Don’t Let the Bright Lights Take You Away

Tags

Beach Boys, busy, concerts, Music, relax, reset, San Francisco, Wilco, work, writing

The first concert I attended was when I was in second grade. It was probably 1984 or so, and it was at Laguna Seca raceway, near Monterey. Of course, I grew up listening to The Beach Boys because of my dad. As a southern California native, he spent most of his teenaged days at the beach, and any music part of the surf scene was part of his scene.

I should perhaps mention that my dad was not with me at this concert. I went with a friend, who wasn’t interested in the music, and she coaxed me into riding carnival rides the entire time. Looking back, it was disappointing. But, I still have a special place in my heart for The Beach Boys even if I didn’t get to really see them live.

I’m thinking about this first concert because I went to my most recent concert last weekend. It was at the Greek Theater in Berkeley, one of the best venues around, and it was for one of my favorite bands. I had seen Wilco twice before–once the first week I had ever spent in Vermont, and the second was a couple of years ago at Shoreline. Regardless, the concert was dynamo, as was the weather. I hung out with old friends, and loved every minute of it.

I haven’t written for a while because life has been a little hectic. All of our lives are all hectic, I know. But, I seemed to have everything squared away and well-organized. And last week, it all shit the bed. I began my first Stanford class, I had several dinners with friends, I had unexpected quizzes that I hadn’t fully graded, I ducked out of work as soon as I could after the kids left, and then booked it to Tahoe for the weekend to celebrate my nephew’s 4th birthday. I’m not complaining about any of this, but I am paying the price now.

Class this week consisted of workshopping a short story I have been working on for a while, and I am very pleased with the results. I received amazing feedback–both constructive and praise–and I now have a budding novel on my hands. We shall see where it leads.

Usually when I get busy, I thrive. Miraculously, I am able to reorganize my closet at 9:45 at night, or make 12 dozen cookies for my students. But for some reason this week, I am instead just shutting down. I am beat. I need to hit the reset button, regroup, recommit, relax.

It should be easy, since San Francisco is on course to completely blow up this weekend. This city can not hold one more event. We’ve got Fleet Week, Hardly Strictly Bluegrass, Oracle World (which draws 20,000+ and twelve serious bands to perform every night in the middle of town), the Giants playoffs game, the 49er game, college football games, NFL games, AND America’s Cup practice. Additionally, I have a bunch of friends in town this weekend. The only room we have for any other event is an earthquake. We have absolutely covered Land, Sea, and Sky. I have already gone to the market, I will park my car on Friday afternoon, and I will see it again on Monday morning.

Despite all the events and hoopla, I am hoping to get some exercise, mellow out and read a book, cook a little–anything to remove myself from the bright lights…I need to ignore their beckoning and take a step back. I should ignore the distractions of the carnival rides, and simply enjoy the concert. After all, Stevie Wonder did say La la la la la la…

——

Wendy–The Beach Boys

Gumboots–Paul Simon

My Cherie Amour–Stevie Wonder

Where I End and You Begin–Radiohead

Love and Peace or Else–U2

Lady of Avenue A–The Black Crowes

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Slide and Let the Silicone Embrace You as You Fall

Tags

concerts, family, Friends, memories, Neil Young, past, Pearl Jam, perspective

When I was 17, nearly 18, I flew to Colorado without my parents to attend my college orientation. It was early summer and I raced back to attend a Pearl Jam concert that was supposed to change the world of ticket sales. Eddie Vedder et al chose to boycott Ticketmaster due to onerous fees. In the spring of 1995, I paid what I remember to be “a buttload of money” to attend the Pearl Jam concert in the Golden Gate Polo Fields. Three of us made our way to San Francisco, and were ready for the day. Well, sort of. Temperatures skyrocketed to high 90s. In the Sunset District, this is highly abnormal. People passed out right and left due to sunstroke. My friends chose to drink straight vodka and were eventually sicker than dogs. Neil Young, who was opening for Pearl Jam, kept singing and playing, playing and singing. I wasn’t a fan.

By the time Eddie Vedder and his band made their appearance on stage, he was stumbling. I was up close to the stage thanks to my drunk girlfriends. I didn’t dare to leave them because this whole scene was (and probably is, even still) very new to me.
But they played like hell for nearly 30 minutes which was fantastic, until it wasn’t. Eddie pawed at the mic, set off an exorbatant amount of feedback which caused everyone to clutch their ears, and mumbled an inaudable phrase. We as an audience received the occasional word and had to piece everything together. “Flu”, “sick”, “worst day of my life”, and then Eddie split. As the crowd realized what happened, the booing began. And we stopped once one of the band members spouted explatives as a result of our booing. Then Neil Young came out. He played, and played, played, and played. I waited patiently for my friends who insisted on waiting for Eddie to return. When it’s hotter than Hell and the guy you are listening to sounds like a broken record, mentioning moons and gold and being helpless, well–you tune out. I tuned out. I was pissed. We waited diligently with the hope that they would return. Actually we were promised more than several times that he would, but he didn’t. And I waited, hating every minute.

I’m not sure why I am thinking of this moment–perhaps because both Neil Young and Pearl Jam are present tonight. All six songs also have to do with waiting, oddly enough. But I wonder about the idea of perspective: I chose to boycott Pearl Jam for