The Format and the Twilight Zone

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 ISTERRIBLE 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.

2 thoughts on “The Format and the Twilight Zone

  1. I think you about cov­ered it Adam. However I am not sure your point re­al­ly came across as to how bad the band was. Words could not express.…and you may have ex­pect­ed puff paint Tshirts with We love U Yellowcard paint­ed on them, I how­ev­er was com­plete­ly tak­en off guard. Thanks again for the tick­et, maybe tonight the night­mares will be gone or at least not as in­tense as I had ex­pe­ri­enced last night af­ter see­ing that show.

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