Concert Impact

Thursday night, I attended the Queen + Adam Lambert concert in Madison Square Garden. I wrote a review from a fan perspective here, on my fan blog. I enjoyed it very much, but there were issues, both expected and unexpected, that caused a few problems.
Part of the plan for the day included going to a bar in NYC and meeting other fans. I was very much looking forward to this, even though it was also a restaurant that served non-kosher food. I figured I'd have a bite before going to Manhattan and then there would be the kosher concession in Madison Square Garden itself and I'd be fine.  I did, on a whim, buy a bag of almonds before getting on the train.

I was also dealing with a family issue. My husband had just been diagnosed with pnuemonia. He knew how important this concert was for me. He also knew, in the abstract, that he'd be fine for the few hours we'd be apart, but he didn't actually believe it. So he wanted me and didn't want me to go. And he made sure I knew this.

Then world events were escalating in a horrible, scary way producing ugly opinions. So we have two sources of heightened emotion before I even left the house, and I was also getting excited about the concert. I don't let myself get excited over events until just before because sustained heightened emotion can lead to overload, and now I had three different sources.

The bar was a problem. I found it easily, but it was a bar. A crowded, loud, smelly bar, full of strangers who were all dressed in leopard print. This made the Adam Lambert fans easy to identify (I personally wore a t-shirt from Adam's Glam Nation Tour. I don't like animal prints) but it was hard to start or get into a conversation. If it were a decade back, when smoking was permitted, it would have been even worse.

I spoke to one online friend because she was at a table with her family in a relatively quiet area, but I gave up after that and went outside. There were people I really wanted to meet, but I couldn't stay there any longer.

I did meet a number of people outside and that was lovely. I got to exchange hugs and chat, and one person gave me a pair of earplugs (thank you, graffeodl!) because I forgot mine. There was a drug store next to the Garden, so I could have gotten some myself but I was very grateful.

I decided to go line up. Gates weren't open, and wouldn't be for 45 minutes, but that was okay. It was cool and quiet and I could buy some merchandise (a tour book and a tote bag). I figured that when I got in and found my seat, I could then go in search of the kosher concession - I was getting hungry - and it would all be be fine.

By the time I got in, I needed to find the concession. I'm type II diabetic and missing meals is a bad thing. I basically circled the venue plus walked down a couple of flights of stairs (all the escalators were going up) before I found it. And it was closed. Cue tears, carefully hidden.

I bought an expensive soda and found my seat. Actually, as it turns out, it was the wrong seat. I read seat 13 as seat 15. I don't remember numbers very well. Seriously. I need to check them all the time. I mean, I have certain ones memorized - my phone numbers, my social security number - but I get them wrong, too. At least, retrieval is an effort. So I misremembered 13 as 15. But I got the row right and the section right.

It was fine once I butted into a conversation with other Adam fans - who even knew who I was. Which was cool. I took a picture of my view, and watched the audience filter in. And I ate my almonds, which I was so happy I'd gotten. Wasn't perfect, but so much better than nothing.

Then the real ticketholder for seat 15 walked in. And I had to gather my purse and my merchandise and my almonds and move. I kicked over my soda, though. :(

And now I was in back of a tall guy. A very friendly tall guy with whom I had a nice chat but still. Also, my view was slightly better. The very fascinating stage set includes a large oval framework that forms part of a giant Q, with the tail being a curved thrust that ends in a secondary B stage. There is a large video screen just behind it, with two secondary rectangular screens on either side. I was on the side, on the second tier. I could see everything on the stage and the thrust, and one of the side screens, but the main screen was obscured by the framework. It was less obscured in the new seat.

So. I was hungry. I was beginning to need the bathroom, but didn't want to climb over the people next to me, and I was worried about what I'd see once we stood up for the show. Also, I was worried about my husband. I did figure out why the concession was closed, though.

See, it's a period of time in the Jewish calendar called "The Three Weeks." It's a period of mourning between the beginning of the siege of Jerusalem in 70CE, ending with the Destruction of the Second Temple on Tisha B'Av. During this time, we refrain from doing a few things, one of which is listening to live music. But I knew there was an excellent chance this particular concert tour would never happen again, and I couldn't pass it up.  It's custom, not law, you see. (It's also why I only bought a bag and a book - we don't buy new clothes during this time.) However, the chances of an Orthodox Jew going to a rock concert during the Three Weeks is pretty small, and not worth the effort of opening the concession. If I'd thought about that ahead of time, I'd've brought a sandwich.

So I was mildly uncomfortable, but then the show began. I inserted the earplugs, turned off my phone and it was wonderful.

Adam Lambert has an amazing voice. I normally prefer deeper ones - Jonathan has a warm baritone, for example - but Adam has a huge range, and while he goes very high, he never gets shrieky or shouty. It's full of rich tones and shadings that he uses expertly. But I knew from past experience that I needed the earplugs.
When my eardrums get tired, I lose the lower tones of his voice and he sounds like he's on helium. It only happens with him, and it's a pretty, ethereal thing, but it's missing that richness. With the earplugs, it was perfect.

Only problem was, most of my section didn't stand. A few did, and I tried it for two songs, dancing and enjoying myself, until the woman in back of me tapped me HARD on my shoulder and asked me to sit because her mother couldn't see. The first woman was about my age, so her mother was much older, and I try to be respectful to my elders, and also I was in shock - she'd HIT me - and I didn't want to make a fuss. And my emotional state made arguing a bad idea. So I sat. Sitting changes a lot.

I felt awkward singing along (although I did) and hand gestures can't be as expansive. Also, I felt resentful that I couldn't even point to someone (like tall guy) standing in front of me so I had an excuse. It didn't ruin the concert - nothing could ruin the concert - but it changed it, I think.

Also, many of the people I wanted to meet were all in the same section, and it was across the arena and on the lower tier, or in the floor section, so I couldn't meet them. I was conscious of that. Turning off my phone helped, though.

I made a mistake partway through, though. I decided I wanted to try recording part of one song. In the fuss of taking out the phone and turning it on and so on, I missed some of the power of "Who Wants To Live Forever." I won't do that again. I turned the phone off again so it wouldn't be a problem.

But I forgot my physical discomfort, and I could see the fun on the stage, and even in the big Q screen, so it was fine. I even enjoyed the long instrumental section and that usually makes me very impatient. I could just focus on the pretty music and the pictures it painted. In fact, everything was fine until the end. We even all stood for the encore so I could whole-heartedly join in. I kept checking and the lady behind me was also standing.

Then it ended and we filed out. There was a ladies room right next to our section, so I could take care of that problem, and then I pretty much ran down the stairs - the escalators were off. We had a choice of stairs, elevator and stopped escalator. The elevators were crowded and needed by less physically able people and walking on stopped escalators is hard. I chose the stairs.

People talk about hearing the comments of skeptics before and after the show. The only comment I heard was from tall guy, who had come just to hear Brian May work his guitar magic. "Freddie Mercury's understudy did a great job," he said to me.

I had too much going on and there was too much noise for me to hear what other people were saying around me. It was just noise.

There was supposed to be another meet-up at a diner after the show, but I had to skip it. First, I'd promised my husband I'd go straight home, but also, I couldn't handle another noisy, smelly place AND I was too hungry to go to another restaurant where I couldn't eat.

As it turned out, the people I most wanted to meet went back to the first bar anyway. Seeing that on twitter, knowing that others were closer to the stage and in more enthusiastic sections and, well, the post-show comedown plus my hunger and physical and emotional exhaustion left me in a bad place. I cried (as quietly as possible so as not to bother the very nice driver) on the way home.

I kept feeling like I was doing this wrong, to be happy with the seats I got, to run out of the bar, to miss all the "cook kids" - things I knew to be necessary for my own well-being - were mistakes. I loved the show. I hope to see another on Wednesday. But the things around it were problems. I'm fortunate it was only tears, not a full-scale meltdown.