Northern Michigan Notes
Big Night out for Old Timers
By Kathy English
Feb 8, 2008, 10:44

In a fit of utter disgust over winter weather and the fact that our elementary-aged children have more of a social life than we do, my husband decided we had to Do Something.

His definition of Doing Something meant going to a concert at The Palace in Auburn Hills (Michigan).

The last time I’d been to a concert there was close to fifteen years ago, and not being much of a concert-goer to begin with, it was with some hesitation I went to that particular one. The performers that night were ZZ-Top and George Thoroughgood. Both were excellent, and I’ve never had any regrets about going.

But what would we see this time? Well, Matchbox 20, Alannis Morissette, and a group called Mute Math were on the venue for the evening.

"Root Mash?" queried my sister-in-law, in disbelief, wondering what group on earth would possibly name themselves after a family potluck dish composed primarily of potatoes, rutabaga, and other root vegetables.

Thereafter, I had to keep asking my husband, "What’s the name of that group again?"

So we headed off to a night of entertainment.

Now there couldn’t possibly be a wider disparity in crowds from the ZZ-Top crowd of fifteen years past and the crowd that had gathered at the Matchbox 20 concert for that particular evening.

My husband and I were openly laughing, first of all, at how everyone was old.

I’m not talking completely geriatric here, with walkers and white hair. I mean that most of the people in attendance were our age. Fortyish. Mature looking. Normal looking.

You don’t have to be fortyish to be normal looking, so let me explain. Fifteen years ago, the concert crowd we had encountered was a bit wilder compared to the tame gathering of the present. For one thing, the beer lines were almost as long as the lines to the women’s restrooms. Whereas today’s concert crowd was mostly wearing modest clothing, the concert crowd of fifteen yesteryears was looking like they’d shopped Frederick’s of Hollywood’s S&M department. For anyone who doesn’t remember Frederick’s of Hollywood, think Victoria’s Secret for biker chicks and you’ll get the idea.

While my husband and brother-in-law were in line for beer at the ZZ-Top concert, my sister and I were crowd watching. The men missed the best get-up of that night, which was a statuesque woman wearing what looked like leather shoelaces all over her body, from ankle to shoulder, with strategically placed larger pieces of leather attached. Somehow.

The crowd then looked a little bit rough, and acted a little bit raucous. I’d never seen so much big hair, garish make up, and men who looked like they’d just gotten out on parole. I felt rather out of place in my acid-washed jeans.

At the Matchbox 20 concert, the lines to the restroom were longer than the lines for beer. Most of the attendees were past the age of worrying over whether they looked cute or noticeable enough (read: slutty enough) to get invited backstage to meet the band.. I saw parents there with teens and tweens. I saw teens with their dates. A few couples with gray hair. No one wore really racy clothing, unless you wanted to include the glimpses of over-abundant cleavage. But then again it was 15 degrees outside, so maybe leather bootlaces were best left in the winter boots and not worn as body adornment.

Someone at The Palace got smart and decided that a few mens’ rooms could be converted over to the use of the women in the crowd, which worked well. The bathroom lines weren’t overly long. Hey, when you get to be fortyish, you think about that sort of thing. Though the women did find it vastly amusing that there was a row of urinals on the wall.

The crowd was polite. To each other. What a concept! Anyone who passed by in the seated rows said excuse me, and was usually answered by a wry grin and a "Sure, no problem." When it was time to leave the parking lot afterward, traffic moved well and people actually waited to let others into line.

The crowd was so polite, my husband commented that he felt he didn’t have to worry about getting knifed while standing at the urinal. Or getting hit on.

One thing my husband and I found really weird was that in the pricier seats, nearer the stage, which cost about $100, some concert-goers were surfing the ‘net on their phones. Yikes! I think that if I were paying that much for a concert ticket, I wouldn’t worry about whether or not anyone emailed me, or what the latest video was on You-Tube.

Talk about a sign of the times, though. At the ZZ-Top concert it was very easy to smoke a cigarette without lighting up, and also get a contact buzz from alcohol fumes as well as fumes from other, illegal but smokeable items.

At this most recent concert, there is no smoking allowed. And instead of holding up lighters and swaying to the music, Matchbox 20 requested that anyone with a cell phone hold it up, screens lit, to give the band a light show. Amazing how many in the audience had cell phones–it was like looking at the stars on a clear summer night.

This was by far a most pleasurable concert going experience. I know I’m getting older, and I suspect that if ZZ-Top played again I’d just say, "I’m too OOOOOOLD" and not bother going. That doesn’t mean I’m ready for a reunion of the Lawrence Welk polka music players, either, though.

Of course, if we wait for another fifteen years to go to a concert, I might have to make sure I’ve got my hearing aid batteries changed and that my knee-replacement surgery doesn’t interfere with the concert date.

Until then, I’ll just keep basking in the glow of the memories of great music and a crowd of really nice people.