The Cramps: October 23, 2004

Rockabilly/horror proponents the Cramps made their way to Chicago's Vic Theatre just in time for Halloween. Their rarities compilation How to Make a Monster had recently dropped and I was somehow involved in giving it some ink (my feeble brain can't recall if I wrote about it or, as an editor, assigned a review to someone) so I was able to score complimentary tickets to the show. I'd always wanted to see the Cramps live, especially since a friend told me about someone breaking a liquor bottle over another person's head at a Detroit show he'd once attended. Now that's rock and roll!

As a matter of fact, that same friend was at this Chicago show, doing some tech work for the opening act, the Gore Gore Girls. And it's a good thing, too. Knowing the Cramps' image and the story about the bottle, I'm not sure what possessed me to show up in a dress and ballet flats, but I did. Here's what I wrote at the time:

"Little did I realize what being up front during a Cramps show entailed. We ended up in the heart of an old-fashioned mosh pit, the likes of which I had not seen since my teen years. We were terrified. When some middle-aged guy offered to help keep people off me, I told him, 'I'm too old for this!' He replied, 'You're too old for this? I saw them play 20 years ago!'

"Eventually [my friend from Detroit] rescued us and got us into a box above the stage, where we could watch the rest of the show in peace. From up there, I could see that the guy whose feet I'd seen sailing through the air as he bodysurfed throughout the show was not wearing pants. It was a fun show, and the Cramps played a lot of old stuff like 'Tear It Up,' 'TV Set,' 'The Way I Walk,' 'Mystery Plane,' etc."

It was a crazy but fun night, and when I heard the band's lead singer, Lux Interior, had passed away in February 2009, I was especially glad I'd had the chance to experience it.

Blur: October 2, 1995

It's still somewhat odd to me to think that while Blur reigned supreme in British hearts and charts, they were playing relatively small clubs in America. It makes sense, though, since their music of this period was almost insularly British. That's not to say Americans couldn't relate to it, but it took some open-mindedness and at least a slight understanding of Brit culture for Americans to find a point of entry.

This show took place just a few weeks after the release of The Great Escape, the follow-up to what is generally considered to be the band's masterpiece, Parklife. Expectations were high, and although it was a solid album, ultimately it would be considered a disappointment by most. At any rate its exploration of the dark side of middle-class life was a mostly somber listen and a harbinger of the '90s hangover to come. It also signaled time for a musical change, and Blur's next album would be a decidedly different affair that incorporated a grittier and more indie-influenced sound. Of course, none of this was on the minds of the crowd that night since we'd only had a couple of weeks to mull over the new album. In essence, the band and audience were still riding high on Parklife. A lot of the material was culled from that album, including an attempt at the title track (performed by actor Phil Daniels on the album) that resulted in Damon Albarn flubbing a few lines -- but he laughed it off. Several other songs from the set list were culled from The Great Escape and Modern Life Is Rubbish.

The Swedish outfit Whale opened, still coasting on their one and only semi-hit "Hobo Humpin' Slobo Babe," which is as atrocious as it sounds. (Time has not been kind to their debut album, We Care -- although I liked it at the time.) The show was all ages, and I'm surprised to see the door time listed as 8 p.m. on the ticket, because I recall it was still daylight out when we got there. Blur's American audience made up for in enthusiasm what it might have lacked in numbers. I remember the crowd as being very lively and it was a great night, even if it had to end before curfew.

Sex Pistols: August 16, 1996

Maybe the situation was particularly loaded because the band symbolized anti-establishmentarianism to so many, or maybe it was because of the acrimonious way the members had parted ways, but a lot of people greeted the Sex Pistols' 1996 reunion with anger or derision. It probably didn't help matters that the group baited critics by naming the tour Filthy Lucre and releasing a live album to cash in on it. Regardless of whether I felt skeptical about the artistic merit of the tour or the motivations behind it, I certainly wasn't going to sit it out. At the time, the reunion seemed to come out of nowhere and could well have been as tenuous as it was unexpected. Besides, it had been four years since lead singer John Lydon's Public Image Ltd. had released the disappointing, and at the time seemingly final, album That What Is Not so for a fan the Pistols reunion was the only game in town.

Cobo Arena is part of a sprawling convention center and this caused a weird clash of cultures when gingham-clad attendees of a square dance convention were filtering through the building at the same time as the Sex Pistols fans. It might have been cool if people really were going to a Pistols show wearing square dance outfits, though!

The gig itself was a huge letdown. I certainly didn't expect an anarchic spectacle from middle-aged men on a large-scale tour, but I also wasn't prepared for their stiff professionalism. They played the songs -- of which there aren't really that many, are there? -- skillfully and true to the studio versions. But those songs had a humor and energy that was totally lacking during the show, and the presence of an audience seemed to have little effect. When Lydon reconstituted PiL for a tour in 2010, it was quite a different story. At the later PiL gig, he had the spark, even if it wasn't lit at Cobo Arena that night in 1996.

Pulp: May 31, 1996

In the mid '90s, after having led Pulp for about 15 years, Jarvis Cocker was thrust into belated stardom in the UK and role of de facto spokesman for the burgeoning Britpop movement. The fact that he seemed somewhat befuddled and amused by the whole thing only made him that much more endearing.

At the time of this show, the band was touring in support of Different Class, the landmark album containing "Common People," probably its best known and loved song. It was the height of so-called Britpop, but here in the States, bands that were hugely popular in the UK played at clubs that were probably much smaller than what they were accustomed to back home.

Nashville's Superdrag opened, and at the time I unfairly pegged them as Americans wanting to sound British. In fact, they were a pretty great power pop band, and I wish I'd paid them more mind at the time. I admittedly wasn't the biggest Pulp fan either (although I eventually warmed to them, especially the album This Is Hardcore) but found Cocker immensely entertaining and funny. I recall he made a quip (equal parts cringe- and chuckle-inducing) about the Valu Jet crash that had taken place about three weeks before. "Did you hear they found the black box?" Cocker deadpanned. "The pilot's last words were 'Heeeeeellllllpppp!'" So it wasn't the height of witticism for him, but it was sort of endearing that the reluctant figurehead was willing to toss off a tasteless joke, just like any of your mates might.

Björk: August 5, 1995

Björk has long been a favorite artist of mine, ever since her days fronting the Sugarcubes. I saw that band twice: opening an amazing alt-rock bill with Public Image Ltd. and New Order, and headlining its own tour for the 1989 album Here Today, Tomorrow, Next Week. The latter show was a mini disaster that ended after only about 45 minutes when the band's Einar Örn Benediktsson shouted, "Some asshole hit me in the eye with a chain," tossed off a "Fuck you as well!" to someone in the crowd who dared to jeer, then stormed off the stage, his bandmates following somewhat sheepishly.

Björk's solo English-language debut, aptly titled Debut, was a big hit at the time I was studying in England. My globe-trotting was done by the time her sophomore effort, Post, arrived. I was anxious to see her after so many years (six) and minus Einar's shenanigans.

I can't recall much about Björk's band. I have a vision of her center stage, a small but commanding presence. The set consisted of songs from Debut and Post, and her voice sounded amazing - which made it all the more memorable that she kept apologizing for trying to sing with a cold. I remember my friend and I asking each other, if this is what she sounds like with a cold, how in the world would she sound if she were well?! She was, and remains, a true talent.

James Brown: July 6, 1996

I saw James Brown just once, ten years before his death. He was 66 years old at the time, and I wondered beforehand how his onstage prowess might be affected by his advanced age. After all, this wasn't an artist who sat on a barstool and sang; this was the Godfather of Soul, known for getting up, getting down, staying on the scene like a sex machine. It turned out I needn't have worried.

The show was at Chene Park, a beautiful venue on the Detroit River. While Brown performed we could see the lights of boats passing by behind him. The opener was Jimmie Walker, the comedian best known for playing the cartoonish son J.J. on the 1970s sitcom Good Times. His was a strange set of dated racial humor that was not very incisive or funny, and ended with a weak apology. (The gist of it was, "Ha ha, white people are such idiots... but seriously folks, I was just joking and really we should all get along. Thank you and good evening!")

Brown was a marvel onstage, shimmying, shaking, and doing the splits with the zest and skill of man one-third his age. He performed various hits spanning the many decades of his career, everything from "It's a Man's World" to "Living in America." Just as he had for years, Brown did the bit with the cape and had a bevy of young and attractive female dancers onstage. You didn't see showmanship like that very often by the mid '90s, and certainly not on the level of James Brown. It was inspiring to see that, despite the many ups and downs of his life, he remained a dynamic performer in his sixth decade, reinforcing his legacy at a time of life when many lesser artists are dishonoring theirs.

John Tesh: June 15, 1996

A friend's mother and stepfather had season tickets to the historic Fox Theatre in Detroit but were not free the night of the John Tesh concert, which is how two relatively hip then-twentysomethings ended up going. Tesh, of course, is best known as a co-host of Entertainment Tonight who launched a career as a sort of new age/easy listening musician. It wasn't my type of music, but I figured it would be an experience if nothing else.

By the time we parked and got to the theater, the show had just started. An usher told us that he would wait until the first song had ended before seating us. This being Tesh, the song kept going for a good ten minutes before the exasperated usher gave up, said, "Oh, come on," and led us to our seats.  We were set adrift in a sea of khakis and polo shirts. Really, I don't think I've ever seen so many people in the same attire in one place.

Tesh played a series of very long songs and made a few cracks about the National Anti-Tesh Action Society and its assertion that Tesh is a space alien. He seemed like a good-natured guy and a decent musician, even if his music didn't exactly win me over.

Blondie: May 23, 1999

Blondie is one of my favorite groups, so when most of the original members got back together in the late '90s for a new album and tour, I was excited to see them. The resulting album, No Exit, was a mixed affair veering from the high of the appealing hit "Maria" to the low of Debbie Harry rapping with Coolio. Despite the mostly disappointing new material, I still looked forward to seeing the band live. Since Blondie originally broke up in the early '80s, it was a treat I didn't think I'd get to experience.

Having seen Blondie twice now since the reunion, I still don't feel like I've seen Blondie. Original members Debbie Harry, Chris Stein, Clem Burke, and Jimmy Destri were supplemented by additional musicians (Destri has since left).The set was slick and hit-filled. Maybe that's what some fans are looking for, but not me. It felt more like Debbie Harry and a backing band, and there were few surprises.

The highlight of the No Exit show, for me, was "Shayla," an Eat to the Beat track that was the only older non-hit that crept into the set list. It's a slow song, but Clem Burke punctuated it with an amazing drum solo, twirled his sticks with the skill of a baton major, shot one a good twelve feet in the air, and caught it with such ease that it looked like someone had just placed it gently in his hand. Many have said it before, but I'll say it again: Clem Burke is Blondie's secret weapon.

Power, humor, and chemistry in a band cannot be underestimated. Adding new, more musically adept members to a band might make the sound "bigger" or more professional, but it also changes the entire nature of the venture. I still wish I could have seen the "real" Blondie, warts and all.

Midnight Oil: October 15, 1988 & September 17, 1990

I saw Midnight Oil in concert twice within two years. These tours were in support of the best-known of the Australian band's albums (at least in the U.S.): 1987's Diesel and Dust (featuring "Beds Are Burning," "The Dead Heart," and "Dreamworld") and 1990's Blue Sky Mining. I still admire the band's melding of socially conscious lyrics with unabashed pop hooks. They had a lengthy career, but never made much of an impact on the American charts after their 1987-90 heyday.

At the 1988 Masonic Temple show in Detroit, the opening act was Graffiti Man, a.k.a. John Trudell. Trudell has an impressive history as a Native American activist, so in that regard his pairing with the politically involved Midnight Oil makes sense. However, the crowd was not receptive to his blend of poetry and traditional instrumentation, and at one point, Trudell tried to calm then down by saying "peace, man" while holding his fingers in that famous hippie V.

Peter Garrett is a very tall, thin fellow with a shaved head, so he definitely makes an impression onstage. He wore something like coveralls and danced in herky-jerky motions. Although he has a somewhat intimidating look, his stage presence was very sweet and cheerful. Midnight Oil was a very good live band, so it's a shame they very rarely perform anymore. Rather, Garrett has served as a Member of Australia's House of Representatives for several years, working on environmental, education, and arts issues.

Although I haven't seen Midnight Oil since 1990, I did see Peter Garrett once in the early 2000s, before Midnight Oil stopped touring. He was eating alone in a diner I frequented during my lunch breaks when I first moved to Chicago; the band had played a couple doors down at House of Blues the previous night. Of course I recognized him (you can't miss that guy) but I left him to eat in peace.

Buzzcocks: October 30, 1999

I notice this was another Devil's Night show in Detroit -- but well past the time when I had to worry about teen curfews. This was a particularly exciting evening for me, because I interviewed Pete Shelley beforehand for the now-defunct All Music Zine. It was my first big interview, but it turned out pretty well. A friend and I had dinner in Detroit, met Shelley at the venue, then stayed for the show.

This was my second or third Buzzcocks gig; I'm pretty certain I saw them tour for All Set in 1996, although I have not come across that ticket yet. (I'd first seen them in 1994 in Brighton, England.) This show was in support of the album Modern, which had the band tossing in a few electronic flourishes before returning to a more basic guitar-bass-drums sound.

The set was a mix of classic songs and tracks from the band's (at that point) three "post-reunion" albums. The crowd seemed so genuinely happy to see the band, and were really well-behaved, unlike some of the  Buzzcocks shows I'd later see in Chicago. One guy excitedly asked us, "Do you think they'll do 'Fiction Romance'? I love that song!" When the song started up a little later, we looked over and saw the guy sporting a giant smile.

Morris Day & the Time: August 8, 1997

Was this a fun show? As Morris Day might say, "Yaaaa-esss!" When I first saw Purple Rain as a kid, I thought Day completely upstaged Prince. Think about it: You might quote that Minnetonka line every now and then, but the ones that really stick with you are Morris' one-liners (my favorite: "Ain't that a bitch? And I just got this coat outta the cleaners!").

Oddly enough, Prince was also in town around this time (I think it was the same week). Tickets to his show were $80. Check out the price of this ticket: $5. That was one easy decision to make.

Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis, famed producers and important members of the original, pre-Purple Rain version of the Time, were sadly not involved in this reunion, but it was a great show all the same. Jerome Benton was there, bringing Morris his mirror and joining him in some smooth moves just like in the old days. At one point, Day said, "Did ya'll think I was too old to dance? Well, fuck ya'll!"

Morris and Jerome weren't the only ones dancing. The crowd was dancing in the aisles to everything from "Cool" to "Ice Cream Castles." Definitely the best $5 I ever spent!

Duran Duran: July 6, 1987

I'm sad to say that, although I'm sure I was excited about it at the time, I don't recall a lot of particulars about this show. This was the first of four times (so far) I've seen Duran Duran. It was during the tour for Notorious, their first album as a trio after the departure of Roger (drums) and Andy (guitar) Taylor. I was saddened at the departure of those key members, but still liked Notorious a lot and really wanted to see the band. I see that the concert was less than a week before my birthday, so I'm sure that was a very good week in the teenage life, indeed.

Oddly, the thing I recall most clearly about this show is the merchandise. I bought an absolutely huge poster (really the most ridiculously oversize poster I've seen) and a program. I also had a gigantic T-shirt with "Abstract Idealist Romantic" printed on the back, although I can't recall if that's from this tour or the one supporting Big Thing. After that show I gave up on Duran for awhile, but you never really get out of that particular cult. More to come, Duranwise!

R.E.M.: April 5, 1989

My one and only R.E.M. concert. I'd passed up an opportunity to see them at Crisler Arena in Ann Arbor when Document came out. Stupid, stupid, stupid! This was the tour for Green, the band's first major-label album and the last one I could tolerate. (It seems like, just as with Bowie, each new R.E.M. album is heralded by some as a return to form... but it never is.) The opener was the Indigo Girls, also supporting their first major-label release.

I remember a few older songs in the set, like "So. Central Rain," and of course lots from Document and Green. This might have been the first time R.E.M. played arenas of such a large size, and there was really no connection with the crowd at all -- to be sure, it's a challenge in a huge venue, but it can be done. There was a screen behind the band with projections, and while I can't recall exactly what they said, I remember there was something toward the end of the show along the lines of, "You've been a lovely audience. Now it's time for you to go home." I'm sure it was meant to be tongue-in-cheek, but it just came off as assholish. I mean, R.E.M. is not Mark E. Smith on the best (or is it worst?) of days. I grumbled about it for what seemed like an eternity, first to my parents, who seemed amused. My dad seemed to particularly relish the couple of times I came home furious at a band (the other time being the Sugarcubes, which you will read about here at some point).

Although I haven't enjoyed any of R.E.M.'s post-Green music, I still love their '80s output. I realized all was pretty much forgiven when I saw Mike Mills at SXSW one year and he gave my stomach butterflies.

Yes: November 21, 1987

I'll just come right out and admit that I own Big Generator, the album Yes was supporting on this tour. That would be the one after "Owner of a Lonely Heart," which is a pretty cool song and video -- and you cannot convince me it is not. Of course, this '80s version of Yes sounded very little like the earlier prog rock version, but it's up to you to decide whether that's good or bad.

I was not a huge Yes fan by any means, but I liked some of their songs well enough that when a high school friend offered a free extra ticket I was game. What I remember most about this show is the stench of pot in the air of a sports arena and stoner guys standing on folding chairs. The band was kind of boring, and some members of the somewhat restless crowd actually booed a little. Not being a fan of pot, sports arenas, stoner guys, folding chairs, or booing, I side completely with Yes on this one, boring or not.

The Go-Go's: November 22, 1990

The Go-Go's have been one of my very favorite groups since I was a kid. I still have the original copies of all their albums from back in the day along with the picture sleeve 45 of "Head Over Heels," which probably holds the distinction of being the most well-worn record in my collection (that goes for both sides!). I was too young to see them during their original three-album run, but thankfully they've reunited several times for tours and even recorded a new album in 2001. 

The first reunion tour was in 1990, so this show at the beautiful, historic Fox Theater in Detroit was the first chance I'd had to see them, although I'd seen Belinda Carlisle solo in 1988. Note that this show was on a Thursday night in late November. You know what happens on Thursdays in late November? That's right; my sister and I went to see the Go-Go's on Thanksgiving. So much for holiday traditions!

If I'm remembering correctly, Too Much Joy was the opener at this show, and I'd see the Juliana Hatfield Three open for the Go-Go's a few years later. I distinctly remember two things from this show: Belinda Carlisle commenting on how gorgeous the theater was (it is beautiful, even if it's a little over-the-top!) and her tossing handfuls of candy into the crowd. Some guy near us made a remark like, "It looks like she's had too much candy!" Har har har. Carlisle, and lots of other female performers, have endured these kinds of smart ass remarks for years but this struck me as particularly awful because a) the guy had paid to be at the show and so was allegedly a fan, and b) she was not even remotely overweight at the time. So, this show is a bittersweet memory in a way, because it was so great to see my longtime heroines rocking out in the flesh, but the same ridiculous sexism and double standards were still apparent a decade after they blazed a trail for female acts.

Another note about this show: This is the only instance where I noted the set list when I wasn't reviewing the show. The set included (not in the order performed):

Our Lips Are Sealed
Tonite
Lust to Love
This Town
We Got the Beat
How Much More
Automatic
Skidmarks on My Heart
Vacation
Get Up and Go
Beatnick Beach
Cool Jerk
Head Over Heels
Turn to You
I'm the Only One
Mercenary

Prince: October 30, 1988

What I remember best about this show is that I violated curfew in Detroit to see it. In Michigan, the night before Halloween is known as Devil's Night -- for most of us, an evening of innocent pranks such as egging and toilet-papering houses, but in Detroit things often took a darker turn, with fires being very common. I was still in high school but went to the show with my friend Bonnie. I even remember passing a cop on the way to the show and he just said hello and kept going.

I wish I could recall more about the show. I do remember we were only five or ten rows from the back of Joe Louis Arena, but I was happy just to be seeing Prince at last. He performed in the round, so none of the seats were truly bad. There was no opener: it was just Prince, in a show with two "acts" separated by an intermission. I recall him explaining very politely how he was going to leave the stage for a break, but would be back in approximately such and such minutes to continue the show.

It's funny how memory works, isn't it? Prince is one of my favorite musicians yet it's his polite demeanor that I remember from that night, not the performance.