(* This report, written in October of 2004 about the Vote for Change concerts that various artists undertook during the 2004 Presidential campaign in support of John Kerry and John Edwards. The concert was in Ames. I am reprinting it from www.blogforiowa.com, where it is in the archives, because it is pretty funny.)
Connie submits this report from her cross-state Democratic Road Trip with “the daughter.”
The daughter and I returned from our SIX-HOUR concert about 1:30 a.m. last night. I cannot remember a concert where I drew Snoopy on the left ankle of the young man behind me (in red ink) and then, on his right ankle, played tic-tac-toe with my daughter. (It was a draw.) Plus, I sprayed BOTH of the young man’s feet with Burberry perfume (from my purse) since they were really smelly feet, which he insisted on parking on the arms of MY chair. At one point, he grabbed my notebook and wrote in it, “I have no idea what you are doing here. I can’t see sh-t, but keep this. Thanks and bye.” Earlier, I heard him and his friends discussing how I had “probably remembered every President back to Lincoln.” The sad thing is, they are right. He kids me about “growing up in the seventies” and wants to know if I ever “smoked reefer.” I feel flattered that he thinks I “grew up in the 70’s.” That makes me much younger than I am, so I am enjoying that comment. As for the reefer question: allergic, you know. Only contact highs. I respond, “Yes, but I never inhaled,” thinking he will get the joke. He does not.
In the parking lot afterwards, while waiting for the cars to move out to the road, the car ahead of us contains a fake snake. One of the young college men in the party puts the snake between his legs and gyrates (like a Chippendale Dancer).The snake looks very real, so I roll my car windows up. The daughter, who is beginning to sound a little like Typhoid Mary, says, “Why are you rolling up the windows?” I pretend it is for her health. It is really because I fear that the kid with the snake might gyrate over to us and do God-knows-what.
Neil Young (of the old days…Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young) comes onstage at one point with the Dave Matthews Band and plays (a “surprise” performance). My notes, at that point: “They are holding this guitar note for so long that pain will soon ensue. They are all watching Neil, for a ‘sign.’ He has, apparently, forgotten the sign. I am beginning to think that the “sign” is that your ears begin to bleed. Neil looks like Howard Hughes on a bad day. He is engaged in some sort of guitar death throe. Some blonde woman comes onstage with him, but I don’t think anyone has a clue who she is (I know I don’t). I ask, but the boys behind me have passed out, and nobody else can hear me over the guitar punishment. Yikes!
The new camera (Olympus digital), which was fully charged before the concert, only ran for 2 hours. The concert lasted 6. [Thank God for my trusty little Canon]. The daughter got pictures of “My Morning Jacket,” “Jurassic5,” and “Ben Harper and the Innocent Criminals,” but where was my digital camera when the Main Act came onstage? Why, dead, of course. As I fear I will be after this six-hour marathon.
At one point, Ben Harper plays a song called “Burn One Down,” which either has to do with forest fires or smoking marijuana. Other lyrics I hear, but don’t know: “Kick your b-tt.” “Plastic.” “F— the pResident.” “I always have to steal my kisses from you.” “This is a song about freedom. There’s some people who smoke a lot of weed, cause some of those [bleep] haven’t gotten off the couch for two years. Then, that [bleep] wanders out in to the street holdin’ his remote and getting his groove on. If you ain’t where you want to be in your life, put the bong down, Homey.” This brings on “Burn One Down,” which seems to involve a haze of illegal smoke. “Your choice is who you choose to be. We are gonna’ burn one down.”
Good to see that our college students are becoming more articulate every day. Gives one hope. I hope they don’t burn anything down while I am inside it.
Back to lyrics: “No lives for bu—sh–.” “He offered life in sacrifice, so others could go on.” Neil Young sings (if you can call it that), “It was just a legend. War was never known. The people were together, and they lifted many stones.” I’m thinking this might be “Along the Watchtower,” but I really am not “into Neil Young. He looks like the Crypt-Keeper, from television, at this point in his career. None of the young kids there know who he is, or who the old blonde with him is. Then there is something about dancing across the water. Neil seems somewhat uncoordinated, so I don’t think he will be doing any dancing across water or any other surface any time soon. It is as though Bigfoot has been taking guitar lessons and has been unleashed upon us.
I know three songs all night long, including the Dave Matthews Band encore song “Too Much” from the “Crash” album; “Keep on Rockin’ in the USA” and a version of Buffalo Springfield’s, “There’s somethin’ happenin’ here; Stop, Baby! What’s that sound? Everybody look what’s goin’ down.” This is repeated about 20 times. I remember it was used in a documentary about the Vietnam War that I used to show my 7th grade students. At one point, trying to be friendly, I say, to the black guy next to me, “I took her to her first Dave Matthews Band concert when he had “Under the Table and Dreaming” out. She was ten.” The guy says, “Oh. Yeah. I remember that concert. I passed out halfway through it.” O………K.
Now, Neil plays TAPS on his guitar. Why? We don’t know. Dave and the others are sort of glassy-eyed, mesmerized, staring at Neil. This concert has lasted a Looooong time. Someone please make Neil quit!!! The drunk guys from St. Joseph’s, Missouri, or Joplin, Missouri, have all passed out, which is when and why I draw Snoopy on one of their ankles.
The girl ahead of me is wildly flailing her arms like a windmill. Too much caffeine, I’m thinking. This girl is known, henceforth, as “Hyperactive Girl,” or HG. Every time I try to take a shot, she pumps her fist in the air just as I shoot. I have a lot of photos of her fist(s).
As usual, I attempt to pick out “bobbleheads” in the arena, which are people who are making absolute fools of themselves. My God! This must be the Bobblehead Convention. The violin guy onstage is going nuts, and the guy wearing the Number One jersey with the page boy bob haircut is doing something that I can only describe as NOT likely to impress anyone.
The drunk or stoned guy behind me (“Max”, says his NAME TAG) keeps trying to bump my arm as I take notes, and, at one point, he actually tries to relieve me of my notebook. But I’m too quick for him.
Ms. Hyperactive is now resorting to rabbit-like punching in the air. The guy she is with is very tall and looks like the one who once played Claire’s boyfriend on “Six Feet Under.” He is wearing a shirt that says “America’s Music Festival to End All Festivals” while his girlfriend has on a “Farm Aid, September 18th” shirt. I fear for Ms. Hyperactive’s safety, as she is so out-of-control that I think she is going to fall over the balcony railing any minute.
Neil (Young) is doing some kind of geriatric jig. Someone make Neil quit. Please.
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