Throwing metal

I bought Dave Metallica tickets for his birthday.  I like Metallica just as much as the next gal.  Of course my favorites all come from the black album and I prefer them played on my stereo at a reasonable volume. Who doesn’t love Nothing Else Matters?   I’m really more of a Tori Amos or Tracy Chapman kind of fan.  I can’t imagine Tracy  rocking the HP Pavillion so hard that the ground reverberates through my whole body.  Nor do I do see Tori exuding so much fan spirit that we all throw metal in sync while repeating after her.

The concert was amazing though.  Mostly made amazing because of the old man sitting next to me.  He was accompanying his teen age son.  More importantly, he happened to have an extra set of ear plugs for me.   Yes, I sported those yellow monstrosities in my ear canals, while everyone else lost their hearing.  Don’t worry, I didn’t miss out on anything.  Periodically, through the concert, I had to check to make sure that I still had earplugs because it was so loud.

Of course there were overpriced t-shirts and beer.  How can you not partake.

And two mile long lines to get in.

There was the crowd of pot smokers that gave everyone a buzz from their cloud of smoke.

There were guitar pics thrown in the crowd and jumbo Metallica beach balls.

There was pyrotechnics and fire.  Because what is rock without fire?

There were lasers and strobes.

There was crowd surfing and mosh pits, including fat guys without t-shirts.

There was even a clown.

And there were the fans.

I was rather impressed by the diversity of the crowd.  I don’t know why I was surprised.  But I was.  I expected everyone to be in their thirties.  Maybe it’s the egoism leftover from when you’re a teenager and feel like your the first person ever to discover a band.   The band is too cool for old people and way too good for younger people.  Who knows, I was surprised though.  It was a testament to how amazing Metallica is.  There were little kids, teenagers, people in their twenties, thirties, forties, and fifties.

Do you see the big lady sitting down in the right corner of that picture up there?  She wore a long denim skirt, denim shirt, cardigan sweater, had her hair in a bun, and I think at one point in the concert, she actually pulled out her knitting.  I did notice that her head kept bopping with the beat and she’d throw up peace signs when everyone else threw metal.

In the aisle next to us was the fifth member of Metallica.  He serenaded us all night long.  No, he didn’t bother watching the band.  He head banged and played air guitar all night.  All for us, in the eleventh row.

Or there was the guy who came to a heavy metal concert in cowboy boots, booty shorts, a feather skirt and weird chest strap.  He spent the whole night worshiping the ground and playing air drums.  All from behind a concrete wall.  He never once ventured in to see the band.   He was so outlandish that people took pictures with him.

And sadly, before we knew it, Metallica had played for three hours, and it was over.

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