Denver, Colorado. October 9, 2011. I sit in a not-too-crappy seat, my eyes glued to the stage. Mariachi el Bronx plays first. They’re not bad. It’s a mix of punk and mariachi. Strange combination, but they’re talented, and it works. They even play an accordian!
After their set, my feet can’t stop tapping. Not to the beat of Mariachi el Bronx’s songs as they run through my head. They tap just because.
The next band, Cage the Elephant, takes the stage. The lead singer staggers out, probably drunk. He pretends he’s a fish and dances like that while he wails. I want to slap him with a dead fish because that dance is not cool. The guitar relies too much on distortion. They remind me of Nirvana, and not in a good way. During the last song, the lead singer tries to jump on the guitarist’s head. Guitar Dude throws down his guitar in disgust and stomps off the stage. I don’t know if it’s all for real or for fake.
I have to pee. I run to the bathroom and back again before the roadies have cleared the stage. Then my feet double their tapping rhythm. Streams of people rush to their seats. Thousands and thousands of them. Their excited chatter swells to cheers when the lights dim.
But nothing happens.
The chatter starts back up again. I grip the arms of my seat and shake them, like I’m trying to propel the seat, the concert, everything forward.
The lights dim again. The crowd erupts. I pound my fist on my BF’s leg. He winces.
A guttural riff of a guitar fills the arena. Red and white strobe lights flash across the stage.
Then this happens:
I can’t move. I’m more than a little star-struck. Everyone must feel the same way because they’re all pulsing and cheering. That kind of excitement in the air can only be compared to Harry Potter book release parties, at least for me. But I can’t cheer along with the throng of people, because I still can’t move. Except my feet. They’re tapping away, in time with all my favorite songs.
Best. Concert. Ever. Even if I couldn’t move. Much.
So now I’m deeply in love with everything Foo Fighters, especially Mr. Dave Grohl. That guy is so talented, and I’ve always had a thing for boys in bands. In fact, my BF is a wicked drummer. When I met him, he was in a punk band. And now you know why he’s my BF. He’s okay with my Foo Fighters/Dave Grohl obsession. He’s the one who bought a Foo Fighters CD today. 🙂
Here’s the Foo Fighters’ opening song. If you could see me in this video, I would be the one not moving.
P.S. – The title of this post refers to the book called Rats Saw God by Rob Thomas. Rats, as in there were tons of us there, and the Foo Fighters, the gods of rock. Don’t you feel uber-enlightened now? 😉