The tale of two amazing concerts, which starts with my first “first” concert…

Oh my a multi parter…

Oh, a two parter! I’m giving it away up front but do you remember back in the day when you would be watching your favorite sitcom and it would be a particularly intense episode and the half hour the show was on, or in the case of a dramedy the hour, would be ticking down and you would be like, oh my gosh how is this going to end, and then the dreaded but titilating TO BE CONTINUED would come up on the screen with some teasing down trodden, but hopeful, music that would play you out. You would be sitting there thinking, what’s Sam going to do now that his brother has asked Diane out, or will Fonzie be able to jump all of those garbage cans and not get killed. Well, you’re welcome, I’m giving you my first two parter, hopeful to never get to a three parter, because that would be jumping the shark.

…on to the show (and by show I mean a double entendre of this entry and the concert, get it)…

I was born into music. This is kind of a funny thing to say considering that I’m fairly certain that not one of my immediate family members could skillfully play an instrument or sing. Yeah, we could pluck a few guitar strings, but play, really play, nope. I’m just creating the rule that recorders in 4th grade don’t count, and let’s be honest we were pretty shitty at that too. All that aside, music coursed through our veins, but more in an internet troll kind of way. As I noted previously if you’ve been reading along music can’t be reserved to one entry, trust me there will be many entries in regard to music (saying it again in case you haven’t been reading all my posts to date, like in a series of books when the author always has to recap the characters and the things that happened in the prior books in case there is that off chance that some lunatic picks up book five and starts there) also (these parentheticals annoy my wife and now this is one inside of one) if you haven’t read my prior posts well then you should go check them out), but the thing that caught my mind, the firework moment, for this particular entry was my first concert. Well, actually I couldn’t remember what my first concert was, or better said, for me there were two first concerts because until I researched for this article I was fairly certain they were both my first concert. In fact, as of this minute, I still don’t know which one was first, but I’ll find out before the end of this two parter…I think. I’m actually thinking I might just leave them both as first, but I’m guessing research will likely reveal the answer. Also, I’m essentially proving that the actual first concert doesn’t really matter, in fact, it’s pretty damn cool to have two first concerts, especially when you would grow up a bit to be this fella…

…on to the Priest…

The first “first” that hits me is the Priest, Judas Priest to be exact. I recall a sunny day (it probably wasn’t sunny we live in Cleveland) in which my Mom had called me over from my friend’s house, he lived across the street, to tell me my older brother, not my oldest brother, would be taking me to go see Judas Priest that night if I wanted to go. I recall jumping higher than my Mom in the front yard. Funny because that’s one of the clearest memories of the whole event that I have. I think I went back to playing at my friend’s house, we were probably playing something dumb outside like, let’s light something on fire, or basketball. I don’t recall exactly why I got the “call up to the majors”, I’m guessing one of my brother’s friends probably bailed on him.

…in style bitches…

So the next thing I recall of this glorious day is being in the car with my brother and his friend, who is kind of like a brother to our family, a cynical, sometimes creepy, sometimes super kind dude, all of which was determined by himself before it was labeled by anyone else. So my older brother had this sweet 1968 Camaro, well he actually still has it but the word sweet should no longer be applied, and one of the only other “images” I have is of being in the back seat of that Camaro with my brother driving and our calculated family friend in the passenger seat having just backed out of our driveway and on the road starting to drive.

I’m thinking one of the reasons this “firework” memory in the Camaro stuck with me is that this moment meant that it was actually happening, no one could pull me out now and say I wasn’t going. I also recall our brother from another mother family friend throwing out some jabs at the fact that I was going but also I think he found it kind of cool. Another reason I may not remember the car ride other than that moment when we were pulling away is because I promptly fell asleep. I think I slept pretty much the entire way to the “might as well have been an island on the fucking moon” Richfield Coliseum where Rob Halford and the boys would be doing their rock show.

…to be seen by a heavy metal legend…

I have pretty much one more “firework” memory of this whole ordeal and that was when I’m fairly certain (read as positive) that Rob Halford saw me…and acknowledged me. So at the concert we had decent seats, lower bowl mid way up a couple of sections from the stage, quite honestly this location might be one of my favorite vantage points for any concert, it also plays really well for MMA fights, but that’s probably another entry. Anyhow, we had these seats and, everybody recall now, this was probably my first concert so I really didn’t have a clue what the fuck to do when you were at a concert. I think I saw people with the whole devil horns thing going and probably saw some heads kind of banging in the air (I understand that being a head banger became a thing but that whole bang your head back and forth was never a thing I could, or would want to, do, just kind of hurt my head and distracted from the music), but I just had my hand up and I was giving a thumbs up the whole time. Yep, a thumbs up, way to go Rob and the boys, you’re doing thumbs up worthy well with your guitars and such. So back then Rob Halford would do this thing (I actually have no fucking clue if it was a thing this would be the only time I would ever see Judas Priest, but he was doing it like it was a thing) where he would put his hand flat above his eyes to, likely, cut down the glare of the lights and then look out from the stage and sort of scan the audience, you know, kind of like this…

So at one point he’s doing this and scanning the audience and then stops staring dead nuts at me, as far as I was concerned, and slowly, ever so slowly (I remember this part very well apparently) he turned his eye shielding hand slowly into a thumbs up, yep, you bet your ass he did, and then turned back to the middle of the stage and kept fucking rocking. I then said approximately 197 times, “He saw me, Rob Halford saw me, he gave me a thumbs up.”, which is possibly true because, let’s be honest here, I was probably the only dumb ass holding my hand up with a thumbs up. It had to be insanely annoying to my brother and our family friend, who also looks a lot like Harold Ramis (I just threw that in there, it’s true, but I didn’t give it any background, just threw it at ya like I would throw a cat at you without you expecting it). In fact, I’ll bet that at least one of them, if not both, also have a “firework” memory from that night of me saying Rob Halford saw me and gave me a thumbs up at least 198 times. It’s likely that’s their ONLY “firework” memory from that night as that alone probably over powered all of the other finer memories, like Rob bringing a Harley on stage (just remembered that one, see how cool this retrospective adventuring can be).

…and then to get the f*&k out of there…

The only other items remaining from that evening was the likely sprint back to the car, though admittedly I’m not sure I exactly remember the sprint that night, but there was a sprint to the car at every single concert I’ve ever been to with my brother, at a minimum, and almost every show ever except when we almost killed my brother’s friend a few years back at a Poison show because he’s an older fella and he fell and almost broke his hip so we decided we would just walk it out the rest of the way, but don’t get me wrong he’s not that much older and a really cool dude (yeah, I know, it was a run-on on purpose, just read it that way it’s more fun). So the sprint would need to happen because we refused to leave the show until all of the songs had been played, all the music had been squeezed out, not until the lights went up, and for really good shows we even gave it a couple seconds after that just hoping there was more to be had, and then we would turn and without speaking, well except for that first concert when my brother probably said, “Hurry up dumb ass”, and we would begin a sprint out of the arena to get to our car. The reason being that not only did we despise the thought of leaving the show before the music had stopped, before the show was over, but we also despised the asshole traffic that would happen at those dumb ass Cleveland venues just as much. Admittedly, at that time for sure, I wasn’t much of an athlete, and I’m pretty sure my brother couldn’t spell the word athlete, but if you saw us running from the end of a concert it was like watching Michael Jordan score 50, and our ability to avoid humans but still run through them and past them like a running back avoiding tackles was magic to watch. The avoiding of the humans was key especially because, as you can probably imagine, neither one of us were fighters either. It was elegant, it was aggressive, it was fast, it was like a Savion Glover tap dance. We were like gazelles, dodging groupies, sometimes hastily buying concert shirts on the way out, this was because while the concert was going we also wouldn’t leave our seats for fear we would miss part of the show, I don’t remember wearing a catheter but you’d think we were. We also wouldn’t drink, seems a bit weird I know, but we were there for the music, for the show, so inebriation didn’t lend itself well to taking all of that in, plus, it makes you have to piss. Essentially, as I read this collections of points, we were concert nerds.

So I’m sure that evening ended in my first, I think, manic and beautiful sprint to the car to then execute the magical driving of a New York city taxi cab driver to make it out of the parking lot in amazing time. There wasn’t a concert shirt purchase that night, probably because I was a dumb little kid that didn’t have any money, and quite frankly I was just elated to be there and in awe at the experience. That’s one thing I use to absolutely love and cherish was having an experience. Taking in what this life and this world had to offer. Where did that go? I wish I had a shirt from that show, but even if I had one I likely wouldn’t own it any more. I have a wife now and those old concert shirts are for “losers”. I need to check with her, but I’m pretty sure that new concert shirts are also for “losers” too. Like I said, we were concert nerds.

So my second “first” show is cool as shit just to say, I know because I’ve mentioned it many times in the past 30+ years since. It just rolls off the tongue to say, yeah, my first concert was back stage passes to the Beastie Boys License to Ill tour…

…TO BE CONTINUED…

P.S. – Damn it, another P.S., and on a two parter! A LONG two parter. However, I had to add this to share my feelings and learnings on this thing fully (also, I can’t leave well enough alone). As I’m getting into this process I’m realizing that after bringing these memories to the forefront to relive them and reexamine them they are sticking with me, continuing to bring me to life over time. What dawned on me during yoga (yeah, I yoga) was the manner in which I used to eat life up, like how I did on the day of the Judas Priest concert. I appreciate that things were simpler at that age, but I’m in awe of the way I used to just want to have experiences, just live life. That essence has led me to some of my greatest moments in life. I’ve lost that, and it hurts to realize that. I don’t want to do a damn thing anymore, and that makes me extremely sad, hurt somehow even. To be honest, if someone offered me tickets to Judas Priest today I would be like, I’m good. I need to continue to explore it, but I feel for me to live my fullest life going forward I need to recapture it. I guess that’s a start, I genuinely want to get it back, that’s me wanting to do some damn thing anyhow.