Pic by Not-So-Lil' Wayne
It's Friday. I'm hungover. I wish I could report that I had actual 'Whiplash!' from last night's gig, but the painful truth is that I'm just an old fart. I sat in the stands and soaked up the wonderful atmosphere, instead of going bonkers with the rest of the reprobates.
Not that I wasn't enjoying myself. Let's start at the beginning, but it'll have to remain a short report. I need my rest.
Getting picked up and chauffeured to and from a Metallica gig is an outstanding experience. It frees you to have a motherfucker of a hangover the next day. Thanks to the inimitable Rose Thorn and Jasmyn, the little white Hyundai. We congregated at The Starlight Diner and entered an unspoken competition to see who could wait for their beer the longest. Only after being threatened with grievous bodily harm did our waiter make any sort of attempt to bring me one after a thousand year wait. And then he contrived to fuck the bill up. Fuck The Starlight Diner.
Even though that would normally put a small damper on proceedings, we joined the queue to enter the Velodrome in high spirits and The Hot Girlfriend, Chocolaty and Weird Al chattering away like songbirds. The lines were mercifully quick and very efficiently handled. Once inside, it transpired that it was actually a surprise party for me!
I knew EVERYBODY! My head was spinning trying to keep up saying hi to everyone. It was awesome! I am even more impressed that I remembered to introduce The Hot Girlfriend every time. (I know I did, because I would have been hit behind the head if I'd forgotten.)
What a wonderful surprise!
Then there was VCK, who played their hearts out but suffered from the typical opening band muffled sound. They got a loud enough cheer, though.
Then, after some more schmoozing and a pint or 2, we took our seats for the main event. Fucking hell! The 'Tallica boys blasted onto the stage and into our eardrums with 'Creeping Death' and never let up. We were treated to one of the most consummately professional shows these shores have ever seen. James snarled his way through hit after classic hit, while Kirk shredded away and Lars looked eager, but tiring fast. The receding hairline splashed up all over the massive screen backdrop was also a dead give away. At least they looked like they were having fun with it. It was a lesson in controlled musical aggression and perfectly executed interaction with the crowd. The set list was STELLAR! Typically, all the pop up collars went utterly berserk when 'Enter Sandman' ended the official part of the show off. Then the obligatory encore left us breathless and baying for more, grinning in unison and mentally high fiving everyone else in the arena.
No wonder some of my friends came back for a second night. Apparently having a new arsehole torn for oneself is the logical progression after having one's mind blown.
Then. The venue ran out of beer. Let me just put this into perspective for you. The vast majority of people attending this concert were male, lager lout, metalheads. And it was, in the grand scheme of things, woefully under attended. The organisers and their sponsors have been putting on shows like this forever, yet they STILL . RAN . OUT . OF . BEER . A more shameful set of circumstances cannot be fathomed.
Still, not even the rancid cider I was forced to endure instead could ruin my high. What a night! What a band! What a concert! What a fucking unbelievable EXPERIENCE!
Thank you Metallica! Please don't judge us on our poor ticket buying skills. We have a beautiful mountain.
Please come back!
NGDG: After watching that labioplasty surgeon on Doctors trim pastrami from a roll, I think I'll just stick to beer.
Spread The Love. The Memory Remains...
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