Sunday, February 1, 2009
I have never related to the authority figure in that Twisted Sister video before Friday night.
(Click the title for those of you who forget what I'm talking about.)
I found myself running the house for five hours of hardcore metal in a hundred seat theatre. The first hour made me giggle. The second hour reduced my giggle to a smirk. After that ... only anger ... Black Hate and Anger - which I think may have been one of the band names.
Perhaps it was my inability to communicate with the 'kids' that caused the problem.
When I said, "Give me the goddamned beer NOW," I really meant "Sorry, but you are in violation of our local liquor laws. Please relinquish that warm can of Old Milwaukee."
When I asked, "Kid, are you some sort of fucking idiot?" I was saying "Son, it isn't the size of the firecracker I take umbrage with. It is the fact that you lit said firecracker indoors and five feet away from me."
When I snarled, "I am going to smack you, you twiggy, pasty-faced little prat," I meant ... well ... I meant exactly that. Except no one could hear me as the music topped out at 116 dbs.
I think the more likely problem is that the music sounded like someone repeatedly kicking the Cookie Monster in the nuts over a wall of dissonance. All is set to the choreography of eight guys in the front row who looked like heavy metal chickens.
I was young once. My first concert was Metallica at Maple Leaf Gardens. Admittedly, I find them unlistenable these days but I can recognize the artistic merit.
But Friday night was ... words fail me ... aggressively unmusical?
I feel like an old, old man. I'm pretty sure I hopped up on the bar at one point, shook my fist and yelled, "You whippersnappers -- get off my damn lawn".
In my defense, they were playing keep away with my bifocals.
at 11:12 p.m.