Wall of Sound
This month marks the anniversary of the first rock show I went to. While I had been to a whole hell of a lot of classical music concerts and stage productions (Plays, musicals, ballets, operas) as a kid, my parents never had the interest to take me to any rock shows, even the classic rock acts they grew up with (My dad went to his first while I was in college! The Steve Miller Band if memory serves). By middle school, I was finally starting to listen to contemporary music mostly through the local rock radio stations like DC101 but really from WHFS.
WHFS doesn't exist anymore. It was replaced unannounced by a Latino-bossa nova station dubbed El Zol halfway through my senior year of high school. I had used WHFS as my alarm wake-up since seventh grade and one early morning in February, I woke up to Mariachi-infused reggaeton. I guess it served as a great way of getting me awake at least.
Anyway, this radio station would put on two big rock shows every year: An all-day festival at RFK Stadium appropriately dubbed HFStival boasting everyone from Jay-Z to The Cure to Taking Back Sunday and a holiday-themed concert dubbed HFSmas usually at the Patriot Center boasting a similarly impressive lineup but on a smaller scale. As detailed in a post a couple weeks ago, by high school I had graduated from listening to industrial-tinged hard rock and rap-rock to the effervescent melodies and hooks of pop punk and power pop and at the forefront for me personally was blink-182. When I found out they were co-headlining 2001's HFSmas with The Crystal Method, I knew I had to see them live. The rest of the lineup was impressive enough but I was going to be there and I was going to be there for blink-182.
My dad was relatively ambivalent about me going to a rock show, especially since this one was during the weekend but I ran into a bit of resistance from my mom. Even though the Patriot Center wasn't all that far from where we lived and it wasn't a school night, my mom didn't want me to stay out too late and was wary about the idea of me going to a rock show at all; Seoul wasn't really known for its rock scene and I think her impression of all that was informed by the trashy hair metal music videos that populated the airwaves when she first moved to the States. What really was the deciding factor was that I was going with friends that she trusted: My friend Alex whom I have known since I was eight and who had been to his own fair share of rock shows. That his father offered to drop us off and pick us up really just sealed the deal.
Walking into the concourse of the Patriot Center was definitely eye-opening: even though it was winter, everyone still dressed in black band t-shirts and ripped jeans; the venue already smelling of sweat and cheap beer before the show even started; crowds of people already trying to buy overpriced band merchandise. Needless to say, I took to this setting very naturally and moved into the venue to grab a spot (These festivals were always general admission, like rock and roll should be). From there, I settled in on stage right overlooking the proceedings; what I didn't know at the time is that this position would end up becoming my de facto favorite place to watch a show moving forward studying the action, watching how guitarists and bassists fret their instruments, how drummers arrange their kits. I had grown up learning everything I knew about rock and roll from records and cassettes; now I had the opportunity to watch firsthand and I still find that whole process completely fascinating, the way musicians move on stage, how they engage the crowd. No band is alike in that regard.
The first thing I noticed was how tightly packed everyone on the floor level were, all mobbing for a chance to get to the front of the stage as possible even before anyone was on the stage. The other thing was the drums. You can tell what kind of show you're in for based on how well those drums are setup sound-wise. The drums really set the rhythm for an entire set; I've played the same song with a half a dozen different drummers and each one makes it feel unique. And a good audio mix will have that bass drum making your heart feel like it's beating up against a percussive wall of sound, even if you're in the cheap seats. That was certainly the case at this show. I was getting excited.
The opening act was Pete Yorn, alt-rock singer-songwriter that would feel like a nice, warm gateway into live rock; he was promoting his own debut album at the time with its electric chords and heartfelt lyrics. Following him was Coldplay, themselves relatively new to America and promoting their own debut album, Parachutes. I was catching that British soft-rock quartet before all the Grammys, before A Rush of Blood to the Head, before Gwyneth Paltrow. Compared to Coldplay shows since, it was a laidback affair (Parachutes is their softest album, after all) but they still could command a crowd and Chris Martin navigated the piano with all the charisma he would later employ filling proper arenas; the stage lit like a golden Christmas tree as he played their then signature tune Yellow closing out the set.
From there was a complete tonal shift with the next three acts being Puddle of Mudd, System of a Down, and Nickelback each band being more raucous than the last. Puddle of Mudd served as a call to the already waning days of trailer-rock best embodied by Kid Rock and Limp Bizkit though I have to give them credit for being on their marks with their performances of Blurry and She Hates Me being the standouts from the set. System of a Down was a band unhinged on stage and the entire venue went completely fucking bananas as they tore through song after song in an unrelenting blistering set that saw lead singer Serj Tankian dance around stage in full command (This set was the only one with a full Oriental rug thrown across to help him maintain traction) while belting tracks off Toxicity with sinister aplomb. And back in 2001 when it was socially acceptable to like Nickelback, the hard rock quartet from Canada launched into their own furious set as frontman Chad Kroeger worked the guitar while wearing a pale white cowboy hat occasionally filming the crowd from stage with his own handheld camcorder. As the band closed out, he flung the camcorder into the crowd; I watched some dude manage to catch it, showing it off to his friends in disbelief only to have some asshole knock it out and shatter on the concrete ground. Pour one out for that guy.
There's an earlier element to this story I haven't told yet. My buddy Colin was trying to sneak in the cordoned off VIP section of the venue where the bands would congregate before and after their own performances. As he tried (and failed), he ran into blink-182 drummer Travis Barker entering the area with his wife at the time. Colin of course asked for either a drumstick or autograph but blink hadn't played their set yet and neither Travis nor Colin had a Sharpie for an autograph. Determined to get some sort of memento from this chance encounter, Colin reasoned that Travis beat things for a living and asked him to punch him in his upper arm as hard as he could. Travis turned to his wife in disbelief who shrugged in response. Travis unloaded on Colin's arm sending him the ground where he rubbed his new welt both gingerly but triumphantly; it hurt so bad but felt so damn good.
"Want me to do the other one?" Travis winked. Colin shook his head with a laugh. He had officially won HFSMas 2001.
Not long after that, blink-182 took to the stage kicking things off with their aptly titled holiday-themed joke song Happy Holidays, You Bastard. From there, it was the usual bit of stage banter that the band had already become known for including guitarist Tom DeLonge noticing a giant inflatable penis getting bounced over the mosh pit like a phallic beach ball.
"I feel intimidated." the San Diego-bred guitarist quipped to his lifelong friend and bassist Mark Hoppus. The trio took their time with their fourteen song set hitting radio staples like What's My Age Again, All the Small Things, and The Rock Show but deeper cuts including a favorite of mine in Rollercoaster which I've never seen them play since. Blink has never really been known for having a tight live sound with Tom's nasally voice and sloppy, overdriven playing style being the primary offenders but they've always made up for it with charisma and energy. I don't know if I would go as far to call the band straight up punk but they do have that swagger and their sound has always been reminiscent of Screeching Weasel and The Descendents. For me, though? It was like a religious experience seeing these guys that made me really care and connect with contemporary music with guitar-driven, fast-as-you-can melodies and trading harmonies. For all that, I was willing to overlook all the flaws; that's love, man.
We ended up dipping before The Crystal Method took the stage; it was getting after midnight and I knew my mom would be waiting for me worrying that her poor son had been converted by heathens...she was right to worry because that was totally what happened. She was definitely annoyed that I came back so late but more relieved I came back in one piece. I remember waking up the following morning to the familiar aroma of bacon and eggs being fried on a lazy Sunday morning and trudging half-awake downstairs. My ears were still ringing and my voice was completely shot from singing along at the top of my lungs but there was a big smile on my face.
A good concert is like true love; you can prepare all you want but a truly great performance is going to feel like it's coming out of nowhere when it knocks you right on your ass. It's the kind of music you can't help but sing and dance along with that leaves you breathless and grinning like the afterglow of a romantic interlude because of what just cascaded over you in a wave of pure, unadulterated sonic energy. I'd have to sit down and count the number of musical acts I've caught live since but it would take up multiple sheets of paper. Single-spaced. More than going to the movies or anything like that, live music will always be what I love most in life either as a performer or an audience member. I need it as much as oxygen.
WHFS doesn't exist anymore. It was replaced unannounced by a Latino-bossa nova station dubbed El Zol halfway through my senior year of high school. I had used WHFS as my alarm wake-up since seventh grade and one early morning in February, I woke up to Mariachi-infused reggaeton. I guess it served as a great way of getting me awake at least.
Anyway, this radio station would put on two big rock shows every year: An all-day festival at RFK Stadium appropriately dubbed HFStival boasting everyone from Jay-Z to The Cure to Taking Back Sunday and a holiday-themed concert dubbed HFSmas usually at the Patriot Center boasting a similarly impressive lineup but on a smaller scale. As detailed in a post a couple weeks ago, by high school I had graduated from listening to industrial-tinged hard rock and rap-rock to the effervescent melodies and hooks of pop punk and power pop and at the forefront for me personally was blink-182. When I found out they were co-headlining 2001's HFSmas with The Crystal Method, I knew I had to see them live. The rest of the lineup was impressive enough but I was going to be there and I was going to be there for blink-182.
My dad was relatively ambivalent about me going to a rock show, especially since this one was during the weekend but I ran into a bit of resistance from my mom. Even though the Patriot Center wasn't all that far from where we lived and it wasn't a school night, my mom didn't want me to stay out too late and was wary about the idea of me going to a rock show at all; Seoul wasn't really known for its rock scene and I think her impression of all that was informed by the trashy hair metal music videos that populated the airwaves when she first moved to the States. What really was the deciding factor was that I was going with friends that she trusted: My friend Alex whom I have known since I was eight and who had been to his own fair share of rock shows. That his father offered to drop us off and pick us up really just sealed the deal.
Walking into the concourse of the Patriot Center was definitely eye-opening: even though it was winter, everyone still dressed in black band t-shirts and ripped jeans; the venue already smelling of sweat and cheap beer before the show even started; crowds of people already trying to buy overpriced band merchandise. Needless to say, I took to this setting very naturally and moved into the venue to grab a spot (These festivals were always general admission, like rock and roll should be). From there, I settled in on stage right overlooking the proceedings; what I didn't know at the time is that this position would end up becoming my de facto favorite place to watch a show moving forward studying the action, watching how guitarists and bassists fret their instruments, how drummers arrange their kits. I had grown up learning everything I knew about rock and roll from records and cassettes; now I had the opportunity to watch firsthand and I still find that whole process completely fascinating, the way musicians move on stage, how they engage the crowd. No band is alike in that regard.
The first thing I noticed was how tightly packed everyone on the floor level were, all mobbing for a chance to get to the front of the stage as possible even before anyone was on the stage. The other thing was the drums. You can tell what kind of show you're in for based on how well those drums are setup sound-wise. The drums really set the rhythm for an entire set; I've played the same song with a half a dozen different drummers and each one makes it feel unique. And a good audio mix will have that bass drum making your heart feel like it's beating up against a percussive wall of sound, even if you're in the cheap seats. That was certainly the case at this show. I was getting excited.
The opening act was Pete Yorn, alt-rock singer-songwriter that would feel like a nice, warm gateway into live rock; he was promoting his own debut album at the time with its electric chords and heartfelt lyrics. Following him was Coldplay, themselves relatively new to America and promoting their own debut album, Parachutes. I was catching that British soft-rock quartet before all the Grammys, before A Rush of Blood to the Head, before Gwyneth Paltrow. Compared to Coldplay shows since, it was a laidback affair (Parachutes is their softest album, after all) but they still could command a crowd and Chris Martin navigated the piano with all the charisma he would later employ filling proper arenas; the stage lit like a golden Christmas tree as he played their then signature tune Yellow closing out the set.
From there was a complete tonal shift with the next three acts being Puddle of Mudd, System of a Down, and Nickelback each band being more raucous than the last. Puddle of Mudd served as a call to the already waning days of trailer-rock best embodied by Kid Rock and Limp Bizkit though I have to give them credit for being on their marks with their performances of Blurry and She Hates Me being the standouts from the set. System of a Down was a band unhinged on stage and the entire venue went completely fucking bananas as they tore through song after song in an unrelenting blistering set that saw lead singer Serj Tankian dance around stage in full command (This set was the only one with a full Oriental rug thrown across to help him maintain traction) while belting tracks off Toxicity with sinister aplomb. And back in 2001 when it was socially acceptable to like Nickelback, the hard rock quartet from Canada launched into their own furious set as frontman Chad Kroeger worked the guitar while wearing a pale white cowboy hat occasionally filming the crowd from stage with his own handheld camcorder. As the band closed out, he flung the camcorder into the crowd; I watched some dude manage to catch it, showing it off to his friends in disbelief only to have some asshole knock it out and shatter on the concrete ground. Pour one out for that guy.
There's an earlier element to this story I haven't told yet. My buddy Colin was trying to sneak in the cordoned off VIP section of the venue where the bands would congregate before and after their own performances. As he tried (and failed), he ran into blink-182 drummer Travis Barker entering the area with his wife at the time. Colin of course asked for either a drumstick or autograph but blink hadn't played their set yet and neither Travis nor Colin had a Sharpie for an autograph. Determined to get some sort of memento from this chance encounter, Colin reasoned that Travis beat things for a living and asked him to punch him in his upper arm as hard as he could. Travis turned to his wife in disbelief who shrugged in response. Travis unloaded on Colin's arm sending him the ground where he rubbed his new welt both gingerly but triumphantly; it hurt so bad but felt so damn good.
"Want me to do the other one?" Travis winked. Colin shook his head with a laugh. He had officially won HFSMas 2001.
Not long after that, blink-182 took to the stage kicking things off with their aptly titled holiday-themed joke song Happy Holidays, You Bastard. From there, it was the usual bit of stage banter that the band had already become known for including guitarist Tom DeLonge noticing a giant inflatable penis getting bounced over the mosh pit like a phallic beach ball.
"I feel intimidated." the San Diego-bred guitarist quipped to his lifelong friend and bassist Mark Hoppus. The trio took their time with their fourteen song set hitting radio staples like What's My Age Again, All the Small Things, and The Rock Show but deeper cuts including a favorite of mine in Rollercoaster which I've never seen them play since. Blink has never really been known for having a tight live sound with Tom's nasally voice and sloppy, overdriven playing style being the primary offenders but they've always made up for it with charisma and energy. I don't know if I would go as far to call the band straight up punk but they do have that swagger and their sound has always been reminiscent of Screeching Weasel and The Descendents. For me, though? It was like a religious experience seeing these guys that made me really care and connect with contemporary music with guitar-driven, fast-as-you-can melodies and trading harmonies. For all that, I was willing to overlook all the flaws; that's love, man.
We ended up dipping before The Crystal Method took the stage; it was getting after midnight and I knew my mom would be waiting for me worrying that her poor son had been converted by heathens...she was right to worry because that was totally what happened. She was definitely annoyed that I came back so late but more relieved I came back in one piece. I remember waking up the following morning to the familiar aroma of bacon and eggs being fried on a lazy Sunday morning and trudging half-awake downstairs. My ears were still ringing and my voice was completely shot from singing along at the top of my lungs but there was a big smile on my face.
A good concert is like true love; you can prepare all you want but a truly great performance is going to feel like it's coming out of nowhere when it knocks you right on your ass. It's the kind of music you can't help but sing and dance along with that leaves you breathless and grinning like the afterglow of a romantic interlude because of what just cascaded over you in a wave of pure, unadulterated sonic energy. I'd have to sit down and count the number of musical acts I've caught live since but it would take up multiple sheets of paper. Single-spaced. More than going to the movies or anything like that, live music will always be what I love most in life either as a performer or an audience member. I need it as much as oxygen.
