The 10 Commandments Guidelines of Concert Behavior IX

For years I have been complaining to anyone unfortunate enough to make eye contact, that people need to learn to behave at concerts. I've threatened to write something for ages, but each time I was prepared to put pen to paper, I convinced myself that the next show would be better. This past summer, an Aimee Mann/Ben Kweller show at the Minnesota Zoo broke this camel's back. If the show sounds familiar, you probably read Dee's Kweller recap, but while she was rubbing elbows with the stars, I was sweating like a whore in church next to a couple who could not shut up. They talked (loudly) about the weather. They talked (loudly) about common friends. They even looked through the program and talked (need I say it?) about every band that was scheduled to perform at the zoo for the next 4 months, all while poor Benny and his compadres struggled to generate enough volume to be heard over their din. (Aside: They were so annoying that I forgot until just now about the guy on crutches who elected to "sneak" into a better seat mid-set with predictably comedic results.) For three songs (during which they graciously informed everyone within a 30-foot radius which of their friends was pregnant, divorced, gay, anorexic, jaundiced, stuck up and/or in treatment) I bit my tongue, but finally I snapped. I asked, very politely, if they intended to keep this conversation up for the duration of the evening because, if so, I would gladly find a different seat.

They looked at me as if I just ate a small child. Sorry, cute couple, but...

Thou Shall Not Talk

In his rare moments of lucidity, my father likes to tell a story about a Springsteen show in 1974 during which Bruce brought out a violinist and refused to start Jungleland until the auditorium was completely silent. Can you even imagine that today? See, I'm not even talking about imposing total silence. Order a cocktail, hoot and/or holler and mention to your neighbor that the lead singer has really ballooned up since getting off the horse; it's all good. What I'm talking about are people so engrossed in their conversations that the show becomes background noise, or even worse, a nuisance to be overcome by speaking even louder. For your convenience, I've broken this genus into three common species:

Sons of Herodotus - For these guys (and they're always guys) the show only exists to provide context for their encyclopedic knowledge of the band. I saw Wilco at First Avenue on their inaugural tour and found myself standing near a particularly enthusiastic chap who, for the duration of Wilco's set, chronicled the history of Uncle Tupelo. He even sang his favorite UT songs while Tweedy and the boys tried bravely (albeit unsuccessfully) to sell numbers like Passenger Side to Pavement's disinterested fans.

Scenewiches - These people (50/50 gender split) are here for one or more of the following reasons:

• the band or artist's reputation as a live act
  
• the local weekly has been pimping the band or artist
  
• their first single was prominently featured on The Hills

Subsequently, they show up to hear the new single (of course, they're already "sick of" the first single), to be seen and to reinforce their With It Quotient by dragging a group of friends along. I had a row of Scenewiches behind me at a recent Springsteen show who reacted like Girls In Their Summer Clothes was musical manna, then talked about Missy's ugly divorce throughout New York City Serenade once they decided it was some of Bruce's "older stuff."

Peaches (females) and Herbs (males) - For these folks, the show is a convenient venue to catch up with friends, likely because someone in their group foolishly slept with a bartender or waitress at the local TGIFriday's, thereby making it awkward to hang out there. The show only exists to fill brief gaps while the gang plans bachelorette parties, catches up on gossip and describes the symptoms of acute prostatitis. When Donald Fagen stopped in the Twin Cities, I had the pleasure of sitting in front of eight Herbs who spent most of the evening discussing the upcoming softball season and debating whether a guy known only as Shitskins could be trusted to man the hot corner.

I'm certain Jacques Attali could explain how and why live music has relapsed from focus of ritual to background noise between sips of his morning coffee, but suffice to say, it's getting old. Zip it. And besides, you'll have plenty of time to lipjack with your friends while waiting an hour to get out of the parking ramp.

Oh, and the cute chatty couple from the zoo? We didn't hear another peep out of them until the people who were supposed to be in those seats showed up and exiled them to the nosebleeds.


Number I: Thou Shall Not Puke
Number II: Thou Shall Not Fart
Number III: Thou Shall Not Smoke
Number IV: Thou Shall Not Take Crappy Pictures With Your Phone
Number V: Thou Shall Show Up On Time
Number VI: Thou Shall Not Request Songs
Number VII: Thou Shall Respect the Personal Space of Others
Number VIII: Thou Shall Not Sing Along

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