So DNA - The Evolution of the Songs from So
Peter Gabriel's engineer, Richard 'Dickie' Chappell, explains the thinking behind the 'So DNA' disc included in the Anniversary edition box set. Watch the video…
Forums » Live » Tales from Toronto
I don't get it.
In a rather enviable section of the amphitheatre that people have paid an average of $200.00 a ticket for, why do so many concert-goers become either:
A)Ballgame Dudes; or,
The Sitting Dead
Allow me to elaborate. First…
A) The Ballgame Dudes; i.e. those people with the compulsion to drink, yap, and wander back and forth to their seat every time they exhale.
Witness the half dozen or so people behind me (Section 203, row H, seats 1 through 6 or thereabouts). Hey, now that we're at the ‘game,' how about the beer stand? Feed me pint after pint. Then – here's an idea! – chase it with hard liquor.
Let me tell you, there's nothing that underlines the beauty of the symphony's melodic strains of Mercy Street than hearing a good ole boy yelling "Well muthaf*ckas, I'm on the rum, now!"
That's not to say that drunk people can't be appreciative, as proven by one fella's adamant declaration as Peter introduced Rhythm of the Heat: "I gotta take a picture for Jonsi! He won't BELIEVE I'm seeing Peter Gabriel with an orchestra!!
And of course you know what everyone adores: Humour! In this case, several jokes staler than the arena nachos the guy's mouth was stuffed with. Or perhaps it was popcorn, peanuts, or the fries drowning in gravy. I'm surprised I didn't hear the clatter of a barbecue's wheels as they rolled it down the stairs.
"Hey everyone, who wants their bun toasted!!?"
And listen, to the ladies in the group: Nobody is looking your way particularly, so why spend an hour in the can slapping on the make-up and teasing your hair out mid-show? It's dark out and there's a concert up front (remember??). Plus, your partners are dead drunk. Even if they can make your mug out under the flicker of lights from the stage, you're about as discernible as a Rorschach blot. No amount of piled on cherry red lipstick is going to change that.
Still ladies, I thank you profusely for slamming me in the back of my head when you returned to your seats halfway through San Jacinto. It added a bit of dramatic percussion when I least expected it…and I guess you knew it, as you didn't feel the need to apologize.
I mean, these are all people in their late 30's through their 40's at least. It was like in the absence of their kids for one night, they also kicked their consideration for anyone else to the beer-soaked curb. Then they forgot that they'd come across not only as obnoxious and stupid, but – middle-aged and drinking like fish at absolutely the wrong place and time – damn ridiculous.
"Oh MAN are we going to PAAAAART-AY!! I'm going to get so drunk, dude – SO drunk! I mean I'm going to forget EVERYTHING…but dude don't let me forget to pick up the mulch tomorrow. Seriously the garden's going to go to SHIT without it."
But, well, at least there were moments of enthusiasm. They cheered and they had a good time, which is more than be said for the:
The Sitting Dead.
Man, I would rather watch Garbriel replace Wallflower with a symphonic version of Lady Gaga's Poker Face – complete with a mid-concert costume change into blazing red booty shorts – than be stuck surrounded by unanimated, barely conscious, glazy-eyed sad-sacks.
There are worse things though – a combination of disinterest with a sharp edge of impatience and a greasy dollop of selfishness. I'm speaking of the woman on my left (section 203, row H, seat 3) who kept fidgeting, checking her iPhone, and doing her best to ensure she wasn't going to give the music a chance. She'd decided from song one, damn it, and she was going to let everyone know. This is a woman who at intermission as she was shuffling by me, muttered "I'm going to try and wake myself up."
May I suggest doing it by dunking your head in the toilet?
It only got worse. Through the second half of the concert she exhibited all the patience of a 9-year-old on a road-trip. "Can we go now? Can we go now? Can we GO??" I swear to God I thought she was going to threaten to hold her breath till she turned purple.
And as either a testament to her obnoxiousness and bad taste, or simply my escalating rage and sensitivities, I noted she sported more tacky jewellery on her arms than Mr. T at Sunday mass.
Every time she jerked her arm to tug at her partner's shoulder, fix her hair, or make a Facebook update ( "At Peter Something or other's concert. Where are the Black Eyed Peas when you need them?"), the clang of her jewellery made me look for the 5 o'clock train. I was shocked that her and her poor, poor boyfriend/husband lasted through Solsbury Hill before she dragged him and his puppy dog face out of there.
**
In conclusion let me just make it clear that as a testament to the show (and many other enthusiastic, relatively un-inebriated fans) I had a great time. In fact, to be honest, both my sister and I lost it at one point…that is, we started to laugh uncontrollably.
The juxtaposition of this ethereal, heart-breaking music up front, and the behaviour around us was just too much, and at one point I was laughing harder than the time Gabriel last wrote that I/O would be released "sometime next year."
If you've lasted to this point, I commend your endurance. Thanks for letting me get it all off my chest and through the keyboard.
Sincerely,
S.
The Sitting Dead
Allow me to elaborate. First…
A) The Ballgame Dudes; i.e. those people with the compulsion to drink, yap, and wander back and forth to their seat every time they exhale.
Witness the half dozen or so people behind me (Section 203, row H, seats 1 through 6 or thereabouts). Hey, now that we're at the ‘game,' how about the beer stand? Feed me pint after pint. Then – here's an idea! – chase it with hard liquor.
Let me tell you, there's nothing that underlines the beauty of the symphony's melodic strains of Mercy Street than hearing a good ole boy yelling "Well muthaf*ckas, I'm on the rum, now!"
That's not to say that drunk people can't be appreciative, as proven by one fella's adamant declaration as Peter introduced Rhythm of the Heat: "I gotta take a picture for Jonsi! He won't BELIEVE I'm seeing Peter Gabriel with an orchestra!!
And of course you know what everyone adores: Humour! In this case, several jokes staler than the arena nachos the guy's mouth was stuffed with. Or perhaps it was popcorn, peanuts, or the fries drowning in gravy. I'm surprised I didn't hear the clatter of a barbecue's wheels as they rolled it down the stairs.
"Hey everyone, who wants their bun toasted!!?"
And listen, to the ladies in the group: Nobody is looking your way particularly, so why spend an hour in the can slapping on the make-up and teasing your hair out mid-show? It's dark out and there's a concert up front (remember??). Plus, your partners are dead drunk. Even if they can make your mug out under the flicker of lights from the stage, you're about as discernible as a Rorschach blot. No amount of piled on cherry red lipstick is going to change that.
Still ladies, I thank you profusely for slamming me in the back of my head when you returned to your seats halfway through San Jacinto. It added a bit of dramatic percussion when I least expected it…and I guess you knew it, as you didn't feel the need to apologize.
I mean, these are all people in their late 30's through their 40's at least. It was like in the absence of their kids for one night, they also kicked their consideration for anyone else to the beer-soaked curb. Then they forgot that they'd come across not only as obnoxious and stupid, but – middle-aged and drinking like fish at absolutely the wrong place and time – damn ridiculous.
"Oh MAN are we going to PAAAAART-AY!! I'm going to get so drunk, dude – SO drunk! I mean I'm going to forget EVERYTHING…but dude don't let me forget to pick up the mulch tomorrow. Seriously the garden's going to go to SHIT without it."
But, well, at least there were moments of enthusiasm. They cheered and they had a good time, which is more than be said for the:
The Sitting Dead.
Man, I would rather watch Garbriel replace Wallflower with a symphonic version of Lady Gaga's Poker Face – complete with a mid-concert costume change into blazing red booty shorts – than be stuck surrounded by unanimated, barely conscious, glazy-eyed sad-sacks.
There are worse things though – a combination of disinterest with a sharp edge of impatience and a greasy dollop of selfishness. I'm speaking of the woman on my left (section 203, row H, seat 3) who kept fidgeting, checking her iPhone, and doing her best to ensure she wasn't going to give the music a chance. She'd decided from song one, damn it, and she was going to let everyone know. This is a woman who at intermission as she was shuffling by me, muttered "I'm going to try and wake myself up."
May I suggest doing it by dunking your head in the toilet?
It only got worse. Through the second half of the concert she exhibited all the patience of a 9-year-old on a road-trip. "Can we go now? Can we go now? Can we GO??" I swear to God I thought she was going to threaten to hold her breath till she turned purple.
And as either a testament to her obnoxiousness and bad taste, or simply my escalating rage and sensitivities, I noted she sported more tacky jewellery on her arms than Mr. T at Sunday mass.
Every time she jerked her arm to tug at her partner's shoulder, fix her hair, or make a Facebook update ( "At Peter Something or other's concert. Where are the Black Eyed Peas when you need them?"), the clang of her jewellery made me look for the 5 o'clock train. I was shocked that her and her poor, poor boyfriend/husband lasted through Solsbury Hill before she dragged him and his puppy dog face out of there.
**
In conclusion let me just make it clear that as a testament to the show (and many other enthusiastic, relatively un-inebriated fans) I had a great time. In fact, to be honest, both my sister and I lost it at one point…that is, we started to laugh uncontrollably.
The juxtaposition of this ethereal, heart-breaking music up front, and the behaviour around us was just too much, and at one point I was laughing harder than the time Gabriel last wrote that I/O would be released "sometime next year."
If you've lasted to this point, I commend your endurance. Thanks for letting me get it all off my chest and through the keyboard.
Sincerely,
S.
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