Welcome Back My Friends To The Show That Never Ends

With just one quick riff through the opening chords, it becomes obvious to me what song is coming.

And the chills already begin down my spine and goosebumps bubble up on my arms.

That’s how I often know a concert is really reaching into my soul and grabbing my attention.

On this night, the Bodeans had barely begun to play. But when Kurt Neumann began the opening sequence of "Dreams", I was taken away to a heaven filled with amplifiers, guitars and Kenny Aronoff’s steady thump from behind the drum kit (a sound I still hear in my head).

Just thinking about it takes me back to that September Sunday night. I had been through a stressful week, and it was only getting worse. This Bodeans show at the Paradise was just the first show I was going to that week. I had the White Stripes on Wednesday and Paul McCartney the following Monday. Three concerts, 800-something miles in eight days. That was the good stress to help me forget the bad stress.

When the Bodeans roared into “Dreams” that night and belted out the chorus “Ain’t this what dreams are made of." The chills on my arm answered with a definitive “Yes”. I remember thinking this is one of those things that truly makes me happy. It is one of the greatest feelings in the world.

I’ve been going to concerts since I was in high school. The first show I went to, as a licensed driver, was Survivor and REO Speedwagon. Yes, that dates me. I wish I could say it was their reunion tours. It wasn’t. Saga and Pat Benatar followed with the J. Giels Band up next. From then on, my life has revolved around waiting for the next show and the next onsale date.

There was even the time when I was doing concert reviews for the newspaper. Between gigs I’d go to for myself and ones I’d actually write about, I was going to a concert at least once a month for a good year or two.

I once made a list of all the concerts I’ve seen and all the venues I’d seen them in. I don’t recall the final number but it was lengthy. Heck, there are a handful of artists that add up to significant numbers on their own. Between Bruce Cockburn, the Bodeans, Ellis Paul, the Smithereens, Richard Shindell, U2 and REM, there’s over 30 shows right there.

There are some shows I probably don’t remember too much about, but I bet if pressed I could tell you a little something about each one. I have binders at home that serve as scrapbooks to all the shows I’ve been to. They’re filled with ticket stubs, set lists, newspaper advances, concert reviews and even autographs of Ronnie James Dio, Allison Krause, John Gorka, Patty Larkin, the Saw Doctors, the Moody Blues, Jars of Clay and Margo Timmins, of the Cowboy Junkies. I even have concert photos from the shows I shot pictures at, including the above photo of Paul Stanley. I thought security was going to toss me because after being told what not to do while shooting photos, I did exactly that. Got a good shot out of it.

There are still memories from the various shows that are inevitably burned into my mind. There was the disco ball and sweeping lights that circled Foxborough Stadium as David Gilmour roared through the guitar solo of "Comfortably Numb" at a Pink Floyd show. I can never forget that powerful moment where light and soaring notes combined to create a feast of sight and sound that carried you away for those moments.

There was Tony Levin’s bass that thundered in my chest with each note during a Peter Gabriel show. I was in the front row, standing right in front of the bass speaker, where every note thumped inside my body as Levin looked down and smiled.

There was Billy Duffy’s bad ass riff as the Cult roared through their best stuff. Those catchy power chords had me in awe. http://www.facebook.com/ext/share.php?sid=51121946652&h=1dOO_&u=LrQMF

There was Bodean Sammy Llanas handing me his guitar pick after a stirring performance of “Naked”

There were the moshers and slam dancers that made the mistake of bumping into me. One got shoved forcefully into the stage as Live played at Great Wood during the Womad Festival. Another wound up on the floor, where other irritated concert goers began kicking him.

There was seeing McCartney for the first time. Being a lifelong Beatles fan, it was incredible to see one of the artists that had influenced so much of my musical foundation.

There was seeing a solo Peter Wolf at small club in Portland or the Dave Matthews Band at the Gray Cage at Bates College, sharing a bill with Big Head Todd and the Monsters.

There was the combination of mudslides and Social Distortion at Hampton Beach.

There was being in the seventh row as The Who played Quadrophenia. When Pete Townsend broke a string and was obviously frustrated, I hoped and prayed he smash the guitar. He didn't.

There was seeing legends I never thought I’d see, Roger McGuinn, Fleetwood Mac, Gordon Lightfoot, Simon and Garfunkel, Crosby, Still, Nash and Young and Rush.

There was the spur of the moment trip to a show in Augusta featuring 80’s metal bands and watching Cinderalla come out with some attitude and swagger and rock the house.

There was the first rock concert at the newly built FleetCenter, featuring REM.

There were second-row seats to see Radiohead, in their largest concert in America at that time - and the warmup band, Spiritualized, which I likened to the Moody Blues in a train wreck.

I could go on and on.
Some of the best concert going experiences were shared with friends. What got me thinking about writing about concerts is the fact that I went to see Shindell Sunday night in Portland. I went to the show with one of my favorite people. I’d looked forward to the evening for days. We drove down the Portland, relaxed in a pub in the afternoon before taking in the show. It was a fantastic day, and Shindell was excellent.

There was the Bodeans show at the Metro in Boston with another dear friend. It was great hanging out with her and watching the show. Even though she developed a crush on Kurt and wanted to become a groupie and follow the band to Providence for the next night.

There were a pair Smithereens shows with another cool girl I know. I even saw a Springsteen show with her years later. There was the Dokken/Sammy Hagar show at the Orpheum when a college buddy and I caught the train into Boston and barely caught the last train home. That friend and I caught AC DC in the old Boston Garden and then took a road trip to Portland from college a few years later to see the band again.

I saw The Firm at Boston Garden with my sister, who asked “Which one is Jimmy Page?” when the band took the stage. I saw a couple of shows with her, including the Moody Blues, when we met the band afterwards and she drooled all over Justin Hayward while getting his autograph.

There were the Pearl Jam shows which ticked off the powers to be at work when a group of coworkers and I took the weekend off to go to back-to-back shows at Great Woods. We missed the companies precious computer training sessions (which we made up in about 15 minutes later the following week) but had a great time.

I come across people all the time that have either never been to a concert or hardly ever go to one. I can’t imagine that. That experience is such a significant part of my life and existence that I can’t fathom it not being there.

Being a sports fan and a sports writer, the fan part gets lost sometimes. Sporting events are where I work. I enjoy the excitement and the atmosphere and am still surprised on occasion by what happens, but it is still my job. The emotional aspect of being a fan is often lost.

Concerts give that back to me. Granted I'm a pretty tame fan. I don't sing along (I'm there to hear the band sing not me and the tone-deaf people near me). I don't shout out requests. I don't get up and dance. I listen to the music. I watch the band. I analyze as only I can and enjoy the moment and the surroundings.

They’re social events, entertainment, opportunities to escape, a chance to lose oneself in the music (and a few mudslides and Irish drinks in a girlie glass). But the concert atmosphere does more than all that. It draws you into the world, connects you with the artists and their raw power, intensity, intimacy or the tender sounds of their voices and words - depending on the style of music. It can be a communal celebration, a shared experience for couples or an individual escape.

There will be times I will stop and pause and think to myself that I really need to go to a show. It’s like a junkie suddenly needing a fix. Sometimes I’ve thought that to myself and realized I had just gone to a concert a few nights before.

I don’t get to as many shows as I used to. I only go to see ones I really must see now. I don’t spend the ticket money that I used to or travel the distances I used to. But I still love the experience.

I’m fortunate to be thrilled by the excitement of sporting events or savor time spent on the water. Both are very unique experiences that I cherish. So is enjoying a good concert. It nearly gives me goosebumps thinking about it, but that’s the point. I go to the shows for the real thing.