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« A Demon Theory Discussion - Round II | Main | Contest Number Two - Win a Copy of Demon Theory »

Jan 30, 2007

Comments

Timmy Mac

1988. A buddy had won tickets to the Monsters of Rock concert at Mile High Stadium in Denver. When we got there, we discovered that we had what were literally the farthest two seats from the stage. We could barely see anything.

However, we could look over the back wall of the stadium and directly into Alex Van Halen's room at the hotel next door, where we saw a stunning (and very naked) blonde chick just before she closed the curtains.

We saw no fewer than three fistfights over whether or not Kingdom Come sucked (they did) and the drummer from Dokken freak out and kick the drum kit to absolute pieces (this may have been Dokken's last show ever).

For me, the highlight was the Scorpions, where in the middle of Rock You Like a Hurricane, the guitarist threw his guitar higher in the air than anything John Elway ever threw in that stadium.

Then it was just Van HAGAR (2 more fights over that), a contact buzz (yay) and a long drive home.

StephenGrahamJones

maybe extra points too if your story involves a 'social' disease.

as for me, not much storywise here, really. guess I've been spit on by Nikki Sixx, but who hasn't, right? caught a few picks, got in a few push fights down close to the stage --

oh, I know (though I still can't play here): one time going to see either Poison or Kiss, I got there early, and had been preparing for the event all day, as it were, then, y'know, during the opening act, Suicidal Tendencies I think, all these cops (six, if memory serves) came in and dragged me out, did the "let's mash steve's face against the wall for a while" thing, which I was by then pretty tired of, all that. but, lo and behold, a friend of mine wove out, saved the day, made many lying promises about how these particular policemen were never going to see us again if they just let us (me) go right now, and bam, gone again, ready for the next go-round, sir.

guess I've also come back from a concert with a broken hand, but that was pretty boring. it was exciting pretending for a few weeks my hands wasn't broke, though. lots of thrilling handshakes at first, lots of ducked introductions later.

RML

On President’s Day weekend, in the middle of a freak snow storm, the line to get into Lamour East to see Queensryche wrapped around the block. The owners opened late so they could joke about the stupid fanaticism of the denim and leather crowd left standing out in the snow. The wanna-be gangster cousins packed them in that night, eight-thousand strong. Not long before the act went on, the waitresses were trapped by the service bar in the space below the dj booth.
From the top of a broken chair, I watched the crowd rippling like surf. There was evidence of shouting, blood; the air smelled sour with adrenaline. At some point I figured all bets were off and climbed over the back of the chair and up into the dj’s crows nest.
“Something bad is definitely going to happen,” the skinny dj said. His long hair dangling down his back, a cigarette loose in his mouth, he squeezed one half of his headset between ear and shoulder expertly dropping the stylus on a record.
“Did you remember to take your lithium tonight?” I asked.
“Here,” the dj reached for something in the dark and tossed me a collapsible umbrella. “Can you hold that over my turntables? It’s starting to rain.”
I hadn’t noticed the thick globs of water--murky condensation from the heat and breath of the bursting crowd--that had accumulated on the ceiling.
“I’ve been watching this barometric anomaly for the last twenty minutes or so,” he said.

Jamie

[worst experience]

Alright, Memorial Day weekend, 1987. Bon Jovi and Cinderella. Buckeye Lake, OH.

One thing you gotta understand about Buckeye Lake is that it ain't no lake. It's a stinking mosquito pit that's maybe five feet deep at best. So not only is it hot, it's humid.

People are angry and the Smithereens are the opening act.

I got nothing against the Smithereens, but the biker guys in the crowd do. They hate the Smithereens with a white hot passion. Things start to get ugly. People are pushing and shouting. The Smithereens play two songs and then they give up.

I'm in line waiting to buy something to drink. Now we're barely thirty minutes into this thing and the concession stand guy shouts, "We're out of beer!"

Groans all around. The line shuffles forward.

A few minutes later, the guy shouts out again, "We're out of Mountain Dew!"

One of the biker guys in the way back says, "You'd better have something by the time I get up there or I'm gonna drink your blood!"

Exit the concession dude, stage right. He returns with the goods.

The concert goes on. Cinderella gets up on stage. I'm surprised to find out they're not half bad. They can actually play their instruments.

When Bon Jovi comes on, all the bikers exit. Guess they were there to see Cinderella, but then I find out why: Bon Jovi can't sing and the band can't play their instruments. They're awful. I mean, really bad awful.

People start heading for the exits except for the legions of girls, who are now passing out from the heat.

We're all parked in this field though, nose to nose. No one can get out until everyone is ready to go.

It takes 5 hours. No, really. 5 hours to get out of the parking lot.

I had a 1970 Pontiac Catalina convertible. Huge car. Fire engine red. 400 small block with glass packs. I'm a little worried about running out of gas. Five hours is a long damn time to idle.

Eventually though we get out, only my brakes are overheated, smoking in fact. I'm thinking the car is going to catch on fire.

It doesn't though and we head on down the road. A dude named Kevin is passed out in the back. We had the top down all afternoon and poor Kevin didn't put on any sunscreen. We didn't bother to wake him up.


Susan Helene Gottfried

As a DJ during the end of the hair band reign (although my music tended more toward the thrash/speed stuff), I went to plenty of shows. In fact, I was firmly on the path to a career at a record label until writing interfered (which is why I write about rock and roll).

In 1988, summer of Monsters of Rock, I'd made contact with a dude at PolyGram. We'll name him Warren, in respect to Warren of Ratt, even though Ratt was an Atlantic band.

Warren got me two pairs of tickets to see Monsters of Rock in DC. I drove down from where I was living at the time, East of Mars. It was a four-hour road trip, and I spent it, daydreaming about how great it would be if Warren were to come pull me out of the crowd and take me backstage to meet his bands.

Mind you, PolyGram's bands were Kingdom Clone -- oh, sorry. COME. Kingdom Come. And the Scorpions. Not exactly the most desirable in terms of bragging rights, but hey, it was my first year in the biz. I had to start somewhere.

My friends took me shopping at their favorite skater shop. I stocked up on Vans gear. I looked cool for Monsters of Rock. Life was good, and that daydream of being pulled out of the crowd wasn't leaving me alone so fast, even though I knew the chances of it actually happening were about nil.

It happened at the end of Kingdom Come's set, during the set change. I was sitting in the hot sun with my friends, trying not to melt, and I heard a bellow. "Is one of you Susan Gottfried?"

Yeah, I met members of the Scorpions that day. I met Kingdom Come, and had a quick chat with the guitarist (I think) about his Pittsburgh connection.

But what I remember most was being escorted up to the label's press box and seeing Metallica for the first time in my young, tender life. No Spandex here; they were onstage in 80+ degree heat in jeans and denim vests. Their hair blew in streamers in the late afternoon breeze. They rocked harder than anyone else that day (to be honest, Van Halen bored me silly), and right then, I was done with hair metal.

I've never looked back.

I've also never been able to shake loose the hold Metallica put on me that day.

Carolyn

OK, this isn't my story, but I always think of it as the best Alice Cooper story ever. I was helping with a Fizz magazine interview with the band the Geraldine Fibbers in 1994, and somehow we coaxed this story from bassist Bill Tutton (repeated below with some notes from drummer Kevin).

Bill: I have the most queasy injury story. I was on my way to see Alice Cooper when I was just out of high school- four days after graduation. Anyhow, we're all crammed in my friend's dad's car, like eight of us in the
back seat, five in the front and four in the glove compartment. I felt this really, really sharp, sharp, sharp, sharp - underline that six times - pain in my groin. Like right in the gonad, as they say. And I was like, "OW!" and we were traveling far to go to the concert. This wasn't "Oh, drop me off, I have to go to the hospital, I have an emergency here." It was "Oh, shit, what do I do now? We're like an hour away from home." So we saw the concert - we saw Alice Cooper and I didn't pay attention - got home, investigated the wound area. There was nothing abnormal except this really sharp pain. Eighteen months went by (laughter)
I did nothing for 18 months except totally stress out. This was my first year of college...

The pain was lessened greatly, but I didn't know what was going on. It was more like. "What happened? That wasn't normal! That wasn't part of puberty! That wasn't part of nothing! What happened?" I just didn't know.
I wasn't facing up to it. Finally, an adult friend was like "Why are you so stressed out? What's wrong with you?" and I had heard him talking, about a urologist and I said - I was 19, right! Picture this - "you have a urologist? Make me an appoitment." So he called my house, said that he had gotten me
an appointment with the urologist. I went to the guy and he told me I suffered from a testicular torsion, meaning that my left testicle has twisted around itself on the blood supply such that it killed itself,
it suffocated itself. And that was the pain. Therefore, I had to undergo surgery to sew the right one in place.

Fizz: Wait, so you have no more left testicle?

Bill: Yeah, it's gone, for many years now.

Kevin: One-Ball Bill! One Ball Bill! Wooooh!

Bill: That's what my dad said. I told you that, didn't I?

Kevin: No you didn't.

Bill: Yes, I did because that's exactly what my dad said.

Dan Wickett

Congrats to Jamie and the story of the fake lake concert. Hopefully the book gets shared with Kevin!

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i like this part of the blog:"Per our reading of Demon Theory, and then following up with the interview with Stephen, it's pretty obvious he's a big fan of what are generally referred to as 1980's hair metal bands. Please write, in the comments section of this post, your best/worst/strangest experience at a hair metal band concert. The comment that creates the most interest among the LBC'ers will be rewarded with a copy of Demon Theory, to be shipped directly from the publisher early next week. Comments must be entered by Friday, February 2, 2007 by 9 p.m. PST. The winner will be notified next week." is very good, you should add some pictures....

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