I’m not much of a partier. The whole club scene has never really appealed to me, and I’m not a proponent of drinking for the sake of getting drunk. To me, it’s just a waste of good booze. That being said, I am prone to the occasional scuffle with twenty-something indiscretion. This weekend was one of those occasions.
I’m thrilled to announce that I finally crossed another show off my “must see” concerts list. Saturday night found me at House of Blues Anaheim to see Sevendust with Drowning Pool, Digital Summer, and some craptastic band called The Flood. My favorite concert aficionado, Steve, masterminded the affair, and I was stoked to get an invite. (Seriously, Steve’s musical passion makes him one of the greatest people in the world to see a concert with.) Jason, of EDC and “I will drink my weight in Bud Light” fame was also in attendance, as was newcomer Pete. To be fair, I was really the n00b of the group, as the other three have known each other for a while, but Pete will be the one I will always remember as having provided most excellent comic relief.
Before we even set foot in the venue, lo- as we were still looking for parking- we came upon a group of very young, very scantily clad teenage girls. At this point, before the alcohol even began to flow, some part of Pete’s brain thought it would be a fantastic idea to roll down the window and address said group. Of course, his idea of witty discourse was loosely paraphrased as follows: “Oh, would you look at this trouble… Ooh, you’re young! Mmmmm. Daaaaaamn.” Or something equally as clever. But it amused me, and so merits a mention herein.
Tickets in hand, IDs out, wristbands, and into HoB we go… First stop: the bar for a Newcastle, then downstairs to check out the musical stylings of some middling Seattle band called The Flood. These guys were so damn terrible that although I’m not a hardcore beer drinker, I drained that Newcastle before Jason even got through his first Bud Light. Without it, I was at a loss for what to do to cope with the wretched cacophony that they were trying to pass off as music. I seriously debated a trip into the pit because a band that awful just demands that you do harm to your fellow concert-goer to offset the damage to your auditory nerves. But I knew that the boys weren’t going to let that fly, so I did the next best thing – I hauled ass back to the bar to upgrade from beer to some real canned heat. And that’s where things got a little hairy.
I ordered a double, as I’m prone to do at the end of a long week. Now, my first clue that all was not right with this particular libation is that they served me in a big plastic cup, instead of the moderately sized one that the other kiddies were getting. The second clue should have been the price- $13.00. Really?!? Oh, well – That’s a music venue for you. I happily consumed my drink, enjoyed the company of my consorts, and headed back for a refill when I hit bottom. I ordered one more of the same. Another red flag in the form of a raised eyebrow from my bartender, but I tip well and he wasn’t going to second guess me. But the final clue finally hit home when Jason (or as I’ve taken to calling him, Drinky McTwelvestep) gagged on a stolen sip and said, “You realize they already pour doubles here, right?” Yeah, no. Up to that point, I had not noticed anything but the pleasant fuzzy- headed feeling. I made sure to grab a water after that, too little too late, and had one more drink before the headliner.
It was pretty much all downhill from that first double, and I was a happy-go-lucky, “sloshy” drunk until near the end of Sevendust. At one point, Jason asked me if I would be okay going to the bathroom alone because the guys at the bar had been “watching me all night.” Yeah, I wrote that off (and rightly I think) as the fact that they wanted to make sure they were nearby when I ordered because it meant they got served faster. Steve thinks it was more related to the fact that it was a veritable sausagefest, especially at the bar. He was right – from the male perspective, there weren’t more than a handful of decent looking women there except for the unfortunate chick whose ass I kept brushing up against during Sevendust, and I think she got sick of that and ran away. (And really, her ass was kinda squishy anyway.) But everyone knows you don’t go to concerts to pick up chicks.
All in all, the show was incredible. I’m not exaggerating in the least when I say that it is the best concert I’ve ever had the privilege to attend. House of Blues is an incredible venue (even if it does lean to “douchey frat boy sausagefest” for harder shows, and gets hotter than Satan’s ass crack down on the floor). I’ve wanted to see Sevendust for about 10 years now, and they did not disappoint from the opening chords of Black, to the last notes of Face to Face, and everything in between. Drowning Pool was also a damn fine supporting act that I truly enjoyed, and I can rarely say that about openers (or as I like to refer to them, aural fluffers).
So I woke up at noon, hung over, with a sore neck (because let’s face it – I did enough head bobbing and banging to put a pornstar to shame), but man, it was so worth it. To Pete, who got to endure the car ride home with me making fun of his “Jesus Phone,” unhealthy obsession with tacos, and being called “You drunk asshole” every 30 seconds, you were a good sport. Please come again soon.
And to Steve, for driving us around and maintaining infinite patience, as always, you’re the greatest.