Punk Rock Articles | The Big Show by Laslow Corpuscle

Some of the best music I've ever seen has been played in a basement. I have a lifelong Quixotian battle with firms like Ticketmaster, so larger scale events are rarely on my calendar. When a band I think is HUGE, like Slayer, or Bad Religion, play, it's always in a venue without seats. And to me those are way too big for me, yet you bite the bullet for the Angel of Death.

But, rarely is that an issue, because in all humility 90% of time I'm going to those shows I'm sitting on the side of the stage drinking beer. Often the band's beer. It's the luxury of access, and I enjoy a good view. And free beer.

But this year I broke that trend, through either work or my ridiculously 'connected' chick, and have attended some of the larger scale concerts so often lauded in the media. It's been weird. All the intimacy and angst inherent in punk rock is completely gone, but larger scale productions have more of a theater quality to them, that I assume appeals to consumers in a blatantly more prosperous demographic. Here are some of those events:

U2: Retail Price 500 bucks.

I didn't really 'go' to this show. I work on occasion for One.org, the political wing of the U2 Empire, so when it was in Chicago last time I was on the clock. I've done this many times, but slid some friends in under the guise of 'volunteers' for one, so during show time I scooched them down w/my laminate to a good spot on the floor.

During soundcheck, they normally clear ALL working personnel from the venue. This was Bono's birthday however, and he invited anyone available in to watch, and they played a full set. I saw them in a small venue during the 'Bloody Sunday' era (yes, I'm old), and even though not my cup of tea, I'm Irish, and they had some admirable angst and a level of professionalism I could empathize with.

And that was projected when we were all milling about in the little 'pit' the vulgar circular catwalk created. They are still just a small Irish band that likes to bitch about things in the form of pretty songs. Come show time it's a whole different deal however, and a MASSIVE curtain of computer programmed Christmas lights and video screens create an overwhelming visual stimulus to accompany the endless litany of Lord Bono on a variety of issues he doesn't suffer from, such as AIDS, poverty and having his house blown up.

In a true proletariat gesture, however, He Who Walks on Water had a variety of people gathered in said pit afterward and graced the gleeful with his presence and birthday cake before Leer jetting off the continent in time to avoid taxes. As Joe strummer says, the rebellion starts AFTER the hair gel goes on.

I was working, and didn't shoot this show, sorry. If you have a dire need to see U2 footage, go, well, ANYWHERE.

Madonna: Retail Price 1500 bucks.

My girl is what we in the mental health trade refer to as a 'Madonnaholic'. She actually said she'd fuck Guy Ritchie to fuck Madonna, and she's completely hetero, so this was a rather peculiar affirmation of her sexuality. Needless to say, she pulled every string in the industry to put us in the exact seats she wanted to maximize her Madonna contact for not one but two nights in a row.

Great. Thank Satan that week was marked by Slayer, NOFX, The Epoxies, Buzzcocks, joan jett, and a slew of other bands to cleanse my palette from the Queen of Pop. But fuck it, it's Madonna, and I'd fuck her too, so I was curious.

This is a very grand production. We're directly seated on a catwalk, with a bulbous performance platform right next to us. Open with a big ass fucking disco ball slowly settling in directly atop my head basically. I still have retina damage. The cool part though is the ball splits open and out comes the Virgin Whore herself, and she's literally a few fucking feet away.

There are Broadway quality choreographed dance numbers, huge screen and lighting effects, and CATWALK CATWALK CATWALK. At various points she's raised on a giant crucifix, rides a dominatrix' saddle like a carousel, and sprawls out in front of us in a unitard so close I can see that billion dollar beaver of hers.

Punk Rock. I even still have one of those fancy gold Mylar balloons from the stage. At one point she acknowledged her admiration of my pink hair, gave the girl that half fag wink of hers that substituted for foreplay for many days subsequent, and flicked so much sweat on us I thought the roof was leaking. Bigger shows are better in better seats, no doubt.

Night two was not in such luxury, but XZA snuck down to the previous night's location with Charwoman, and they got to recreate the moment like a second crack hit. Then we got cocktails and kicked back for the 'arena show' experience. I'm glad she took me, Madonna's assembled a pretty impressive FUCK YOU resume, and I can always get behind that.

Rolling Stones: Retail Price 800 bucks.

Aforementioned awesome gal is a big fan of my Dad. He's always been nice to her, and she wanted to reciprocate. He, like any 60's era thug, is a big Stones fan. Her form of appreciation manifested itself in 15th row center at Soldiers Field. 70,000 tickets available, and this is by far the largest attendance event I've ever been to. She had us right in the thick of it.

I saw Pink Floyd at Soldiers Field a couple times, and those were pretty fucking cool, but this was even bigger, and you knew it the moment you walked in. Elvis Costello played on a postage stamp sized portion of the stage, and as much as I like his work, especially with the Specials, he looked ridiculous. Little dude, big stage, five story backdrop which is actually seating area that's part of the show, and he's like a spec of dust in the desert. I'm sure he gets paid plenty, and I've seen him in a more accommodating venue (sans seats) so whatever, now I know why the opening act gets the boot quick.

Then of course the Stones take the stage, and what seems like a billion people go Richter because what must look like a flea to the cheap seats is hopping around on stage screaming the cornerstones of rock and roll. Once again, CATWALK CATWALK CATWALK, and quite honestly, the guy shakes his ass in a combined Madonna/Michael Jackson manner that makes you wonder where those third generation fuckers got their moves. The 40 foot video screen is like sitting too close to the t.v., and you can see every needle hole on Keith Richard's transfused arms.

A stage that actually rolls out into the middle of the crowd elicited my father saying 'HA! Just fucked those assholes in the 500 dollar seats REAL good, love it!', a 3 story inflatable lip/tongue wagging about like Dr. Calgari's Box and a timed fireworks show were some of the over the top production endeavors that you couldn't pull of in a basement, and warranted 15th row seeming a mile away, but the highlight was Mick 30 feet in the air belting out Sympathy for the Devil while the lighting scheme turned the entire downtown skyline blood red.

Evil, and tough, and gritty, and it made me sad the Checkerboard Lounge is closed because for the decades prior they would sneak down there after the show and sit in on hours of blues sets in the ghetto. I would've been late for work the next day to see the most enduring rock and roll band in history return to a dingy basement-like setting that I so adore.

Wicked: Retail Price 300 bucks.

I mention this summer event only because it was actually SUPPOSED to be theater, not rock and roll, and became the baseline for all the other events that actually had paper tickets and, well, rules.

Go see Wicked, it was fucking great.

Give all your welders politics,

Chiseling Infidel