Last Wednesday night, I felt older than I've felt in years. There I was sitting in $75 seats on the mezzanine level of the beautiful Cobb Energy Center, where Ralph and I were attending the Alanis Morissette concert, when I found myself thinking old fogey thoughts like, "Is it really necessary to be this loud?"
This was the first rock concert I've been to in quite a while, I regularly attend plays and movies and am always the first in line to buy tickets to see comedians, but I hadn't been to a rock concert in this particular venue and wanted to see what it was like. While I'm pretty ambivalent about Alanis Morissette, Ralph likes her, so I was game to go, even though it was a "school night." I have to admit she's quite a performer - high energy, a unique voice and an excellent band - but I couldn't tell you if I like her music or not. I couldn't understand a single word she sang.
It's the first time I've been glad I'm so hard of hearing. I actually took my hearing aids out, removed the batteries, and put them back in so my ears would be as stopped up as possible. It didn't help much. I think if I had stayed home and just opened the windows, I could still have heard the concert eight miles away.
I did take the opportunity to make some interesting observations, though. First, there were a lot of Boomers in the audience, at least as many as there were 20 and 30-somethings. But we were all on the mezzanine and grand tier levels, probably because we wanted to sit through the concert. I don't think anyone on the main floor ever sat down the entire evening.
And while the young people were furiously taking pictures with the cell phones, the Boomers were checking emails on their Blackberrys and iPhones. (In fact, several times when people got up to exit in the dark, they used their PDA to light their path.) Boomers showed their appreciation through applause; others felt the need to scream and open their cell phones to produce the modern day version of a lighted candle, which they waved as they sang along.
Boomers sipped wine and chatted about the fact we had to Tivo the final presidential debate while we attended the concert. We half joked about it being our last concert because we'd never be able to afford such a luxury again, given the bashing our stocks had been taking. Meanwhile, the "younguns" seemed to really just be in the moment, seemingly oblivious to anything other than having a good time. I envied them tremendously.
Despite desperately wanting to be cool and trying to tell myself I really haven't changed that much since my young concert-going days, I have to face the truth that I really have become an HGTV-watching, PBS-supporting full-fledged member of the establishment I once resisted. So, I've decided not to fight it. No more rock concerts in indoor venues for me. (It says something, dontcha think, when you find yourself plotting your exit before the performer comes back for another encore; after all, it's the only way to beat the traffic.)
Our next night out is to hear jazz pianist Joe Sample, and two weeks later comic Lily Tomlin.
I'm expecting to feel a little more at home at these shows.
