A Tale of Two Concerts

Alternatively titled: My Extended adolescence

Snow Patrol last Saturday with Joe, Daft Punk this Friday with Mark. And Miles. And Chris. And Chris' friend who met some chicks and promptly disappeared. Farewell friend, we hardly knew ye. Where do I start?

Two very different concerts, SP marked by blue sofas and teen-agers with their parents, DP marked by very busy Guarda and teen-ages in possession of lots of drugs. Hence the Guarda. SP is Brit Pop, soft sing-able music that the parents weren't unhappy to be listening to. DP is, as already discussed, French Techno Pop. The concert was like being in a club in Ibiza. In the rain. But we'll get to that later.

Snow Patrol with Joe
Saturday was the longest day I've had in quite some time. I woke early, made breakfast and tuned into Italian radio to prepare for my lesson that morning. I've found that listening to it for at least 30 minutes beforehand makes things exponentially easier. After listening to a particular talk radio station all week, I tuned in to them to find that they switch formats on the weekends and become a soft pop station. I wanted Italian debate, I got Meatloaf. Needless to say, the lesson, while valuable, was a little painful.

Afterwards, my study partner and I went for lunch in town, which we've never done before, but it was really fun. She's a surprising woman and I'm thrilled to be getting to know her. Tina is my mother’s age and has children my age, so it's an interesting friendship. After she left, I met Flatmate Suzie for a little back to school shopping. She's just a month from starting classes at a University outside of Dublin and that's just too good of an excuse to buy some new clothes. So we shopped for her new 'serious student' look. It was less than successful for her, sadly. So we went for coffee and met Joe, or rather, ran into him at Habitat, the UK version of Crate and Barrel that I don't think is nearly as nice but delighted me by having an orange enamel colander for 15 Euro.

It was raining and rather crappy out so all the coffee houses were packed and we ended up sitting outside, under the canopy squashed around the patio heater. It wasn't nearly as bad as one might think. The cafe was overly heated and the air outside was really fresh and crisp as it tends to be after a good hard rain. As we were sitting there, American Mark walked by, a friend of Joe's, so he stopped for a bit and then talked us into going for a quick glass of wine before the concert. When asked what time the concert started, I replied 8, but couldn't remember if that was the time the gates opened or the concert actually started. Either way, they wouldn't be taking stage until 9 at the very earliest so we had time for a wine and a taxi ride home to change clothes. Upon walking into the house, my first thought was 'where did I leave the tickets?' which sent me into a whirl of searching the house for them. Tucked away where the maid couldn't move them (she has a bad habit of stacking things in odd locations) I retrieved them and opened the envelop to have a look at my coveted ticket which read: Snow Patrol and Guests. 19 August 2006 Marley Park 2pm. What?! Panic. Frenzied Panic. Call to Joe. "I've f%#($@ up utterly". Fire up computer; load up Ticketmaster to find that, as with all Irish concerts, there are 6 bands in front of Snow Patrol, who take the stage at 2pm. Oh thank the Lord. Can you imagine? I talk Joe into going to see a band he does not know, he buys the CD and realizes he likes them, spends a month anticipating the concert only to find that we've missed it in favor of lattes in the rain. What can I say? I spend all week focused on details, I want my weekends to myself for the broad concepts.

We arrived at the concert about 30 minutes before they took stage. Marley Park is, as the name would suggest, a park; a huge park at the base of the Wicklow Mountains. Well, if you're in County Wicklow they are the Wicklow Mountains. If you are in County Dublin, they are the Dublin Mountains. Toemaytoe/tomaaaahhto… At any rate, park at base of mountains, overcast and misty, verdant green field filled with people and blue inflatable sofas. Ummm, what? It looked like a strange living room. To the very right was the stage, immediately in front of it an area thronged with people who wanted to be stage-side, next, the control tower/booth, and then a large area populated with groups of people sitting on inflatable furniture. Green armchairs, blue sofas, and soccer ball bean bag chairs. It could have been a David Lynch movie scene except there were no midgets or clowns. And no one was talking backwards. (That was at Daft Punk) Some marketing genius set up a tent and pneumatic air hose and was charging 30 Euro for the sofas, one of which we promptly bought. They had to have made a fortune! There were easily a thousand of them. We bought our sofa, picked our spot and Joe went for drinks while I relaxed and took some photos. (Which will be posted as soon as I find the plug, relax.) The mood was absolutely relaxed and fun. Considering most of the crowd had been drinking since 2pm, everyone was pretty chilled and having a great time. It was more like a BBQ than a concert really. Somewhere along the line, people realized that these sofas were resoundingly resilient and that one could leap on it and be launched off the other side quite strongly. And thus began what I can only describe as hundreds of 10 year olds wrestling and playing King of the Mountain. It was hysterical and it didn’t really stop when Snow Patrol took the stage. I sincerely doubt the group of people in front of us remembers anything but the last couple of songs; they spent the whole concert laughing and tackling each other. We remember it though, Joe and I. Sadly, we’re adults. About halfway thru the concert, Joe and I turned around to find this 20 year old kid, eyeing our sofa. He tried to tell us that it was his and that we’d stolen it from him. Joe countered that it was ours and the kid started to argue with him. Wrong move, honey. I leapt in with the bitch claws fully operational. I don’t think he’s ever been torn apart by a woman before because he just looked shocked for most of it. He tried to recover some shred of masculinity by calling me a bitch. Honestly, that’s the best you can come up with? Go away little boy. He finally did. And then the drunken girl came to dance behind us like a rag doll. She was infinitely entertaining until she decided to throw up behind our sofa. We moved and she carried on dancing.

It was a great concert in spite of the Failed Sofa Thief, which would be a great name for a band... But back to Snow Patrol; I’ve liked them for quite awhile but what I hadn’t realized was the number of their songs that I know, some of which I hadn’t realized were Snow Patrol. That’s always a nice moment in a concert: I love this song and had no idea I’d be hearing it tonight. I was, however the only person shouting “keep talking!” between the songs. The lead singer has a cute little Scottish accent. We know how I feel about that. Joe just laughed at me and kept dancing.

They played 3 songs for their encore; I’d guessed 2, Joe guessed one. I believe this is where the group in front of us finally started to pay attention, so it was lucky for them it was several songs, even if they were over all too soon. Beaming, positively beaming smiles were on both of our faces. And then we set about deflating our sofa. Those suckers are very well built. Not only do you have to open both plugs, you have to pinch them open in order to let the air out. It took us close to 20 minutes with me using my body weight to press the air out. We managed to get it deflated and realized that the biggest money maker would have been to sell a pump to 1-deflate it and 2- re-inflate it for the next concert. Ah well. Deflated sofa crumpled up, many jealous glances our way; we shuffled to the exit with the others. Many more jealous comments as we passed: how’d you do that?! FYI? Inflatable blue sofas are surprisingly heavy when deflated. We passed the contraband umbrella stand (they confiscated them upon entry) and then spilled out into the street to watch a few drunks, one very unfortunate woman who not only faced a 2 day hangover but bruising on her face from that fall and started to walk to the light rail station. Technically, we started to walk away from the crowd in the hopes of getting a taxi, which we now realize was naïve thinking on our part. But still, you never know. 3 miles later we were at the station with 2 minutes to spare. It was a glorious night for a walk. I woke the next morning a little stiff and a lot amused. The blue sofa was in the kitchen where I’d dropped it before hitting my bed, exhausted and unable to find a place to store it. It was a great day and an even better night. So glad I got to go. Even happier that Joe let me drag him along; that boy’s a good date.


Daft Punk with Mark

And Miles. And Chris, sort of…

Since Mark had missed out on Snow Patrol, owing to a family occasion, I suggested Daft Punk and was immediately turned down. Joe had no idea who they were (must educate him) and Sarah was saving her money for Barcelona (rightfully so). Imagine my delight when Mark emailed me asking if I still wanted to go. Of course! He and South African Miles (Miles of the Metallica Concert) had decided to raise a group and head back out to Marley Park this time for two French DJs in silver jumpsuits and helmets. No, seriously.

We decided to take the bus out to the concert and met at the ticket line. Chris drove out so I boarded the bus with Miles and Mark and many, many loud boys. It was a strange ride for many reasons. The first thing we noticed was the bus heading West instead of South. There was a wreck in town, which snarled traffic all throughout the town and the most direct route was impassable, evidently, so we got the 45 minute scenic tour of the highways. The second thing we noticed was that everything we drove past was a sight M+M had just visited with a client the previous weekend. That lead to the third thing, which was M+M arguing about work. Bickering is probably closer to the truth. Miles doesn’t talk about anything. Ever. He debates everything. The sky can’t be blue; it has to be described technically as a reflection of the water which isn’t really blue but the perception of blue due to the bending of light waves and the shape of our pupils. It’s highly entertaining and highly exhausting. So Mark, never one to let sleeping dogs lie, asked Miles a series of, shall we say, provoking questions: when you’re at home with your family, do you argue with them? What do you talk about? Do you fight with your girlfriends constantly? Miles then went on a little soap box to state that 1- Arguing, no debating, is necessary to find the correct solution in any good design and 2- it’s not arguing, it’s discussing. This sheds a whole new light on Miles in my mind. So they sort of bickered like an old married couple the rest of the way while I laughed and then we arrived at Marley Park. Amazingly enough, the handicap parking lot, while much smaller than in the US, was the first parking lot we came upon. It was the farthest distance from the stage, thus requiring the most amount of walking. Obviously, someone with the greatest amount of empathy chose that location. We disembarked and noticed people wearing masks; masks like you find in Venice or a really elaborate masked ball that I’ve never been invited to attend. And then we noticed the line of lads from our bus sprinting to the nearest bush to relieve themselves in full daylight view of everyone else disembarking from buses. Definitely a different mood from Snow Patrol.

The walk to the concert took us thru a wooded area where they had strung lights in the trees, which I thought was a marvelous idea. No industrial lighting, so construction spots, just a series of bulbs strung 5 feet apart, high in the trees. It was all very civil until we reached the security checkpoint. A group of guys pushed in front of us absolutely soaking wet and covered with mud. They drunkenly (at least I assume drinking was involved at this point) explained that they had all jumped into the river and then lost a shoe, which they all then had to look for. (bare foot was proffered as evidence at this point) I can only assume a mud fight broke out because they had mud caked on every inch of available flesh. I tried to ease away, Mark got accosted. By the time we hit the security guards, the group was spirited out of line by the police and Mark’s hand was covered in mud. I have no idea what happened to the boys or why they weren’t allowed into the concert. If they want to be wet and cold, let them. The guards were stopping a surprising number of people, searching for drugs, chains, and who knows what else, a large collection box of contraband reached to my chest and was nearly full but to stop them from coming into an outdoor concert because they were soaking wet was bit unfair in my opinion. Not that I voiced it, I paid good money for my ticket and I was going to see that concert. It was, however, definitely a far cry from the confiscated umbrellas the week before so I suppose a bit of caution was good.

We reached the ticket area and called Chris, who was in line for the security check. We decided to wait for him, and wait we did. After 15 minutes, it was decided that Miles would go find them while Mark and I went it, keeping our mobile phones at the ready. Deal! In we went, our first order of business to hit the beer tent. Amazingly, there were no lines. None. Not a soul! We walked right up, ordered and left the tent, all in under 2 minutes. I was shocked. We were hardly the first people there. Second order of business: food. At any concert, the beer tent is of paramount importance. Ireland is no exception in this. But for a country that doesn’t like to mix food with alcohol, they have a disproportionate number of food stands. In the US, the concession stands will have burgers, hot dogs, and nachos if they have anything at all. We toured the ring of food and discovered in the line up: kebabs, burgers, crepes, sandwiches, grilled steak, bagels, hot dogs, smoothies, salads, a chipper, waffles, Indian, and a coffee stand. Say what you will about the Irish, they know how to throw a party.

We settled on burgers and watched the crowd for a bit. No inflatable sofas this time and I have to say, first impression was it was a good decision. Impression at the end of the night was it was a genius decision. Since it was a Friday, the gates probably didn’t open until 5, we arrived just after 7 and many, many people were seriously messed up by that time. The drug business did a swift trade in spite of the increased security. (I’d estimate there were 3 times as many guards this time around) Miles finally found Chris and John (?) and we were all united for a pre-concert drink and a Before photo. That was the last we saw of John the entire night. To quote Miles, as we were waiting for them to make it thru security: He’s probably on his third pull already. Miles has many characteristics I like, but I love that his observations are generally shrewd and wry. John saw some women and that was the end of that. As we made our way to the stage, we lost Chris and would have lost Mark were it not for the fact that both he and Miles were taller than almost everyone around us. We threaded our way half-way to the front (right next to Elvis!) and the concert started.

As said before, Daft Punk is two French club DJs who wear silver jumpsuits and helmets that completely cover their faces. This of course means they were sitting at home watching the French version of Coronation Street while simultaneously playing 14 gigs world wide. The stage was a huge pyramid of lights hollowed out for a pyramid DJ booth in which the boys appeared. Or, perhaps girls appeared. It’s hard to tell in flashy Martian jumpsuits. Occasionally, lights would stream down the booth making it look like a volcano erupting. As Jenn remarked, can you imagine how freaky that would be in stimulants?! It was freaky not on stimulants. Plus they had a couple of songs where they flashed every third work behind the stage in 2 story tall red lighted letters. Rothko’s got nothing on Daft Punk. Great, great show though. Spliffs everywhere but none offered to Mark. He was asked for drugs, however. I wasn’t. No one offered me anything except the one guy behind me who asked if I wanted to get on his shoulders. Thanks no, I’m afraid of heights. (He actually bought that) The crowd pushed forward the entire time and we got cut off from Miles, who when we last saw, was dancing pretty intensely with his eyes closed. I guess he doesn’t care for volcanoes. All those bodies crushed together, dancing like mad fools, temperature rising alarmingly, music thumping, and then a massive cheer from the crowd erupted as the sky opened up and poured rain down on us. Absolute relief.

The second set brought out most of their more commercial hits: Around the World, One More Time, etc… which sent the kids around us (ok, me too) into dance overload. It was mad fun and I really forgot to care about the fact that we were far too old to be there. Mark and I danced and jumped and laughed the entire time. They finished the third set, applauded us, and then left the stage. The crowd started chanting ‘one more set’ when the stage manager came on and started the ‘thanks for coming, get the hell out and remember that this is a residential neighborhood’ speech. Booing. Much booing. I can’t believe they didn’t play an encore. I’m still surprised they didn’t play an encore. It was just past 11pm so I know they had another hour before they had to stop before facing a hefty fine from the city. But that was it. Personally, I was ready to head out. I could have done maybe another half of a set, but that’s about it. I’m old, what can I say?

We met Miles and Chris (what did the world do before mobile phones?!) at the burger stand and then walked toward the buses. Mark and I thanked and congratulated each other on attending. No way would I have gone alone, so I’m thrilled he wanted to see them as well. By the time we got to the buses, Chris had given up on his friend and decided to buy a ticket to join us. And then we saw the ticket line. Easily, 300 people in line. A decision was made to pass one of our tickets thru the bus window to Chris after we boarded but the guards were checking and keeping the tickets. Much hemming and hawing was done between tossing around alternatives. Miles suggested we split, he’d go with Chris and try to get a cab (right!) and meet us in town for a drink if it wasn’t too late, but that just didn’t feel right. Neither Mark nor I wanted to split, so we started scouring the ground for dropped tickets. That’s how Chris spotted the credit card. Someone dropped it, so he handed it to the bus guard who was then persuaded to give him a bus ticket. Charm has its purposes. We boarded the bus together and rode into town surrounded by kids from Derry who were scouting for drugs of any variety. Highly Amusing Connor talked our ear off until we arrived in Dublin. High Amusing Connor offered to split his gummy white unknown pill 5 ways with us. Said pill was the size of an apple seed. How he thought he could share it is beyond me. Perhaps it was an Alice in Wonderland drug where things increase in size. Dunno. We left him in the streets of Dublin happily munching his pill. We walked in the opposite direction pretty quickly.

One drink was had at the Stag’s head, where we toasted our extended adolescence and then we were off into the night for our respective homes. It was decided that Mark gets to choose the next concert, Miles will bring the helmets, Chris will provide the stimulants and I’ll wear waterproof mascara.