Guest Blog: Those Who Used to Rock ...

February 03, 2011, By Josh Katzowitz 1 comment

I was standing in the middle of a 2,500-person theatre, moving and dancing and (sigh, yes) head-banging to a band I had enjoyed since high school but had never seen live.

The band was Primus, a slap-funk/rock band that was known as much for Les Claypool’s distinctive bass lines as its nonsensical humor. I had been a fan since high school when I first shelled out money for the “Pork Soda” CD, but for whatever reason, I had never seen the band live.

Primus was one of the few acts I’ve truly wanted to witness but never got the chance, and in a career that’s spanned some 80 shows (some where there were literally 14 other people in the club with me and some where I was with 50,000 of my closest friends), I’ve witnessed just about everybody I care about musically.

But I’m 32 now. I don’t like moshing any more. I limit my beer consumption because my 8-year-old girl-sized bladder makes me miss parts of the show. And I don’t buy concert T-shirts anymore.

Yet, I refuse to wear ear plugs, because I think once I begin inserting high-priced pieces of cotton into my ears, I’m officially done. I will not compromise on this. It’s as unrocking an act as one could possibly perform before a rock show, and I, for one, will not tolerate it.

Despite that stubbornness, I still wonder: how much longer can I legitimately go to rock shows that, in reality, are made for people in their teens and 20s? When will I be too old? When will I be an embarrassment?

Take this show, Primus. It offered the best of what a rock concert can be. Sonically wonderful, and considering I somehow met all the people who happened to be standing around me, we were damn near like a family.

No, I didn’t sweat through two T-shirts slam-dancing like I did when I saw Green Day in college at a small theater, I didn’t get chills up my spine like the four times I witnessed Ben Harper make amazing music, and I didn’t get Mighty Mighty Bosstones lead singer Dicky Barrett asking me for my post-concert thoughts about the set list (this actually happened after a show in Charleston, S.C.).

The Primus show was not life-changing, but, for more than two hours, it was life-enhancing.

Is that enough, or has the rock/punk rock show scene passed me by? After a while, while Primus and I rocked out together, my feet began to hurt, the cigarette smoke got on my nerves and the dude next to me who offered me some of his weed could NOT believe I turned him down.

The next morning, my eyes melted into my computer screen, because I was so utterly exhausted.

Fast forward two months later when I saw Roger Waters perform at an arena downtown. I sat the entire time. There was no cigarette smoke to avoid. Waters rocked while I relaxed. It was pretty lights, gorgeous music and a big freaking wall, and I didn’t have to strain to see around the dude’s head in front of me. Suddenly, I was 60-years-old.

I have a good buddy named Neil, and in high school and college, we saw acts big and small. Every couple weeks, it seemed, we were hitting up a show, drinking cheap beer and trying to avoid touching anything in those disgusting bathrooms.

I’m pretty sure he likes music more than I do. But he’s stopped attending shows at all. Just doesn’t have the desire any longer.

“I just don’t enjoy them like I used to,” Neil told me. “I wish I did, but I don't. For one, they are too late for me. I always find myself standing there waiting and waiting for the band to come on. And they're never on time. And I get so tired. By the time they come on, I'm exhausted.”

Later in the conversation, after decrying how the cigarette smoke lingers on your clothes and in your hair for days afterward, Neil say, “Oh my God, I sound like an old man.”

That’s essentially what I felt like a few years ago when I saw the ska band, Mustard Plug at a tiny club in Cincinnati. I had learned to love the band and had seen the six-piece at an even tinier club in high school before I went off to college. At the show a few years back, I was an old man in a crowd of teenagers. For me, it was an uncomfortable experience, because I felt so out of place.

After the set, I ran into lead singer, Dave Kirchgessner as I was leaving the club. “Man, I feel so old at these shows,” I told him. “You feel old?” he responded. “How about me? The last time you saw us, you were probably in high school, right?”

Yes, that’s true. And Kirchgessner is probably creeping up on 40-years-old these days, and Mustard Plug continues to tour. The band is a dinosaur among teenagers, and that’s how I felt when I saw it.

Of course, Neil and I are not that old. We just have different priorities now. Staying up until 3 a.m. trying to calm down after a show is just not reasonable any more. I don’t need to buy Faith No More concert T-shirts. A nice night at the opera is nearly as satisfying.

We just don’t rock the way we used to rock. We can’t. We have responsibilities and careers and babies who depend on us. We’ll probably never rock that hard again. But that’s OK. We’re adults now. We’re not supposed to rock. We’re supposed to be asleep.

After all, we have to be up early tomorrow morning.