Wednesday, February 17, 1999
Concert goers lack etiquette, maturity, respect for others
COLUMN: Stupid antics, rambunctiousness ruin shows for calmer
fans
People need to grow up. I know only being 20 years old does not
exactly make me the beacon of maturity, but after going to many,
many shows, I think I qualify as an authority on how to act as a
decent concert-goer. Basically I think the question that lingers
is, why do people automatically lose 10 years the minute they walk
into a concert hall?
I came to this revelation while sitting at the KROQ Almost
Acoustic XMas. Sitting back, enjoying the stylings of an
"oh-so-sexy" Billy Corgan, I intently gazed at his baldness from
the detailed comfort of the overhead screen. Then it happened. Some
nerd with a laser pointer killed the moment.
Bouncing along the screen, first they worked the little dot
around one eye, then the other eye and finally, in a work of
genius, circled my poor future husband’s nose with intense vigor.
The maddening irreverence drove me up the wall!
How can anyone possibly think that such an act is humorous or
even clever? But that’s exactly what they do think. Unfortunately
for him (I can’t possibly imagine a girl doing it), he is not the
first or the last moron to come up with the brilliant idea. So why
do they do it?
But besides being incredibly annoying, the concert can be an
incredibly scary environment for a five-foot girl chillin’ all by
herself.
In that same concert, not only I was subjected to thousands of
obnoxious teen KROQ listeners, but I also received my first taste
of tasteless stripping. Drunk and out of control, a woman behind me
decided that during the Garbage portion of the show it was
necessary to get naked and give her date a lap dance. Yes, guys,
she was good looking but that’s not the point. It was dirty and I
was frightened until some lucky security guard had to pleasure to
carry the nakedness away. Dirty.
I also have to question why people would throw stuff on stage
all the time. Maybe they get some kind of special points for
pelting the lead singer with a plate of nachos. Then again, maybe
I’m the one out of the loop. I know that on certain occasions
during Barenaked Ladies concerts it is customary to throw food at
the band. Call me boring but I think that it’s a huge waste of
money to throw your $10 soda at a band already making big
bucks.
In general, my concert experiences have remained pretty mild. I
have accustomed myself to the 18 and over shows I am regulated to.
Where mosh pits and crowd surfing is the standard, you have to go
with the flow. It’s a tad frustrating when 200 people feel the need
to be as close to the stage as possible, no matter how many cute
little Mexican girls they have to step on to make their way only
inches closer to some smelly, sweaty, wannabe god. Sorry. I am not
bitter.
Well, maybe a little. I think my disgruntled attitude began the
first time I saw Third Eye Blind (the greatest band alive – oops,
it slipped). Enjoying lead singer Stephan Jenkins fineness is not
easy when 50 other girls are struggling for a glance (those fools –
oh, sorry).
I remember the real treat came with a simple gift. As I saw the
drum stick fly into the air I knew I was in trouble. It was coming
right for me and the chances of survival were slim. I didn’t even
want the damn stick – I chose life. As it got closer I felt nails,
feet, elbows and a million other body parts shoving into me as I
scratched my way to safety. I can not say I came out uninjured but
I lived to tell the tale.
Since then I have tried to stay away from the stage as much as
possible. It’s a trade-off, though. I can not see a thing but at
least I can keep my sanity.
Craziness follows wherever I go. Crowd surfing is always a
danger. I’ve almost had 200-pound men fall on me. Luckily I am
alert and have the instincts of a cat.
I’ve been offered weed, burned by cigarettes and drenched with
Miller Lite. Having a huge, huge hot dog oozing with mustard
dropped on my head was a particular Kodak moment.
Being incredibly short doesn’t help either. Usually I’m happy in
the second row until the seven foot guy in front of me decides to
start a trend and stand on his seat. Why? I know it’s to piss me
off. And it works.
Also, I need my space. Having sweaty men tower over me is not
what I call living the good life. Don’t get me wrong, I love being
kneed in the butt along to the beat of the song. There are those
times, though, it can be a bit excessive.
I’ve learned a few valuable lessons along the way. Sometimes you
do have control. Kids intimidate easily with a simple word:
security. Drunk men sitting next to you? Unless you love being
grappled, find another seat quick.
My final word of advice. Usually you’re part of the problem. So
grow the hell up!
Zubiate is a second-year undeclared student. She can be reached
at zubiate@ucla.edu.
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