Me vs. Nissan Pavilion
Background: There are three distinct elements that are relevant to the background of this story, and while they obviously added together to cataclysmic effect on the night of May 11th, there is no other strong correlation per se, so it will be easier to read/ write if they were separated.
BG #1: Kid A, Radiohead’s disaster/ masterpiece1, was released in 2001 and shot directly to the top of Billboard’s Sales Chart, solidifying any doubts over the obsession of music fans world wide with the British five-piece band. In support of the album, Radiohead went on a national tour, playing at non-traditional outdoor spots including Bull Run, a venue right outside of the DC area. Being from Richmond and having friends with similar tastes in music, this was clearly a no brainer- we drove up that Saturday in the blistering heat, awaiting to see a bunch of pissy brits talk about how much America sucks and how they distrust computers. Long story short, after listening to two opening bands (one of which, I’m pretty sure, was a not quite ‘famous’ yet Sigur Ros), a rain storm came out of nowhere. After waiting in the rain for about 2 hours, we were told the concert was cancelled due to excess water in front of the stage (they said it was a foot- it looked more like 3 feet). Although disappointed, we all managed to have a good trip, which culminated in stopping at a Waffle House and putting “Bye, Bye, Bye” by N’ Sync on repeat as we left2 and one of my friends being crowned with a few new nicknames (we were in the car for a long, long time). An agreement was made that night that if we ever had the chance, we would all get together and see this band that people at the time were referring to as the best in the world.
BG #2: Flash-forward seven years. Radiohead is still a band I highly respect but much has changed (particularly my music tastes) since that unsuccessful voyage near the beginning of the new millennium. In Rainbows is released in later 2007 to perhaps the best reviews Radiohead has received in its acclaimed career, not to mention the “fuck big business” aesthetic at work by releasing an album where the listener picked his or her own price. In Rainbows proves to be a pretty damn good disc3, and my desire to see the Karma Police starts gaining steam. They announce the dates, and sure enough not only are they coming to Charlotte, but also to DC all within the same weekend- this seems like the “IOU” God gave me the first time I tried to see them was going to get paid back doubly. I wake up about an hour before tickets go on sale on the internet, and after a few wrinkles, I finally get four tickets (two pretty damn great seats, two general admissions). Sure enough, two weeks or so go by and I realize one major problem- the night of the concert also happened to be the date of the wedding of one of my best friends in the world, and I was to serve as a groomsman4. While devastated (I had spent about 300 bucks on tickets I wouldn’t be able to use), the problem was quickly solved as a fellow Radiohead superfan gladly took the tickets off of my hands. After barely telling my friends from DC in time to not get a flight to come down here for the show, I am reminded that the band was playing the Sunday after the wedding up in that area. I figured: will be in Virginia, I’ll sack up and make the drive to DC and just haul ass back down to Charlotte for work on Tuesday. A lot of driving? Sure, but clearly worth it to fulfill a promise made to friends long ago. While disappointed I don’t get to the see the band in my new hometown, the prospects of seeing them in DC does seem like it would close a unfinished chapter in my life.
BG #3: Flash forward May 8th, 2008. Now this is not a story I will tell with any sort of pride, but I will say that it is pretty fucking funny, particularly if you knew the people involved. As I mentioned before, I was going to be a groomsman in my friend’s wedding and was in Richmond the night before for the rehearsal. After an emotional, toast-filled dinner, I was ready to catch up with some of my less serious friends and have a night of silliness, if for nothing else to celebrate my soon to be wedded buddy. After meeting some friends for a quick drink at a neighborhood joint, we decided to hit up Metro Grill in Richmond, a place accurately described as an Ohio bar5, where we tried to drown ourselves in Jagermeister and tequila6. After last call, I went back to a close friend’s place to have some pass-out drinks and reminisce about our soon-to-be-wedded buddy, a person with whom we both have personal if very different relationships. After a few poor attempts at saying “Oh, he’s getting married- how sweet!” the conversation soon became a testament to our hatred of growing up and particularly our friends who are actually doing it. After my friend started to kind of jab at a wall to the sound of his own voice7, I decided to make some frat-guy comment about how he hits like a pussy. Quickly after that, he challenged me to see if I could dent his wall. Being inebriated in myriad ways, it took me two seconds to just nail the wall8 with my right fist- there was only one problem; the wall was made of plaster, not dry-wall. I think my endorphins or serotonin or whatever rushed over my system, because I remember little after that. I was told at first I looked like a kid who had the top scoop of his ice cream cone just fall off, but then I became even more aggressive in my drinking to somehow subdue the pain. I have no idea when, but I would precede to pass out in the friend’s living room, deciding to pass out on the love-seat as opposed to the two welcoming, obvious couches. Next morning I woke up and my right hand looked like a bruised boxing glove. Tempted to go immediately to the hospital, I remembered I had to be a groomsman in my friend’s wedding in a few hours, and decided to just suck it up and have a few beers to cope with the pain9. For the rest of the day everything went as well as expected with one big issue- because I was a groomsman, I had to shake a lot of hands. Every time I shook somebody’s hand I had an out-of-body feeling that my hand was actually the shin of that poor Asian guy from Bloodsport10. The rest of the weekend would prove to be writing-worthy, but that is for another time; all you need to know is that I had a badly injured hand for which I neglected to seek medical advice. Oh, and by the way, yes I dented the fucking wall.
Let’s fight!: So I make the drive up DC on Sunday the 11th in anticipation of what I am told is the concert to end all concerts. I go to my friend’s apartment, where we relax (we were both pretty hungover), catch up and watch Roll/ Bounce, a film that stars Wayne Brady, Lil Bow Wow, and Nick Cannon and is twice as mediocre as a film about roller-skating crews in the 70s with this cast should be. We then meet up with another friend (3/4 out of the original crew could make it) and his cousin and leave a dreary DC at around 6 o’ clock to go to the Nissan Pavilion in Bristow, VA, a drive according to mapquest.com and a GPS that should take half an hour. The anticipation builds as we start to see the rain starting to pour down and we tighten up our rain-suits. We verify the tickets say “rain or shine” and I am fucking ready to party my ass off in the rain while just getting bombarded by the sonic shockwaves of Hail to the Thief and The Bends. Right when we get to the highway, traffic is backed up considerably, but we figure this must be do to the rain, a weather condition that makes it impossible for people to drive, think, or act sanely. We finally get off of the highway around 7:15 (doors opened at 7:30) and were all just a little peeved that we were getting the impression that we’d miss the opening act but spirits were still high as we knew that Thom Yorke and his aborted fetus face would be screaming loud enough to make me forget all the shit involved having to get here. The GPS said we were three and a half miles out, and while there was traffic, it certainly was not bad enough to assume we’d miss any of a 9 o’ clock start…. right?
Wrong. REALLY FUCKING WRONG. Due to the inept police force of Bristow who were doing nothing at all except putting their sirens on to get to the music-hater convention at terminal velocity, the extremely poor lay-out of the Nissan Pavilion, and to be fair, the freezing rain (which was causing floods in some areas around us) we would not even see the Pavilion until 10:45. Now, the obvious question is “Why didn’t you park and run?” There wasn’t a place to park within a mile and a half that wasn’t taken- not to mention we had no idea how far away the venue really was. When we finally got there, the parking attendant (of which I saw two- this is a FUCKING 25,000 person venue, and they have TWO FUCKING PARKING LOT ATTENDANTS- both of whom had the nonexistent managerial skills), after we yell at him for having the gall to ask for six dollars for parking, tells us that “actually, this is the second to last song.” So, we decided to turn around and wait an hour and fifteen minutes just to leave. We did hear the end of their second encore, which sounded pretty cool I guess. We and everybody around us were completely on edge- I think everybody in our car screamed at least once just to get the stir craziness out, if just temporarily. We then put on Kid A in the car11, and I am I pretty sure I was about the drop of a hat from going completely insane. The cold weather had also cramped up my hand, making it feel considerably worse than it did pre-nightmare. That was the only reason I did not try to incite a riot- my hand hurt so bad that it was taking away all of my energy to be pissed. We eventually did get out of the parking lot (after another hour and a half wait- that’s six hours in a car for no show) and made it back to DC by 12:30- when we ate at the shadiest, grossest IHOP ever created12.
The next day I would drive back to Charlotte with a broken finger and a broken dream. I was depressed, broke, a cold was forming and my level of exhaustion lead me unfit to drive13. About two hours deep into the road trip, I had a mix with “2+2=5” on it- I took it out of my CD player, crushed it with my broken hand and threw it out the window. Seeing how the weekend went, I am expecting a ticket for littering any day now from the Virginia Police, who can’t help me by making it easier to do something I like (ie, direct traffic so it won’t take me 5 hours to travel 20 miles) but who sure as shit would love nothing more than to take some more of my money. Winner: Nissan Pavilion, by knockout
Afterthoughts:
- There is no way in hell I will ever go to the Nissan Pavilion again, and if I had it my way, Bristow for that matter. Even if Pink Floyd did a reunion there or a witch doctor resurrected the Beatles for a one night show and I was offered a helicopter ride and a parachute, I would refuse to go. The place has done nothing to refund money or make an attempt to apologize. I don’t give a fuck who you are, this is simply not how you treat people. It would be one thing if my case was the exception- I am told it is estimated that about 7,000 people were in my spot (didn’t see the show at all) and a majority didn’t get to see the entirety (or a full set for that matter).
- God apparently doesn’t want me to see Radiohead. While I do not blame the band for this catastrophe, they clearly must have known something was up and at least some acknowledgment would help brunt the blow a bit. I truly believe that there is a supernatural force at work here.
- A coping mechanism? Sure, refuse to listen to Radiohead for a while. Fuck them, their condescending beliefs, joyless music and poor venue choices. I realize this is unfair to blame them, but I am pretty sure I would beat the living piss out of Thom Yorke’s brittle ass if I saw him right now. I have never, in my life, loved something so dearly as Radiohead’s music as to now completely detest it- this is just as well- if you want to hear people gushing about Radiohead read any other musical journalist- I am now their enemy.
- If you think you broke some of the bones in your hand, I suggest going to the doctor.
1 Depends if you are talking to a Dread-head or an objective listener
2 Nothing says “fun” like being rude to strangers!
3 The song “Bodysnatchers” is the best thing they have done in a decade
4 God to Nick: “Fuck You Robertson!”
5 Ohio bar= bland + rowdy
6 You’d think one would grow out of this by this point…
7 Think WHAT-[punch]-THE-[punch]-FUCK-[punch]-DUDE….
8 I’m assuming it might have started to talk shit or something
9 It has to be said- My mother and sister are both very involved in the medical field- needless to say my actions stupefied them
10 For those not in the know of JCVD’s classic: It gets compound fractured
11 It gotten so cold and wet that even having the windows down were killing us
12 I don’t suggest the appetizer sampler
13 But if I didn’t get back to go to work, how else would I pay the 80 bucks for my Radiohead ticket?
No comments:
Post a Comment