The Automatik

Top Ten List of the Most Annoying People at Live Shows

10. Old 97s. House of Blues. September 2001.
I had been waiting to see Old 97s for years and was prepared for an awesome show. What I wasn’t prepared for was some mohawk’ed drunk loser and his girlfriend shouting, staggering, and shoving, threatening to tear up my ticket to bliss. It was REALLY packed by the time the band hit the stage and Mohawk’s elbows and boot clad feet were dangerously impinging on my personal space. Then, the shouting became screaming, the staggering became jumping—on my bare toes TWICE. My pain and anger transformed me into a madwoman, pushing Mohawk away and shrieking, “I didn’t wait three years to see them for you to ruin it, asshole!” His girlfriend responded by grimacing at me as if I was completely overreacting and slurring, “He’s just DANCING!” And then Mohawk tried to grab my arms which were angrily crossed in front of my chest and “dance” with ME. As fucking if. I haven’t gotten that pissed since I yelled at the frat guy who was chattering during Jeff Buckley’s show (see #3 below). I was practically spitting and clawing at the guy. Seriously. Things escalated after I moved and many audience members were grumbling and complaining, some of them even fleeing to the other side of the stage as well. The band took notice of the situation and stared, horrified, as Mohawk continued his reign of terror. Singer Rhett Miller stood there with the most sad and unbelieving look on his face until security intervened and dragged the offending parties away. Then bass player Murry Hammond tried to break the tension by making a little statement about how we all could benefit from some peace during these troubled times. And then they rocked the house.

9. Melvins. Tipitina’s Uptown. Early 90s.
If you are at all familiar with the Melvins’ oeuvre, you will understand how their music is not conducive to moshing, slamming, or even dancing. It’s complete and total “bang your head and sway” music. Of course, since it was the ’90s and all, the kids had to get their moshpit on. When some idiot started crowd surfing, King Buzzo stopped and admonished him, saying, “Dude, you can’t crowd surf to Melvins music. Have you even HEARD us before? You’re an IDIOT.” Man, that was classic. I love it when the bands get so irritated that they have to fuss at people from stage. (see also #5 below.)

8. Foetus. The Shim Sham Club. June 6, 2001.
I’ve already briefly described this guy in Feast or Foetus? but he epitomizes this type of person so well, I just had to talk about him some more. You have all seen “this guy.” And it’s almost always a guy. If it was a girl it would be somehow, well, more acceptable behavior I suppose, because then it would be like a 12-year-old at a boyband concert, only without the crying and fainting. This kind of guy pumps his first and screams the lyrics to EVERY bleeding song. Like he’s bonding with the singer. Like the singer is going to be like, “Dude! You are my biggest fan, please be my roadie/personal slave/touring guitarist.” Normally, I just laugh at these guys, because there’s usually one at every show and the amusement and thank-god-I’m-not-like-that factor is high. This guy only really got on my nerves when his flailing got in between me and Jim Thirlwell’s, er, amplifier. I mean, I’m standing smack front and center, making serious eyes at the man and praying that he’ll reach out and touch my hair or something, when a flying fist breaks the reverie. ARGH! And the times that Jimbo DID cast his sexy vibes into my eyes directly, the guy had to turn and pump his fist at ME, like the attention Jim was giving me was something he could even understand.

7. Violent Femmes. Tipitina’s Uptown. Early 90s.
The best part of the whole night was the fat guy in black stretch pants and long, dyed black hair, sporting a full face of “The Crow” makeup. His presence alone would have been enough to induce serious guffawing, but he insisted on stage diving at least five times in each song. And no one, not even the band, wanted to stop him. Oh, and there was a LOT of fist-pumping, too. Someone, possibly even the friend I was with, referred to him as “that fat Crow bastard” and I remember thinking it was the funniest thing I’d ever heard ever.

6. Shannon Wright. The 40 Watt Club in Athens, GA. August 2000.
If you are wondering who the fuck Shannon Wright is, good. Trust me, my friends and I didn’t drive for 10 hours and bust two tires to see that talentless hack. No, we went to see The Posies. But first we had to sit through Ms. Wright’s god-awful attempt to rip off Elliott Smith, Patti Smith, and Tori Amos. (And Gritty Kitty’s even worse rip-off of both the Drop Nineteens and that dog. Bleargh.) I know that sometimes emotion in singing is more meaningful than technical accuracy, but the woman COULD NOT SING. She would just wail and screech and gyrate over her keyboards like all that sturm und drang was going to hide the fact that she had no talent at all. It was so bad at one point that I had to run out and escape into the little record store next to the club. Many people were talking during Ms. Wright’s set but I was glad because I really hated her. She also pulled a “telling people to shut up from the stage” bit, but in this case, it was incredibly vitriolic and unpleasant. I thought, “Gee, she really takes herself too seriously.” Then I went into the bathroom and there was some girl in there bawling, surrounded by a group of comforting friends. Apparently, the attack from stage was directed squarely at her, seeing as she had slept with Ms. Wright’s ex-boyfriend. Hearing this, I piped up with, “Oh, I thought you were just crying because she sucks so bad.” The girls looked confused and I left before any Shannon Wright fans decided to kick my ass.

5. The The. House of Blues. Summer 2000.
I didn’t know quite what kind of crowd to expect at a The The show, having never seen them before and being familiar with Matt Johnson’s incredibly twisted take on the world. It wasn’t too packed and things were going fairly well until a few songs into the set, the volume of the crowd conversation threatened to overshadow the performance. Matt stopped the show and chided the offending parties rather brusquely. You go boy! Like Keith Richards asking the Altamont concert-goers if everyone could just get along, it must have been painful to have such an acerbic rock star chastise you from stage. Of course, this did not stop two people who showed up after that and proceeded to scream “UNCERTAIN! UNCERTAIN!” at the top of their lungs while brandishing their fruity drinks. I can only assume they meant the minor college radio hit that The The enjoyed in the early ’80s, “Uncertain Smile.” I was embarrassed FOR them, like couldn’t they at least get the song title right? Then the two losers continued their trip down Reagan Era Lane, dancing and yammering on about how great things were “back in the day,” spilling drinks and grinding and bumping into my friend and I FAR too many times. After they heard their precious little tune, they left. And no one missed them.

4. Urge Overkill. House of Blues. Spring of 1994.
Maybe it was just because Kurt Cobain had recently died and there was a lot of grunge ennui going around, but this was an awful, not to mention painful, experience. There was a hippie-ish guy at this show, who was tall, skinny, and drunk and had some kind of T-shirt tied around his waist. There wasn’t really a “pit” per se, but there was an open space in the floor with some occasional skanking going on. The offending party seemed to be incredibly wasted and was sort of staggering/wandering around trying really hard to mosh with someone, anyone. When he didn’t find any takers, he took a running start (i.e., ran to the back of the “pit” and started running towards me) and put his foot firmly into the small of my back, thus knocking the wind out of me. The security guard had to pick me up and carry me to the side of the stage. As much pain as I was in, all I can remember thinking was, “Oh my god, Nash Kato can probably see my crotch.”

3. Jeff Buckley. The Howlin’ Wolf. Mid 90s.
These days, saying (or in this case, typing) the name Jeff Buckley will send any JB fan into an open-mouthed, drooling frenzy, particularly when you mention that you got to see him live. There was no way I could predict how important this show would be to me one day, but it is the ONLY show I’ve attended where I have been completely hypnotized by a performer. Needless to say, the “frat guy” contingent that was present totally pissed me off. You know the types of folks who show up to the venue based on the hey-that’s-the-dude-that-sings-that-song-on-the-radio mentality. The offending party in this situation would not shut up and it was seriously bugging. Fine, you can speak in hushed tones or maybe even a normal speaking voice during the banshee wailing of “Grace” or “Dream Brother,” but don’t even think of breathing loud during “Lilac Wine.” I started to break into a prickly sweat and when I couldn’t take it anymore I screamed, “Shut up you fat fuck!” or something equally urbane. I felt horrible for ruining the song for everyone else, particularly Mr. Buckley, but I couldn’t help myself. Frat Boy mumbled something equally clever like, “Stupid bitch,” turned red and pretty much disappeared after that.

2. Weezer. Tipitina’s Uptown. 1995.
Man, I was nervous for this show! Having just met Rivers Cuomo in person for the first time the night before, I was now supposed to meet and interview Brian Bell. I won’t get into the humiliating details of how I didn’t recognize him here; that’s another story. I was also a bit rattled because I was toting along my 16-year-old sister and her best friend and Tip’s was an 18-and-over venue. But we made friends with Chaz, the Teenage Fanclub roadie, and he promised to make sure they didn’t get kicked out like all the other underage kids. See, the show was originally to be held at an all-ages venue, but that got changed at the last-minute. But there was no way all these kids were gonna miss out on the show. Anyhoo, Tip’s just got an air conditioning system a few years ago, but at the time, it only had ceiling fans to cool off its 800 capacity floor. That’s NO A/C, people. In New Orleans, Louisiana. In July. Typically, Tip’s had also oversold tickets, meaning there were closer to 1,000 sweaty bodies packed in the place. The show was a very loooong one. Three acts. First, that dog, then Teenage Fanclub who just rocked the house. Then, Weezer was up.

Another thing about New Orleans shows is they never start on time and they are almost always very poorly organized and thusly, drag on into the wee hours. So by the time Weezer came on, the temperature was in the mid-hundreds range and it was practically raining inside the place it was so humid. Some teen girl was making her way to the front of the stage, literally pushing aside and down anyone that stood in her way. At some point, my sister and her friend gave up trying to enjoy the show from the front since the girl had kicked and shoved them so much they had bruises and welts (not joking here). When she finally got to me and started elbowing me and trying to make me one with the barricades, I turned and looked at her. She possessed what can only be described as a “fiercely haunting look of psychotic admiration” (thank you Sandy!) and it truly frightened me. Like I thought she might whip out a gun and start shooting. I stared at her until she stared back and I said, “Look, do you honestly think that what you are doing is helping your image? Do you think the BAND will like you more if you injure people to get to them and knock down barricades to rush the stage?” It was my only hope for calming her down. Surprisingly, her eyes cleared and she looked embarrassed and slunk away. Incredible, but true.

1. Cheap Trick. House of Blues. Late ’90s.
The most annoying (and frightening) person at a rock show EVER. Nothing could even come close. So there I am, enjoying Cheap Trick as always. I seem to remember this being one of their best shows. Now, I’ve seen them at least five or six times, and one or two times I actually was brought to tears, but this was just an exceptional show. Yet, it was crowded and unfortunately, I wasn’t completely up in the front, so claustrophobia was definitely an issue. The guy behind my friend and I was truly making his presence known. He was whooping and hollering and elbowing us and generally making quite a nuisance of himself. Add to this that he was heroin-addict-skinny and wearing make up and cut offs and ripped up stockings and all kinds of lace and spiky chokers and other such glam/trashy attire. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But he looked like a terrifying version of young Michael Des Barres. And he had horrible B.O. And he had zits on his back. Hence his permanent moniker: Backne. All that was bad enough. But when he started screaming filthy come-ons at Robin Zander, I knew big trouble was on the horizon.

He pushed his way closer to the stage, yelling and dancing, making obscene hand gestures at poor Mr. Zander. He told him he wanted to suck his cock and other such charming flirtatious phrases. (Look, I’m all for boy/boy togetherness. But this was just out of the box.) It was threatening to completely ruin my enjoyment of the show. Robin wore a mask of “I’m smiling but there is genuine fright behind these eyes” and looked over at Tom Petersson like, “PLEASE HELP ME.” Tom smiled back and nodded as if to say, “I feel your pain.” By this point the guy was completely encroaching on my personal space. I looked up at Tom and gave him a look that was similar to the one Robin gave him. Tom smiled back at me and nodded comfortingly. “Yes, honey, I know he’s a psycho. No, I’m not holding it against you because I know he’s not your friend and it’s not your fault that he’s standing near you. Thank you for being my fan.”

Meanwhile, Backne’s girlfriend, who couldn’t help but notice all these shenanigans, realized the full weight of what he was saying. “Oh my god, you like guys? You like to have sex with guys?” She started bawling and Backne turned self-righteous and cruel. “Baby, I told you from the GET GO that I was a rock and roller! I swing both ways!” Now I didn’t realize that being a “rock and roller” also meant being bisexual, but hey, what do I know? I could not believe that this couple’s entire relationship was disintegrating at a Cheap Trick show, right behind to me. He continued to repeat his man-love mantra and she continued to cry. I wished I had Jerry Springer’s beeper number at that moment.

Also, I’d like to give a an anti-shout-out to the following types of people:

1. Snake Charmers.
Why is there one at every show? The girl who stands in front of you and does that lame hippie dance and waves her arms and shakes her hips, eyes closed, thinking she’s sexay. Ugh.

2. People Who Get Food During Arena Shows.
It’s not a football game, dudes, it’s a concert. What are they thinking? “Man, I love REM and their song, ‘Everybody Hurts.’ That reminds me—want some nachos?”

3. Moshers.
I remember the DJs of WTUL’s “Hardcore Show” (local college radio) laying into some folks who’d been spied slam dancing at a recent Violent Femmes show (this was in 1985). The Femmes, despite their rather punk attitude, should certainly not inspire slamming, skanking, a pit, or anything else one would normally associate with punk rock. Perhaps The Belinda Carlisle dance or a pogo would have been better suited for this show. Fast forward to the 90s and this sort of inappropriate behavior, when mixed with pent-up, misplaced angst, would become the bane of any red-blooded concert-goer’s existence. And it still continues today!