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captainsblogIf you didn't recognize the titles of this and the previous post, they're a homage to perhaps the single most memorable movie line of all time referencing Chicago:
Before getting into the merits of the show itself (and there were many), I should give a little background about these staples of summer- the outdoor venue retro show. Growing up, these were not A Thing. Maybe it was because Woodstock scared off city fathers (which all of them would have been at the time), and they either banned big gatherings from the existing venues like stadiums and racetracks which might have hosted them, or they just limited the tickets and ranges of music so much that they weren't profitable. I vaguely remember somebody trying to stage a rock concert at the Watkins Glen racetrack when I was at Cornell, but the Schuyler County Harumphers were having none of 100,000 hippies descend on them, so it never happened.
Some venues became famed for their summertime connections to classical music. Tanglewood goes back to the 40s as the summer home of the Boston Symphony (it's hosted some gigs for the hoi poloi- even Chicago snuck in there in the early 70s). But to my memory, it was SPAC- the Saratoga Performing Arts Center- that was the first I ever heard of to go big time rock'n'roll in addition to its original missions of hosting summertime performances of orchestras and ballets.
Inspired by the sound of money being printed, other venues either got in on the act or popped up like summertime Queen Anne's Lace on various large lawns. Near where we are now, Artpark, originally intended as a- duh- park with art in it!, with artists and sculptors in residence as well as concerts in the ampitheater, eventually became a summertime spot for mostly smaller and older touring acts. Near Rochester, the summer home of the RPO was a frequent summer stop of ours. Then known as Finger Lakes Performing Arts Center, and unfortunately abbreviated by DJ's to "Fleapac," it's since been expanded and renamed CMAC in honor of the founder and family of the local company known as the country's largest producer of, um, fortified wine. The site of the original Not Actually In Woodstock has become the Bethel Woods Center for the Arts, yet another outdoor host to many of the Memory and Metamucil summer tours. And way back on the Oiland, the Jones Beach Theater, originally used for the likes of Guy Lombardo, has also become a reliable stop on the Hey! Remember Us When We Made Records? circuit of every band you remember mostly from the 70s. Chicago and REO stopped there the weekend before I saw them here last night.
"Here," in this case, is what is probably the most distant, badly designed and just butt ugly concert venue I have ever attended, certainly among all of those I just mentioned. Darien Lake Performing Arts Center was a 90s expansion of an 80s addition to the theme park plopped between Buffalo and Rochester- and, inconveniently, dozens of miles south of both of them- by millionaire and Hyatt Hotel misdeveloper Paul Snyder. It grew out of the Genesee County weeds sometime in the 70s as "Darien Lake Fun Country," with a "big country smile!" ad campaign splatted on every upstate media market that is still stuck in my head. It's been expanded, sold, renamed, re-sold and is now more-or-less back in the Six Flags fold, but it was the addition of the huuuuuge tract of land for summer rock concerts that give it its biggest blasts of attendance on summer evenings.
The venue is controlled by the LiveNation artist monopoly and the Ticketmonster booking monopoly, and when you buy any seat, even a patch of grass, you are instantly upsold on VIP locations, preferred parking passes and probably a hooker or two. I drove by the venue to get from court to a place to change last night- not a single hotel, restaurant or other decent looking public place exists within five miles either side of it- and I saw the "$20 PARKING" sign, so I hit an ATM in the little village nearest it to cover that. Turned out, parking was free for the concert- but you could get preferred, really preferred and $60 CLOSEST TO THE EXIT spots at various places on the Trail of Gravel. And what a trail it is, especially the final part you get to walk on:
Eleanor remembers this as the longest we've ever had to shlep to get from parking to a venue anywhere. I believe she is including the one time we saw BNLs sold out at Fleapac and had to walk from an overflow K-Mart lot to get to that ampitheater. You then go through Heightened Security, emptying all your pockets (this will be important later) and having your lawn chair thoroughly vetted for hidden contraband. And what's the first sign you see past the one DRINK RESPONSIBLY OR YOU BE EJECTED warning sign?
This, of course:
Stay classy, Fun Country.
Not a place for gourmet cuisine (although I saw a couple of food trucks on the Way Other Side while visiting Guest Services, which will also be important later). Probably 80 percent of the merch on offer was fermented, distilled or had hops in it. I slogged one $9 glass of chard and that was it. But for true value, you just can't beat the contact high you can get absolutely free walking TO one of the booze stands. I don't think I've gotten that unintentionally high since UB days.
----
Okay, enough history and bitching. There was actually a show out there. First up was Some Guy With A Guitar, who did a couple of nice covers and didn't overstay his welcome, and then they brought out REO Speedwagon. These guys are also from Illinois, and hopped on the rock'n'roll train a few years after Chicago did; I was never a fan, but knew most of their hits, which they were good enough to sing without too much clutter.
From the cheap seats-
- and a closerup view once it got dark enough to see the video boards-
Yeah, your presenting sponsors: beer and a hospital.
They ended with a non-milked two-song encore, finishing with a touching cover of Tom Petty's “Listen to Her Heart” (Petty and REO frontman Kevin Cronin were neighbors in SoCal for years), and then cleared off for the main attraction. I headed to check the craft beer prices (stupid high), but then discovered I was short a set of keys.
Fuuuuck.
----
Did I mention this venue is in the middle of nowhere? That I had not seen a sight of, or a Facebook checkin by, a soul that I know despite thousands of people being there from most likely the two cities I've lived in for the last 37 years? That my phone was nearing death from me snapping all those pictures you just saw? That I let my AAA membership lapse because, hey, Mercedes covers the car repair itself? That even if I could reach Eleanor, her car probably wouldn't make it there? And that even if I resorted to Uber (my best and only thought), I'd risk JARVIS being towed because of the NO OVERNIGHT PARKING rule?
Yeah. What I said before the jump. But maybe it was blind faith (they don't tour, sadly;), or the contact high- I was not worried. I had just enough time between the acts to check my point of entry to see if the keys had fallen out of the tray at the checkpoint. They had none, but said Guest Services, on the way other side of the lawn, might have them. Fine. I was somehow certain they would either be there, or in the car itself, since I had no recollection of taking them out of the tray (why would I? I wouldn't be driving anywhere for several hours;). I planted my chair back into the grass (and added more small quantities of nearby grass into my lungs) as the boys came out and played their entire second album- a forever favorite of mine. They did it out of order- beginning with the almost-full-side "Ballet" I mentioned yesterday, then some of the other hits from it, and including even the rarer and more radical bits. I'd heard from one of the Jones Beach attendees that a lot of the fans at that show were bored and talking through it, but as frontman Robert Lamm explained between a couple, this is a composition, not just a greatest-hits album, difficult to perform and worthy of that performance and of our attention. I bet Beethoven had the same problem when he brought in the Fifth Symphony and they cut it down to 3:05.
By now it was quite dark, and that gorks photos of the stage and screen as the lighting doesn't come out right, but here are a couple:
Left, the almost recognizable Lou Pardini, who plays keyboard but sings late guitarist Terry Kath's vocal parts quite well. (Departed balladeer Peter Cetera's vocal parts are done with equal justice by Neil Donnell.) Right, there's a stage back there somewhere, I swear.
Somewhere between 25 and 6 to 4, me and my trusty chair walked the width of the lawn to the other side, ultimately finding the Guest Services counter behind 30 more booze merchants and possibly a leopard or two. I could instantly see a ton of missing keys back there, and once I mentioned my lucky green flash drive, they were back in my hand. Thank you, Jill; I promised to name you when I get the inevitable survey about my experience.
I promised myself I would head out as soon as they hit the first smarmy Peter Cetera ballad, which was, appropriately enough, "If You Leave Me Now." Which I did, and after stepping on every other piece of gravel in the entire Town of Darien, was back at (and more importantly, IN) my car, was home at a decent hour, and up to walk the dog and take a 9:00 meeting today right before the heavens opened and Main Street almost flooded....
occurring simultaneously with me hearing that our one-district-over Republican congresscritter, Cheeto's first and still staunchest supporter in the House, had just been indicted for insider trading. That explained the rain: God was cleaning the district from the dirt he'd left behind.
No gravel, though. That's out at Fun Country.
( Want more about the actual music played? This review from a few weeks before of their combined show in SLC covers the musical moments of just about everything I saw.)
Before getting into the merits of the show itself (and there were many), I should give a little background about these staples of summer- the outdoor venue retro show. Growing up, these were not A Thing. Maybe it was because Woodstock scared off city fathers (which all of them would have been at the time), and they either banned big gatherings from the existing venues like stadiums and racetracks which might have hosted them, or they just limited the tickets and ranges of music so much that they weren't profitable. I vaguely remember somebody trying to stage a rock concert at the Watkins Glen racetrack when I was at Cornell, but the Schuyler County Harumphers were having none of 100,000 hippies descend on them, so it never happened.
Some venues became famed for their summertime connections to classical music. Tanglewood goes back to the 40s as the summer home of the Boston Symphony (it's hosted some gigs for the hoi poloi- even Chicago snuck in there in the early 70s). But to my memory, it was SPAC- the Saratoga Performing Arts Center- that was the first I ever heard of to go big time rock'n'roll in addition to its original missions of hosting summertime performances of orchestras and ballets.
Inspired by the sound of money being printed, other venues either got in on the act or popped up like summertime Queen Anne's Lace on various large lawns. Near where we are now, Artpark, originally intended as a- duh- park with art in it!, with artists and sculptors in residence as well as concerts in the ampitheater, eventually became a summertime spot for mostly smaller and older touring acts. Near Rochester, the summer home of the RPO was a frequent summer stop of ours. Then known as Finger Lakes Performing Arts Center, and unfortunately abbreviated by DJ's to "Fleapac," it's since been expanded and renamed CMAC in honor of the founder and family of the local company known as the country's largest producer of, um, fortified wine. The site of the original Not Actually In Woodstock has become the Bethel Woods Center for the Arts, yet another outdoor host to many of the Memory and Metamucil summer tours. And way back on the Oiland, the Jones Beach Theater, originally used for the likes of Guy Lombardo, has also become a reliable stop on the Hey! Remember Us When We Made Records? circuit of every band you remember mostly from the 70s. Chicago and REO stopped there the weekend before I saw them here last night.
"Here," in this case, is what is probably the most distant, badly designed and just butt ugly concert venue I have ever attended, certainly among all of those I just mentioned. Darien Lake Performing Arts Center was a 90s expansion of an 80s addition to the theme park plopped between Buffalo and Rochester- and, inconveniently, dozens of miles south of both of them- by millionaire and Hyatt Hotel misdeveloper Paul Snyder. It grew out of the Genesee County weeds sometime in the 70s as "Darien Lake Fun Country," with a "big country smile!" ad campaign splatted on every upstate media market that is still stuck in my head. It's been expanded, sold, renamed, re-sold and is now more-or-less back in the Six Flags fold, but it was the addition of the huuuuuge tract of land for summer rock concerts that give it its biggest blasts of attendance on summer evenings.
The venue is controlled by the LiveNation artist monopoly and the Ticketmonster booking monopoly, and when you buy any seat, even a patch of grass, you are instantly upsold on VIP locations, preferred parking passes and probably a hooker or two. I drove by the venue to get from court to a place to change last night- not a single hotel, restaurant or other decent looking public place exists within five miles either side of it- and I saw the "$20 PARKING" sign, so I hit an ATM in the little village nearest it to cover that. Turned out, parking was free for the concert- but you could get preferred, really preferred and $60 CLOSEST TO THE EXIT spots at various places on the Trail of Gravel. And what a trail it is, especially the final part you get to walk on:
Eleanor remembers this as the longest we've ever had to shlep to get from parking to a venue anywhere. I believe she is including the one time we saw BNLs sold out at Fleapac and had to walk from an overflow K-Mart lot to get to that ampitheater. You then go through Heightened Security, emptying all your pockets (this will be important later) and having your lawn chair thoroughly vetted for hidden contraband. And what's the first sign you see past the one DRINK RESPONSIBLY OR YOU BE EJECTED warning sign?
This, of course:
Stay classy, Fun Country.
Not a place for gourmet cuisine (although I saw a couple of food trucks on the Way Other Side while visiting Guest Services, which will also be important later). Probably 80 percent of the merch on offer was fermented, distilled or had hops in it. I slogged one $9 glass of chard and that was it. But for true value, you just can't beat the contact high you can get absolutely free walking TO one of the booze stands. I don't think I've gotten that unintentionally high since UB days.
----
Okay, enough history and bitching. There was actually a show out there. First up was Some Guy With A Guitar, who did a couple of nice covers and didn't overstay his welcome, and then they brought out REO Speedwagon. These guys are also from Illinois, and hopped on the rock'n'roll train a few years after Chicago did; I was never a fan, but knew most of their hits, which they were good enough to sing without too much clutter.
From the cheap seats-
- and a closerup view once it got dark enough to see the video boards-
Yeah, your presenting sponsors: beer and a hospital.
They ended with a non-milked two-song encore, finishing with a touching cover of Tom Petty's “Listen to Her Heart” (Petty and REO frontman Kevin Cronin were neighbors in SoCal for years), and then cleared off for the main attraction. I headed to check the craft beer prices (stupid high), but then discovered I was short a set of keys.
Fuuuuck.
----
Did I mention this venue is in the middle of nowhere? That I had not seen a sight of, or a Facebook checkin by, a soul that I know despite thousands of people being there from most likely the two cities I've lived in for the last 37 years? That my phone was nearing death from me snapping all those pictures you just saw? That I let my AAA membership lapse because, hey, Mercedes covers the car repair itself? That even if I could reach Eleanor, her car probably wouldn't make it there? And that even if I resorted to Uber (my best and only thought), I'd risk JARVIS being towed because of the NO OVERNIGHT PARKING rule?
Yeah. What I said before the jump. But maybe it was blind faith (they don't tour, sadly;), or the contact high- I was not worried. I had just enough time between the acts to check my point of entry to see if the keys had fallen out of the tray at the checkpoint. They had none, but said Guest Services, on the way other side of the lawn, might have them. Fine. I was somehow certain they would either be there, or in the car itself, since I had no recollection of taking them out of the tray (why would I? I wouldn't be driving anywhere for several hours;). I planted my chair back into the grass (and added more small quantities of nearby grass into my lungs) as the boys came out and played their entire second album- a forever favorite of mine. They did it out of order- beginning with the almost-full-side "Ballet" I mentioned yesterday, then some of the other hits from it, and including even the rarer and more radical bits. I'd heard from one of the Jones Beach attendees that a lot of the fans at that show were bored and talking through it, but as frontman Robert Lamm explained between a couple, this is a composition, not just a greatest-hits album, difficult to perform and worthy of that performance and of our attention. I bet Beethoven had the same problem when he brought in the Fifth Symphony and they cut it down to 3:05.
By now it was quite dark, and that gorks photos of the stage and screen as the lighting doesn't come out right, but here are a couple:
Left, the almost recognizable Lou Pardini, who plays keyboard but sings late guitarist Terry Kath's vocal parts quite well. (Departed balladeer Peter Cetera's vocal parts are done with equal justice by Neil Donnell.) Right, there's a stage back there somewhere, I swear.
Somewhere between 25 and 6 to 4, me and my trusty chair walked the width of the lawn to the other side, ultimately finding the Guest Services counter behind 30 more booze merchants and possibly a leopard or two. I could instantly see a ton of missing keys back there, and once I mentioned my lucky green flash drive, they were back in my hand. Thank you, Jill; I promised to name you when I get the inevitable survey about my experience.
I promised myself I would head out as soon as they hit the first smarmy Peter Cetera ballad, which was, appropriately enough, "If You Leave Me Now." Which I did, and after stepping on every other piece of gravel in the entire Town of Darien, was back at (and more importantly, IN) my car, was home at a decent hour, and up to walk the dog and take a 9:00 meeting today right before the heavens opened and Main Street almost flooded....
occurring simultaneously with me hearing that our one-district-over Republican congresscritter, Cheeto's first and still staunchest supporter in the House, had just been indicted for insider trading. That explained the rain: God was cleaning the district from the dirt he'd left behind.
No gravel, though. That's out at Fun Country.
( Want more about the actual music played? This review from a few weeks before of their combined show in SLC covers the musical moments of just about everything I saw.)