We went to a They Might Be Giants concert last night at Mr. Small's in Millvale. I haven't been to a concert in possibly 4 or 5 years (if you don't count the ABBA cover band we saw at the Benedum). Mr. Small's is a really cool space, a church converted to a theater, among other things like recording studios.
I like going to shows like this because it's not a "see and be seen" kind of atmosphere. Women wear jeans and t-shirts, not BCBG miniskirts. Everyone is there either because they're really into the musicians or are willing to check them out for $25. Because I am quickly approaching thirty and don't often indulge in cool social events, I sometimes feel self conscious. I hate looking around a bar, concert, whatever and realizing that I'm (oh no!) way older than most of the people there. This was not the case last night.
They Might Be Giants have been a very popular, but under the radar kind of band since the 8o's. The band was playing most songs from their 1990 album Flood. If we put this on a time line, we're going to get a lot of people who were either in high school or college when this came out. This put us, along with our friends Thaddeus and Emily, lower than most on the age spectrum. Many of the heads blocking my view of the stage were balding. I looked over at one point and saw a woman sending a text that said:
"Thanks for babysitting. Is everyone asleep? Do you know how to work the tv?"
I was practically texting the same thing! I was so excited to be in a venue filled with parents thrilled to be out on a Friday night, just like me! Okay, that wasn't everyone - but at least there were more than 5 of us.
We had found our spot in the crowd WAY in the back, near the bar. We were all listening to the music, but also talking. Yeah, talking, which turned out to be quite offensive to some couples standing near us. I probably would have never known if I hadn't had to walk by them to get to the bathroom. They were the kind of people who get themselves so worked up paying attention to other people, but can't seem to go somewhere else or simply ignore whatever is bothering them. Emily and I were walking towards the bathroom when I heard someone say to her,
"When you get back, can you stop talking? All we hear is talking. We paid to be here."
Just take a moment to absorb that statement. ALL WE HEAR IS TALKING. Oh, you don't hear the BAND playing their loud instruments plugged into amplifiers or singing into these amazing machines called microphones? AND they paid to be there. I didn't realize there was an option to get in without paying.
Anyone who knows me knows that I am pretty incapable of hiding my facial expressions. I looked at these people like they were telling me what size underwear they had on. As in, I couldn't care less what you saying right now and is this really happening? You're upset that someone is talking at a concert. I can often hold my tongue, but I'm sure my face had already said it all. We made it clear that we, in fact, wouldn't stop talking upon our return and I ended it with my ever sarcastic, "You'll be fine."
I want to instate a rule that they are NO rules when it comes to talking at concerts. Especially when we aren't sitting in assigned seats and when they aren't any seats to begin with! Nothing was stopping these losers from walking away if we were ruining their night. But people like that love their own misery and can't help themselves from huffing and puffing and saying passive-aggressive things out loud but never directly at another person.
Upon our return from the bathroom, not only did we continue talking, but the talking included a lot of dramatic "SSHHHHH!" at each other and making fun of them. Sure, it was immature but they still couldn't just walk away. We had a prime spot right next to the bar, so we sure as hell weren't going anywhere. One of their choice comments was, "You picked the wrong person to f&*k with, I'm gonna put you through a wall." I laughed. And Gregory noticed that the meathead who said it was sucking down a Smirnoff Ice. How's that for intimidating? Incredulous would be the best word to describe my feelings for those sad, sad people.
I still had a great time, and did listen to the music that I, ahem, paid for.