Too young for Woodstock
Last week I had a rude awakening: I’m getting too old for punk concerts. Boys Like Girls performed at Weber State on Wednesday, and since they performed on a college campus, five of my friends and I obviously thought a lot of college kids would be there. We were wrong. We were so wrong.
We entered the Dee Event Center, as children in junior high surrounded all sides of us. They were hyper, loud and kept bumping into us. I felt my dad coming out in me – he never understood teenagers. Even though I was in their place not very many years ago, I can tell I’m already losing touch with the acne-infested population who spend their lives on cell phones, waiting for the latest CDs of their favorite bands.
When we entered the doors to the building (after we were frisked for weapons and drugs) an old, ornery man taking tickets was practically yelling at all the kids who were bothering him. He let us go right through. That was the first sign we knew we were going to be older than the rest of the audience.
Boys who were barely reaching puberty stood in lines for band t-shirts. When we sat down, girls no older than 9 years old stood behind us in their seats with their moms. The girls in front of us had made t-shirts expressing their love for the band. They were most likely dropped off in the parking lot because they didn’t have driver’s licenses. We were old. We were really old.
I had seen the old concert fanatics before and had made fun of them. At Warped Tour one year, men with 3-year-olds on their shoulders stood in the middle of a crowd of New Found Glory enthusiasts. If men are old enough to have beards, beer bellies and innocent little kids in the middle of mosh pits, they shouldn’t be there.
The old people are always easy to pick out in a crowd, and I never thought I would be one of them. Not now at least. Not yet. In spite of becoming elderly though, I’ve decided I’m going to hold on to my youth as long as I can and pick on the people older than me. This means I’ll still be OK going to concerts, at least from my perspective. I’m not old yet. I’ll show you old.
Ancient people are the ones who could be parents to the teenagers dressed in punk clothes. They are the ones who still believe they fit in, even though everyone else clearly sees them as uncool. They may jump up and down and mosh with the best of them, but they are usually hairier, sweatier and creepier.
Old people bring lighters to shows to use during slow songs. They have not yet caught on to the concept of cell phone lights, which create some sort of technological starry scene while skinny musicians in skinny jeans wail on their guitars.
Elderly rockers went to Woodstock. They already had their concert days. It’s time for them to settle down with Billy Joel, Neil Diamond and Elton John gigs.
I don’t care if old people have every alternative band on their iPods and can name every member of every punk band in the country. If they also have mortgage payments, sport mullets or were born before Jimmy Carter was president, they should not be putting spikes in their hair and wearing sweatbands on their arms. They also shouldn’t crowd surf or rush any stage.
I may be getting old, but I’m not that old. So see you at next year’s Warped Tour and until then, rock on.
Manette Newbold is a senior majoring in print journalism. She has promised herself that even if she’s 40 years old when Avril Lavigne comes to Salt Lake City, she’s dressing up in hot pink and will be in the front row. Comments and questions can be sent to manette.n@aggiemail.usu.edu.