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ears still ringing
Aug. 2nd, 2009 10:52 amLast night I went with fairyhead to see a Green Day arena show. (For those not in the know,J is a huge fan; it's terribly cute.) I like some of their songs, and hadn't seen an arena show in years (never with J) so went along out of a combined sense of adventure and curiosity, expecting to hear some good tunes.
One difference about arena shows versus going to clubs is that far fewer people make an effort on their ensembles. There's no culture or vibe of place at big, generic places like that, or maybe there is; maybe the culture is lackadaisical, lazy, and of the suburban majority. We saw more plaid shorts and flip flops in one night than we usually see in months. Needless to say, we stood out a bit, but an interesting side effect was that the few visible young would be punks kept looking to us for encouragement and/or approval. At moments I felt like an anonymous subcultural saint or hero.
But one thing I realized is that I like a lot more Green Day songs than I realized. I think living with J sort of throws my perspective off; living with a "true" fan, all I see are the number of songs I can take or leave over the course of their career. It's easy to lose sight of the fact that, in relation to other people, I know and like more songs than they've probably even heard of. Hell, I have a favorite album; I tend to forget what that means outside of my own home context.
The band, though, can work a fucking audience. The treated an arena of thousands like a club of hundreds, and got what I imagine is a very similar response. Despite my habitual bristling at being directed in my actions by a band ("It's not that I'm antiauthoritarian, I just don't like being told what to do." Except, well, I am anti-authoritarian.), there was less a "Fuck you!" and more of a "yeah, OK, whatever" response. They (the band) worked very hard to make it an interactive experience, rather than a passive one, at one point even exhorting people in the stands to stand up: "This isn't television! Get up!"
Some things didn't surprise me: they're incredibly energetic, almost frighteningly so; Tres Cool is still the goofiest person in the band, and probably the goofiest drummer I've ever seen. Mike Dirnt is still the cutest (by far); they don't mask their politics at all (at one point they had scrolling text like "War is the economic recovery. We ship poor people to die over there so we can stay fat and happy here at home. Ain't it great?" across the stage), even if most of their audience is probably clueless.
All in all, I'm glad I went. It definitely took the ugly taste of my last arena show (Depeche Mode: the things I do for friends) away, and made me realize that maybe the venue genre isn't dead but still lumbering on like I'd assumed. If you missed it, it was easily your loss.
One difference about arena shows versus going to clubs is that far fewer people make an effort on their ensembles. There's no culture or vibe of place at big, generic places like that, or maybe there is; maybe the culture is lackadaisical, lazy, and of the suburban majority. We saw more plaid shorts and flip flops in one night than we usually see in months. Needless to say, we stood out a bit, but an interesting side effect was that the few visible young would be punks kept looking to us for encouragement and/or approval. At moments I felt like an anonymous subcultural saint or hero.
But one thing I realized is that I like a lot more Green Day songs than I realized. I think living with J sort of throws my perspective off; living with a "true" fan, all I see are the number of songs I can take or leave over the course of their career. It's easy to lose sight of the fact that, in relation to other people, I know and like more songs than they've probably even heard of. Hell, I have a favorite album; I tend to forget what that means outside of my own home context.
The band, though, can work a fucking audience. The treated an arena of thousands like a club of hundreds, and got what I imagine is a very similar response. Despite my habitual bristling at being directed in my actions by a band ("It's not that I'm antiauthoritarian, I just don't like being told what to do." Except, well, I am anti-authoritarian.), there was less a "Fuck you!" and more of a "yeah, OK, whatever" response. They (the band) worked very hard to make it an interactive experience, rather than a passive one, at one point even exhorting people in the stands to stand up: "This isn't television! Get up!"
Some things didn't surprise me: they're incredibly energetic, almost frighteningly so; Tres Cool is still the goofiest person in the band, and probably the goofiest drummer I've ever seen. Mike Dirnt is still the cutest (by far); they don't mask their politics at all (at one point they had scrolling text like "War is the economic recovery. We ship poor people to die over there so we can stay fat and happy here at home. Ain't it great?" across the stage), even if most of their audience is probably clueless.
All in all, I'm glad I went. It definitely took the ugly taste of my last arena show (Depeche Mode: the things I do for friends) away, and made me realize that maybe the venue genre isn't dead but still lumbering on like I'd assumed. If you missed it, it was easily your loss.
