Sunday, October 05, 2008
Around The Block
So last night I went to the New Kids on the Block concert. Of course I had no desire to see the New Kids on the Block perform, but I thought it would be a hilarious sociological study. It was, for about five minutes. Unfortunately, the concert was three hours long.
The ominous feeling for me began we we arrived and two of the arena personnel immediately decided to have some fun at my expense. "So, you lost the bet, huh?" one of them asked. "There aren't going to be a lot of guys here tonight," the other one helpfully clarified. "In fact, we've turned all of the men's bathrooms except one into women's for the night, so I wouldn't have much to drink." I gave the fake hearty chuckle I give when I secretly want to strangle someone.
Things worsened as the New Kids took the stage. (Given that the opening act was Natasha Bedingfield, who actually stayed to sell t-shirts after her set, that's saying a lot.) As the opening video montage rolled, a horrific shriek rose from all around the arena. It was a like an air raid siren. Thankfully, it drowned out the music, but still. It was then that it occurred to me that this was not a joke to most of the people there. It was very much real to them. They thought the paunchy, thirtysomething New Kids were sex symbols. They knew the words to all of the songs. Even those from the dreaded "newest album." A girl in the row in front of me actually fell to her knees in a partial swoon as one of the ballads began. I would say it was like the Beatles in 1969, but it was more than that. It was like Jonestown.
Random people kept saying weird things to me. The aforementioned swooner kept turning around, touching my arms, and saying "You don't even know what this song is, do you? Oh my God, it's incredible." Someone's mother was immediately on my right, and she kept coaching me through the show, telling me "oh, they're doing 'Forever' now," or "they're out in the audience." A security guard asked me how long it took my girlfriend to convince me to come and if I was making her go to a hockey game in return. I was utterly at a loss for words.
There was pregnant woman in the row behind me. Apparently she thought it was a great idea to expose her fetus to exceedingly high decibel levels. On the concert floor there was, I kid you not, a girl with a hand-drawn sign that said "NKOTB: I swallow." I kind of wanted to be sitting with her.
After about two hours I couldn't take any more. They were delving into the solo work of Joey and Jordan, and I feared it would never end. Jordan was singing with his white shirt flying open in an artificial breeze and a bright white light showing off his heavily-made-up abs. I told my friends I would wait in the hall. I visited the one and only men's restroom and had a hot pretzel. When the next Rick Springfield concert rolls around, I will definitely be taking a pass.
So last night I went to the New Kids on the Block concert. Of course I had no desire to see the New Kids on the Block perform, but I thought it would be a hilarious sociological study. It was, for about five minutes. Unfortunately, the concert was three hours long.
The ominous feeling for me began we we arrived and two of the arena personnel immediately decided to have some fun at my expense. "So, you lost the bet, huh?" one of them asked. "There aren't going to be a lot of guys here tonight," the other one helpfully clarified. "In fact, we've turned all of the men's bathrooms except one into women's for the night, so I wouldn't have much to drink." I gave the fake hearty chuckle I give when I secretly want to strangle someone.
Things worsened as the New Kids took the stage. (Given that the opening act was Natasha Bedingfield, who actually stayed to sell t-shirts after her set, that's saying a lot.) As the opening video montage rolled, a horrific shriek rose from all around the arena. It was a like an air raid siren. Thankfully, it drowned out the music, but still. It was then that it occurred to me that this was not a joke to most of the people there. It was very much real to them. They thought the paunchy, thirtysomething New Kids were sex symbols. They knew the words to all of the songs. Even those from the dreaded "newest album." A girl in the row in front of me actually fell to her knees in a partial swoon as one of the ballads began. I would say it was like the Beatles in 1969, but it was more than that. It was like Jonestown.
Random people kept saying weird things to me. The aforementioned swooner kept turning around, touching my arms, and saying "You don't even know what this song is, do you? Oh my God, it's incredible." Someone's mother was immediately on my right, and she kept coaching me through the show, telling me "oh, they're doing 'Forever' now," or "they're out in the audience." A security guard asked me how long it took my girlfriend to convince me to come and if I was making her go to a hockey game in return. I was utterly at a loss for words.
There was pregnant woman in the row behind me. Apparently she thought it was a great idea to expose her fetus to exceedingly high decibel levels. On the concert floor there was, I kid you not, a girl with a hand-drawn sign that said "NKOTB: I swallow." I kind of wanted to be sitting with her.
After about two hours I couldn't take any more. They were delving into the solo work of Joey and Jordan, and I feared it would never end. Jordan was singing with his white shirt flying open in an artificial breeze and a bright white light showing off his heavily-made-up abs. I told my friends I would wait in the hall. I visited the one and only men's restroom and had a hot pretzel. When the next Rick Springfield concert rolls around, I will definitely be taking a pass.
