We’ve all been to a concert. Going to a concert is like losing your virginity, once you do it you want to keep doing it…and you always remember your first. My first was Shania Twain, and unfortunately I’m talking about my first concert I went to and not who introduced me to the ways of love making.
Part of the concert experience is standing around and waiting for the concert to start. Some choose to tailgate to pass the time, and others go through the gates as soon as possible because they literally can’t wait another hour to see their favorite bands, performers, or artists.
If you go to the festival setting concert or if you nab some lawn seats where it’s standing room only like the Green Day concert these rock n’ rollers went to, you get amped up. The anticipation continuously builds as more and more people trickle through the turnstiles.
One of the natural occurrences that happen when there is a crowd of people, in any setting, is to chant. I think we spend the majority of our lives denying our tribal instincts/DNA, but that denial goes out the door with a couple of beers and more than 1,000 people in one designated area. We’ve all participated in the Zombie Nation sing-a-long at concerts, sporting events, and live performances.
I’m here to tell you that I’m so disappointed the good people of England didn’t invite me to participate in the pre-Green Day concert. I’d have paid all the travel expenses/air fare in the world to get down and belt out Bohemian Rhapsody with these blokes.
I guess I’m not cool enough. Maybe they’re getting back at me for shutting down Blog:30 for a year. Perhaps they found out we were huge in Norway and that offended them. I don’t know. Real dick move, London.
PS. You’re still better than the Italians. They didn’t invite me to the Learn To Fly play along, and they know I shred that song flawlessly.