It was about 1974. You could not turn on a radio without hearing something from Frampton Comes Alive. This worked out well because he was quickly becoming a hero to me. I even got a talkbox (talking guitar effect) because of him. All of the sudden a huge concert was announced with Frampton as the headliner. It took place at Kennedy Stadium in Philthydelphia (since demolished to make way for more taxpayer bailouts of very rich sports teams). My mind wanders so the rest of the folks on the bill escape me, except perhaps for Steve Miller and J Geils. A whole bunch of my friends went and the tickets were about twelve dollars. Let me say that again: twelve dollars for an all day concert featuring the hottest artist with the best-selling live album of all time and three other hit groups.
So what does Live Nation want to tell me? They want me to know about some upcoming concerts:
- Brit Floyd: a Pink Floyd cover band. I distinctly remember specialty cover bands playing in shitty little bars. There are also Led Zeppelin and Genesis cover acts playing medium sized theaters for Big Buck ticket prices. If I'm not there by showtime, hold your breath.
- Marilyn Manson: looks a little like a cross-dressing Hitler.
- Lisa Lampanelli: Lisa is one of the funniest women I have ever performed with. We played at some little dive bar in Cover Your Ass, PA. We were in hysterics. Unfortunately she doesn't do that routine anymore and isn't near as funny.
- Nickelback: Give 'em back.
- Foreigner: on tour without Lou Gramm, the singer on all of their hits. This actually worked out well for Judas Priest and Journey. No idea about Foreigner.
- Artie Lange: a funny guy. Catch him before he OD's.
Nowhere on the list is there a single ticket price or city in which the venue is located. That's ok - I don't need another mortgage to see subpar acts.
In other news, I work in a pretty cool place. When I say cool, I mean it in its figurative sense. In fact, it's so hot in there, it serves as a Germ Incubator. I'm terrified of getting typhoid due to the temperature and the seven people around me hacking up a lung.
I fear they got me, though. Between screaming at recent events and a new cough (that makes my underarms itch), I sound like a cross between Clint Eastwood and a toad.
Do ya feel lucky, punk?