I’m not keeping her anonymous because of lawsuits but simply because I already forgot who she was. Average voice, average songs played extremely loud, and someone had added voices shouting for her on the tracks she was singing over. I’ve never seen or heard that before, either.
“Yeah! Go! Oh, yeah!” was screamed through the speakers by a chorus of young girls who were not in the crowd or onstage. Added to the show like a laugh-track on the old TV sitcoms. I’m not sure who’s bringing this to concert venues but they can keep it. Or not. It was my last unless I know who is playing and really, really want to see them.
I’ll be in Ireland through the end of the year. It would be hard to imagine they’ll be doing these things in the pubs, but give them time.
Hohoho.
MikeI took this photo the next morning near my van. It seems to sum up how I feel.
