Although current ticket prices give the idea the featured artist provides the most memories at a concert, it usually is the little idiosyncrasies of the day (or night) that last a lifetime. My concert experiences have been amplified (no pun intended) by these little sensory treasures.
The first concert I ever attended is my most vivid concert memory, and is a tribute to the quality of Nickelodeon's The Elephant Show. Everything about that Sharon, Lois and Bram concert (minus my sister telling me to stop flashing my underwear as I swished my skirt like Lois) is larger than life: the huge journey to downtown Cleveland (a half hour), the bright colors of the costumes and the excitement of hearing Skinnamarink LIVE.
Sometimes battle scars temporarily preserve the memories of concerts, with lasting bruises resulting from an overzealous mosh-pit shove, an offhanded kick from a random crowd surfer or an unfortunately disfiguring run-in with an auditorium chair. Standing-room-only concerts always cause what I call the Cedar Point feet, in which the night after is spent analyzing whether it was worth the now-pulsating foot pain to spend three hours standing on the balls of your feet just to glimpse Ben Folds.
Oftentimes, interactions with strangers set concerts apart. During high school, I volunteered with my sister's soccer team to be a vendor at Blossom Music Center for the now-defunct HORDE Tour, an experience every thirsty, ornery concert-goer should have. Preparing nachos and listening to the endless arguments of why no one was allowed to keep their bottle cap was made slightly more bearable with the Smashing Pumpkins playing in the background. This concert taught me an important lesson (not the bottle cap thing -I don't remember the reason for that): Blues Traveler is better experienced in the rain.
The element of danger, particularly when it involves a crowd of alcohol-consuming adults, always spices up a dull show. Though the Red Hot Chili Peppers/Foo Fighters bill was surprisingly unmemorable musically, having the drunken 30-something male behind me on the Blossom lawn whisper in my ear that if I took one more step back he'd light my hair on fire obviously made an impression.
A safer way to go with crowds is to avoid the possibility of alcohol consumption for most of the fans. I found comfort in the largely Converse-clad adolescent crowd at the Vans Warped Tour. Though not quite my musical scene, Warped may be the best people-watching festival out there, with its punked-out fans sporting interesting styles of dyed black hair, cartoon T-shirts and random shoelaces.
Even concerts that should be completely memorable because of the performance, like seeing a favorite band, always end up being memorable because of the odd little quirks. Though some concert-goers memorize set lists and count wardrobe changes, most of us just remember that we tried to have the best time ever when seeing our favorite bands. The only actual memory I have of seeing my favorite band, Weezer, is the well-planned outfit I wore: a carefully selected Vespa T-shirt to appear uniquely casual and Converse tennis shoes with a last-minute change to Canada shoelaces.
Though I know no show can top seeing Our Lady Peace perform amid CD racks at the FYE in the Great Lakes Mall, I have faith that this summer will bring another bizarre concert memory. Whether good or bad, I can only hope this summer's concerts provide me with memories that last a lifetime, or at least until I trade in my Chuck Taylors for orthopedic shoes.
-Chew is a junior journalism major and The Post's music writer. Drop her an e-mail at megan.chew@ohiou.edu.
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Megan Chew
