Look, you all know that I am a frigging doofus. The fact that you know this is probably part of the reason you read this [if, in fact, you read this]. Thus, it might not surprise you that, in my typical overenthusiastic way, I could purchase concert tickets that are not even worth using as toilet paper [too heavy a bond weight and not absorbent].
Oh, The Format was good enough. I’ll give you that. Although the singing wasn’t nearly as good on the album they did have a nice healthy pop vibe and a fun attitude. Unfortunately they only played for about a half hour.
Here is where things get bad. Buckle your seat belts and make sure your tray tables are in their full, upright and locked position. You also might want to haul out the vomit bag because this could quite possibly make you hurl.
I picked up my friend Les and we got to the pavilion about a half hour before The Format came on. I didn’t realize just how close the place was from Lakewood. As we approached the will call, I mentioned to her that I was hoping this wouldn’t be full of Cooing Weteyed Emochildren™. I have since learned to fear another type of concert-goer altogether. The middle school slash early high school MTV zombies [MSSHSMTVZ]. Girls that age are still fucking scary. It is no wonder I was so weirded out by them when I was that age [christ, i sound like a geezer]. They are like evil magic aliens with cellphones- flitting around hugging each other, grabbing each other and pointing at each other. They were like a cloud of gnats, or, as I was soon to find out, like the Constructicons. [nods to Patrick]
So the sheer abundance of this demographic was troubling. I expected the poof-paint t-shirts but I did not expect the inappropriate use of every rock and roll crowd clich?. Who the hell crowd surfs to pop music? Dumbass high school kids, that’s who. Who the hell moshes to pop music? Village idiot high school fratties-in-training, that’s who.
So friggin Yellowcard comes on stage and Les and I fully enter into the Twilight Zone. The crowd goes apeshit. A couple hundred screaming MSSHSMTVZ girls sound like a ringwraith with a toothache. Thankfully the screaming went higher than my hearing register and was successfully neutralized. These girls are like Constructicons because they are rather laughable and insignificant when taken alone, but when they join their powers they are devastating.
Let me just get this over with. YELLOWCARD IS A TERRIBLE BAND. During their first song I noted that they resembled less a band and more a group of frat boys who picked up some instruments in order to make MSSHSMTVZ girls get their panties wet. My initial feeling wasn’t far off since each band member sounded like he was playing his own song in a different key and time signature and than the others. The drummer was like a malfunctioning robot. He played the goddamn same drum lick at the same tempo no matter what the hell the other band members were doing. But it gets worse.
What the other band members were doing mostly consisted of skipping around stage and standing on top of the speakers. Yes. I said skipping. SKIPPING. WHAT THE FUCK. SKIPPING! And anytime one of the ‘band’ members stood on a speaker the crowd went into orgasmic paroxysms at how rock star these guys are. Yeah, like no one has EVER stood on a foot high speaker before. Well, you would have thought no one ever had considering how the crowd reacted. One of these flea circus clowns played an electric violin. He must have been the ringleader of the incredible suckitude. He skipped the most, the girls got the wettest panties looking at him and he was also the dumbest fatfaced goober I have ever been tortured by. He skipped the most and did a couple of [i must admit] impressive backflips off of one of the foothigh speakers, but then he would start skipping again. Skipping is worse than jumping jacks and I didn’t think anything was worse than on-stage jumping jacks.
The Format struck me as a bunch of guys enjoying being a band and having fun getting a crowd into their music. Yellowcrap seemed completely contrived. The sunken-chested skinny-ass [not that I can talk] lead guitarist was so obnoxiously nasal-loud in his vocals that I didn’t understand a good goddamn word of any of the songs. Then, to my everlasting horror, he starts saying ‘Boobies! Show us your boobies.’ Earlier, when remarking on the illegitimate use of crowd-surfing and moshing, I had expressed a deep concern that these thirteen year olds would flash the band. And now, lo, yea verily and behold, a few of the MSSHSMTVZ girls raised up their shirts and flashed the band. Thankfully I was in the last row and only saw the backsides of these raisin-tittied little girls, but Yellowcrud seemed to enjoy it — frigging pedophiles. They thanked the girls and said ‘That is the most boobies we’ve seen on tour! Three! Thanks!’ Which either means that some poor girl in the crowd has only one breast or that some girl had three breasts or that Yellowcarp [sorry for the insult carp] cannot count. My vote is with the last option.
It was like the worst crap ever but even crappier. My mind boggled, gibbered and settled into a complete state of flummoxed cattywampusness so we bailed early because it was so bad.
Then I had a tasty milkshake.
I kept Lesley’s $4 in change from the parking and forgot to thank her for showing me the wonders of the Clifton Diner. I am an asshat.