Gig-a-gig, ahhh

Off to Edinburgh to see Radiohead, with two utterly predictable results: Radiohead were great, and the experience of going to a gig sucked.

I’ve written before about the sheer arsery of live music, but it’s particularly pronounced at bigger gigs: there’s the hassle of getting the tickets in the first place, the joy of ridiculous booking fees, the pain (and cost) of getting there, the nightmare of getting home again (particularly bad last night: Scotrail decided that the combination of a 20,000-capacity stadium gig and the Edinburgh Festival didn’t require any additional train carriages until faced with thousands of pissed Glaswegians at Waverley station), the bad food, the overpriced drinks, the dodgy sound, the sore back you get from standing up for hours… but for me the real problem is the people.

I’m the first to admit that I’m a tad misanthropic, but I’ve talked to others about this and it seems I’m not the only one who thinks there’s an increasingly ned-ish element to gig audiences, especially stadium ones. I don’t subscribe to the true fans vs casual fans argument, but after several hours of being barged into and of being deafened by mindless bellowing from people who spent the entire gig shouting at their mates (either in person or into a mobile) with the occasional break to sing the three words of the chorus of the two songs they actually know, I can’t help but think I’m getting too old for this shit.

When you spend more time entertaining gleeful fantasies about stabbing your fellow punters than listening to the tunes, it’s probably a sign that stadium rock’s losing its appeal.

Pity it’s so expensive. I’ve got tickets to see Muse on Thursday at the same venue, and while I love Muse and reckon they’re probably one of the best live bands on the planet, I’d rather go to the dentist than endure a second stadium show this week. That’s another sixty quid down the drain, then.


I’ve been talked into going to the Muse gig after all. But I’m taking a gun.

Update, again

Muse were great. But blimey, My Chemical Romance are possibly the worst band in the whole world (and made me think of the gag, “I wish my grass was emo. Then it’d cut itself”). I’m saying “possibly” because there’s a very remote chance there’s a worse band out there, although I very much doubt it. Put it this way: the band doing The Final Countdown (linked a few posts back) are much, much better.