A TALE OF TWO CONCERTS




Last evening, LOST and the Mrs. accompanied 4 good friends on a trip to the local ballyard - not to watch a ballgame, but to take part in an odd event. After a nice dinner out, we saw a group of four older, wiry thin men, nearing retirement age to be sure, jump up and down and bop around on a big metal stage that dwarfed the outfield scoreboard at the local stadium.

This wasn't "Tom Brokaw's Celebrity Dance Fever" either. This was, or it least this used to be the Rolling Stones. HEY! YOU'RE RIGHT!! Look, that's Charlie, Charlie Watts is name up behind the drums, he kinda looks the same! And that, That's Ronnie Wood, right? He always kinda looked like Rod Stewart with his hair dyed black. And who could forget Keith RIchards. Still dead after all those years. Has a bandanna on around the top of his head. Looks like its there to hold his saggy face in place, though, now. And Mick Jagger. What could you say? At 63 he's jumping jack flash all over the place, bouncing, stalking, pointing, strutting, the whole shmear just like always. And so skinny, too? Does that man ever eat anything? I'm betting no.

The sound was pretty solid, and the renditions of the songs, amazing, when you consider that some of the material set forth last evening turned forty this year, and that doesn't count a cover of Ray Charles' "Nighttime is the right time" either. And, of course, when the lights went down, there was that obligatory odor hanging in the air of the dreaded illegal smoke.

But it was different somehow. The difference was more than just the obvious ravages of age on the players. Despite the svelteness, as Jagger ages he starts to look more and more like Miss Hathaway from "The Beverly Hillbillies." The same was true for the audience. There was plenty of people there decked out in their hippest togs, to be sure. There were some decked out in what were the hip togs in the 70's too. Come to think of it, some of that stuff is popular again. But the crowd itself was old. Hipsters in their late 40's, 50's and early 60's dominated the landscape. Tiger-skin camisole shirts, jeans and leather boots, bleach blond hair and a face like grandma's at the top of the ensemble. EEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKKK!!! There was not the collection of concert weirdos traditionally encountered at these events. And what the hell were those "Ameriquest Mortgage" banners doing hanging from the stage? We're we actually going to hear Mick shout, "G'night laydies and gents 'ere in San Die-go. 's been a slice with yew t'night, but when you need a financial fix, our connection is with the fine crew at Ameriquest?"

There was little comparison to the experience LOST had as a teen in Anaheim in 1978, seeing the same band. Then, the crowd was younger, not assigned to seats at all, no evidence of corporate sponsorship. No 35 dollar t-shirts, instead replaced by 5 buck sodas (a fortune at the time) sold out of way over-crowded kiosks on a roasting hot day. A veritable flea market of illicit pharma going on all around, and tickets which could be had for $25.00. A far cry from the $160.00 face value of the ducats for last nights extravaganza, let alone the $400.00 that a spot on the coveted "look-at-me-I-have-an-all-access-wristband" floor.

The key differences were, aside from the cost and the age of the audience came in the realization that some insidious forces had combined to wrench out more money mo money mo money from the crowd eager for a night's worth of jumping jack flash-back. I couldn't help think about the Beatles' stand (throughout the 1970's - up until Lennon's murder) against reunions and tours, which was motivated in part by fear that all people would want to hear was old stuff. Last night's loudest cheers came for "Satisfaction" and "Honky Tonk Women" and "Flash" the iconic tunes of the 60's and early 70's. It was potty break time for the fans when Mick took his, and let Richard take over for 3 songs. The obligatory fireworks fusillade let the crowd (of nearly 50,000) know it was time to pour out of the park, into the swanky "Gaslamp" district and drain whatever was left in their wallets or add to their burgeoning credit balances with a few more beverages before they hit the road, Jack.

What's the point of this rant? After all, it was a very feel good time. I think it is this: people will pay seemingly outlandish sums of money to feel young and carefree again, even for a night, even for just a few hours. The marketing folks have figured that out, and have conspired to bring them along in some sort of pseudo-satanic plot to abscond not with our souls, but with hard earned cash. Please keep these marketing devils away from professional sports. Otherwise, besides these "Fantasy camps" we'll be having NFL oldtimers games, where the Dick Butkus's of the world roll their walkers toward and try to run over the hobbling O.J. Simpsons' of the world. Come to think of it, that just might sell a *^%# load of tickets.