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Due to the fact that I’m vacation, being plied with various liquors, and have nothing original to say, here’s an oldie but goodie from July of 2008.
Nothing has changed in the least. (However, apologies for my formatting issues. Maybe it’s because of some weird Time Cop issue.)
Enjoy.
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| This is the closest I came to standing still.
Seeing Boston in concert was truly a religious experience. Sure, I’m a Catholic and I go to mass and all that…but I can also worship at the [tasteful] altar of Tom Scholz. It was incredible. Not so much the fend-for-yourself seating- there was a line to get “into” the roped-off outdoor seating area, plus security people had no idea where seats were, nor did they care to help you. And when I tried to muscle my way through the hundreds of people standing behind the “seating area” to buy a tee shirt, I was stepped over, shoved aside, kicked in the ankle and pinched without mercy. Once at the stand, however, I discovered that they only take cash! Seriously? Thirty-five bucks for a [rad] tee shirt and you expect me to just have cash? Oh, okay, I’ll just muscle my way up a hill, also crowded with people from the backwoods of Wisconsin (do they have backwoods? I truly don’t know) to pay a three buck service fee from an unnamed ATM. It may have just been a dude sitting inside a box. But he gave me cash, so that’s nice. I squoze my way back down through the crowd, back to the stand, got my [rad] shirt and wiggled back up and around the crowd to get back into line to squeeze into the seating area. Styx had already begun but that’s okay. “Renegade” sounded good, though.
So, throughout Styx’s set I was bouncing around with impatience. Seriously, I thought my heart was gonna implode from the sheer awesomeness of finally getting to see Boston in concert. (Keely’s dad in 1986 after refusing to let her go see Boston/Black Crowes: “There’s plenty of time to see them when you’re older.” Sure, I was six…but whatever.)
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And then: “Are you ready for some rock?”
Yes! Yes I am!
And oh my goodness, perhaps I was not ready for some rock. Their guitars (and my heart) soared with the ferocity of a jet taking off. I punched P.J. in the arm and asked if he could believe it. He could, he answered. (Poor Peej. I may have broken his ribcage in my moshpit of one.) But they played “Cool the Engines!” That’s a B-side from Third Stage! And “The Launch!” That’s the song that my Dad would play for us in the Aerostar, pretending the volume didn’t work. He’d turn the volume up and up and jokingly say “Oh, I don’t hear anything,” but we knew that the slow build of the bass would inevitably make way for a van-shattering celebration of guitars and fist-pumping chord progressions.
The set list was fantastic, comprised entirely of songs that I readily screamed along to, even if the majority of the audience didn’t recognize half of them. Posers. They did a nice tribute to Brad Delp, another song from Third Stage called “A Man I’ll Never Be,” and everyone whipped out their cellphones (the new lighter). At the end, however, Michael Sweet (former lead singer of Stryper) pointed up to the sky. And a blue spotlight appeared on Michael, as if Brad himself deemed Michael a worthy replacement and this was Michael’s way of accepting that great responsibility. It was a bit much, but I didn’t mind. People ate it up. Again, posers.
However, ending with “Party?” For a second encore? Please. If I may be so bold, that is the LEAST awesome song ever, written by Boston or otherwise. It’s up there with “She’s having my baby.” (Not written by Boston.) But these fools dug it so much that they were up on folding chairs and high-fiving each other. Seriously? You don’t wanna end with, oh, “Let Me Take You Home Tonight?” Or perhaps “I Had a Good Time?” Heck, play “More Than a Feeling” again. (Please. And did I mention that I walked down the aisle to an organ version of “More Than A Feeling?” ‘Cause I totally did.)
But whatever. It was still in the top three shows of all time for me. Tom Scholz’ guitar solo (followed by his synth solo- yes, a synth solo) was jaw-dropping. The man can play so fast! And on such Boston-sounding instruments! That he invented! Even if we kept getting shoved back into the aisles by the positively moronic security guards (Why the hell are you in the aisles? Clear this aisle! Are you dancing? Sit in your folding chair!) it was a crazy amazing concert.
And definitely more than a feeling. Something clearly more tangible.
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