Growing up in the tail end of Gen X, and having a passion and knowledge of rock and roll history, as well as the good fortune of having a family who didn’t care when I came or went, I was able to see and experience a lot more than most in my demographic. I learned the way of the golden era of experiencing concerts by those who did it RIGHT – prior to the age of the cell phone, social media, high ticket prices, and “VIP” packages that are synonymous with those who can shell out thousands for a concert isolated from us “regulars,” under a cool canopy where there are TVs available in case the concert bores you and you can catch up on that night’s episodes of “Real Housewives”.
As I talk to younger generations, they are baffled by stories of what was commonplace back then. So I decided that my nearly two decades of being a local entertainer would help me in having a podcast in which I tell stories, discuss the “then and now” of music and live experiences, and add some humor while being informative. This year I started that, and named that podcast “Last of the Old School Rockers” (available where all podcasts can be found), and have been gifted the opportunity to write a monthly article of the same name, with the same intent.
So last week, I saw the spectacular double-bill of John Fogerty and Steve Winwood at Tanglewood. It reminded me of the first time I saw Fogerty, 28 years prior, at Saratoga Performing Arts Center in 1998. First, the tickets then were $27.50, $23.50, and lawn was $15. And no additional fees at the box office. A far cry from the $50 I paid to sit in the crowded lawn last week. I was unable to purchase the same type of seats that I did in 1998, simply because I only have two kidneys, and although I could sell one, I was really hoping to keep it as a spare.
And I was reminded further about HOW I got those tickets. A concept foreign to anyone under 40: we used to literally sleep on the sidewalk overnight for these things. I remember for this show in particular, I just skipped school to go up early, set up a sleeping bag on the bridge above the creek going into SPAC, and just waited there for 15-20 hours until tickets went on sale at 10 am the following morning. As funny as it seems, it was alright to skip school for important things like this in my circle. To quote Bruce Springsteen, “We learned more from a three minute record, baby, than we ever learned in school.” I did this quite often and have many interesting stories for another day – especially my tales of sleeping on Albany’s Beaver Street, waiting for tickets to what I call “The PepsiKnickerTimes” when I don’t just call it “The Knick.”
At SPAC, though, much of the season went on sale on the same day. So we would get several tickets in one fell swoop. And if you were first in line, you got first dibs on tickets. Countless times have I gotten front row to heroes like Van Halen, Aerosmith, Phish, etc. This is how you did it. And those front row tickets were the same $27.50 as the people 25 rows behind you. And scalping wasn’t a billion-dollar industry, or even legal. You might get some guy selling tickets on the way in, but that was it.
Another thing about those campouts was the camaraderie. It’s hard to believe a world without cell phones and social media, but you would meet some of the coolest people in these lines. This was GENUINELY being social. You have to be a special type of person to commit yourself to getting these tickets. And that commitment was fueled by your passion. And your passion got you these experiences that we won’t ever get again unless we are fortunate enough to be amongst the wealthy. And the problem is, you will just sit amongst the wealthy. And I refuse to use the word “elite,” because that word dictates a higher class, and they are not a higher class because of their wealth. We are equal and as one. Just like many of the songs of the artists we pay to see preach about in their lyrics.
We would meet these people in lines; they would give us teenagers beer and weed, and we would play frisbee in the parking lot all night, listening to rock and roll from someone’s boombox until their 10 “D” batteries ran out of juice. We would get our tickets the next morning and would all usually be in the general vicinity of each other, and often not speak again until the shows we got tickets for. And when the big days came, we would see each other, give each other hugs, buy each other beers … *ahem*- soda pops … and the seats of these concerts were filled with joy and love. All ages. All colors. All good people. We would be standing up the whole time, the entire venue. And you would only occasionally hear the nag of someone saying, “Can you sit down? I’m trying to enjoy the show,” which is now unfortunately commonplace. For the price of tickets these days, we should be able to rock. We should be able to sing. We should be able to hug and love those around us because we’re all there for the same thing. That was “unity.”
But it’s not like that anymore, at least for shows not necessarily aimed at the young. And you can’t use age as an excuse. Something changed somewhere. I’m glad that I had many years of experiencing it. And those of us who did should teach the next generation how to do it the right way, and keep the spirit of rock alive forever.
