Showdate: August 7th, 2010
Doubling down on 80′s heavy metal. Two in a row.
This venue redefines terrible. I hate it. And usually I reserve hate for isms. Racism. Fascism. I’m seriously at a loss for words at how to describe the way it redefines suckage. This venue has re-branded to Sleep Country. That is about right. Sleepy venue. Come get your sleep on.
The show is sold out. I’m dubious. I don’t think they sold the entire lawn out. Just capped sales at a certain # to accommodate a specific venue staffing level is my guess. Place just doesn’t seem as jammed as Coldplay. $35 face value is a nice touch by the band. Respect.
The Scorpions and Dokken. Cinderella opened the east coast dates. I’m feeling cheated. My last concert was in Las Vegas and either I’m on a come down from that or this crowd is dull. Definitely not shining. More like a midnight gang bang in coal bin. The East German inspired architecture isn’t helping either.
I sold two 8th row tickets to a scalp and move center. For Dokken, this gives me nothing but a closer view at mediocrity. I used to like saying the phrase “rockin’ like Don Dokken.” I won’t say that anymore unless it is to describe napping, pulling weeds, or clipping my toenails. What you doing? Taking a nap, you know, rockin’ like Dokken. Terrible, terrible, terrible. The few people cheering Dokken are either just emerging from a week-long stay in a sensory deprivation chamber or deaf. And. Um. Blind.
I leave Dokken very early. Not early enough! Thanks alot Scorpions for not putting Cinderella on the whole damn tour. Shitheads. I harden my liver with insanely priced booze. Re-group. Deep breath. It’s okay. It can’t get worse. Main act time.
The Scorpions. I was right. It can’t get worse. The Scorpions are louder than Dokken with a nice stage setup. But, sitting this close is too much like seeing sausage get made. Older dudes in skin tight gear. Alot of bad costume jewelry. They really don’t sound that great to me either. Just loud. Then again the acoustics in this homage to WWII command bunkers isn’t helping.
One guitarist looks like a creepy Euro-disco stalker. When the drummer takes off his shirt he looks like Billy Idol at his most glassy eyed and psychotic. Maybe women find that sexy. I don’t know. I was creeped out. He had a leer about him like Billy would’ve if he was a government employed whorehouse inspector in 1985…with loose morals and unlimited access to cocaine. Klaus Meine was stumbling around like he was dazed and amazed people were paying to watch this shit. Or maybe I am projecting.
Right now, somewhere out there, someone is just killing it at an open mic night in a dingy Skippers. And I’m missing it. For this. The two highlights of the night were 1)Listening to Nickelback play over the PA in between acts 2)getting a ride on a golf cart back out to my car. Tragic at any ticket face price.
A least I didn’t puke, get stabbed, or do anything that requires a tetanus shot. I don’t feel rocked like a hurricane. More like, pelted into submission by a hailstorm of garbage.
Next.
