Over the years I’ve seen hundreds of shows – The Roots on
the “Phrenology” tour at the Fillmore (2003), Daft Punk in the dance tent at
Coachella (2006), the Beastie Boys secret show at Stubb’s at SXSW (2006), Vampire
Weekend at Amoeba Records the day their first album came out (2008), Macklemore
climbing the rafters at Antone’s (2013), Sarah McLachlan and the Dixie Chicks
at the Lilith Fair at Pine Knob (1999) (these are not meant as brags*, but more attempts
to justify my hearing loss).
Through all these, there is one show in particular that’s
stuck with me.
It was 1996 and my best friend Erica convinced her mom to
let us go by ourselves to our, or at least my, first real concert.
Up to this point (and probably past this point), whenever
someone asked me what kind of music I was into, I would try to change the
subject. Kids at our middle school
listened to one of two radio stations – the “alternative” station that
primarily played Metallica and Red Hot Chili Peppers (and which, if you turn to
it right now, I swear will be playing Metallica or Red Hot Chili Peppers) or
the hip-hop station, which primarily played Freak Nasty’s “Da’ Dip.”
I didn’t feel comfortable pledging allegiance to either of
these, but Erica was all about the hip-hop station. We’d listen late at night and call and make dedications to
boyfriends we didn’t have and people who didn’t exist. We’d listen in the morning and try to
win tickets to shows though we weren’t old enough to claim them. When the station announced their first
“Power Jam” concert, Erica decided we had to go.
Her older brother drove us to the ballpark, Cohen Stadium, a
venue whose aroma and signage reminded you that Tuesdays were 25-cent hot dog
nights. The stage was set up on
the baseball field, and throngs of people surrounded it, all packed in to see
the headliners – Keith Sweat and Ginuwine.
When Ginuwine took the stage, he was dressed head to toe in
a shiny lime green suit. He was
about to release “Ginuwine…the Bachelor” and as he sang women let out
shrieks. The smooth voice, the
more than suggestive dance moves. The
women in the crowd pulled him off the stage, into their muddled mass, and took
his lime green top off, so that he re-emerged shirtless and had to fight to
pull his jacket back from the groping ladies. They did not want to let go.
I thought to myself, these
are grown women. And, Is this what goes on at concerts? As a 12-year-old seeing her first show,
the scene was rather disconcerting, both the engineering of this sexualized
performance and the reactions of these crazed women. (It’s led to some confusing feelings whenever I hear the song
“Pony” – on one hand I’m transported back to this weird childhood baseball
stadium experience, but on the other hand, it’s a pretty undeniably hot song.)
When it was announced that Ginuwine would be part of this
year’s Fun Fun Fun Fest lineup, some perversely nostalgic part of me thought, well, I have to see that.
Dressed in all white, with a belt seemingly designed to draw
attention to his crotch, Ginuwine’s set essentially functioned like a DJ’d dance
party. There were curated drops of
other people’s songs (DJ Khaled’s “All I Do Is Win,” House Of Pain’s “Jump
Around”), continuous blares of an air horn sound, and after thanking God, the
crowd, and Michael Jackson (in that order), there was the requisite MJ
tribute. There wasn’t much of an
emphasis on Ginuwine’s own music – save for some reminders of his signature
lyrics ("Is there any more room for me / in those jeans").
While 18 years ago, he’d had to pry his jacket back from
ladies, shedding his shirt’s now a solid part of the act – he teases the crowd
that it’s going to happen, it’s mentioned that he’s been working out, and one
of his backing singers eventually rips Ginuwine’s white t-shirt and tosses it
away. (I wonder how many rip-able
shirts he takes on tour with him?)
It took many years after middle school to realize that my
little indie heart beat hardest for bands that would have never been played by
the “alternative” station or the hip-hop station. But, that first show definitely opened up an odd new world.
On Friday, when Ginuwine went into some suggestive
one-legged push ups I did take a look around the crowd – to verify that this
was happening, and to guess if it was anybody’s first concert.
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