thewingedword (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thewingedword) wrote2007-05-29 09:07 pm
thewingedword) wrote2007-05-29 09:07 pm
Entry tags:
Huge frickin' post of memories
BEST CONCERT EVER SRSLY.
All pictures taken by the girl who runs TAI Online at this very show I was at, except for one stock photo of Cobra Starship, and the two merch photos.
After Paul Wall came The Academy Is...! And the ellipse is annoying to type, so I'm just going with TAI from here on out. They did very good, energetic set.
This is a good time to note that my section, center and further back, was largely empty in front of me until the Fall Out Boy set. Which worked out marvelously, because people behind me were standing up so I wasn't alone, and people in front of me were sitting down so I could see clearly.
William Beckett is basically a giant gay flamingo with the stalking-walk and the knees and elbows everywhere. He was the only person with a microphone with a cord, apparantly so he could alternately molest it and use it to do the Limbo. I'm not even kidding. At one point he pushed up his shirt and ran his hands over his chest and I was almost pathetically grateful for his very impossible existance.
Their lead guitarist, Mike Carden, is amazing live, intense and fast and leaning forward to play directly into the front rows, which visibly swooned at the attention.
This, by the way, is Mike Carden. Another picture of him later, but JESUS CHRIST THE PRETTY.
After the set William Beckett was all "We're going to go sign autographs at that merch booth... over there!" *limp-wristed floppy sort of point*. Of course, there are almost half a dozen merch booths. We still got up and wandered around the venue rather vaguely looking for them, because it was a gorgeous sunny day and the venue, outside the stage, is all hills and trees and little paths.
Eventually we ran into the OMG HUGE line where the band was, and skipped it in favor of hanging around, dodging Security, and taking blurry cell phone pictures which I won't post because they're mostly impressionistic memories. And, in my case, having friends climb me like a tree to get a better shot. William Beckett actually caught a glimpse of me once, arguing with a friend about how she should put her arms around my fucking neck now before she slid off and broke her skull open. He even smiled, rather amusedly, at the sight.
Mike Carden is even prettier up close. I was so close to jumping him. William Beckett always looks model-perfect, whether in a music video or a photoshoot or behind an autograph table on a sunny day after a set from ten feet away.
Pictures from the autograph table:
I was ten feet away from that, people, do you know how cool that is? From left to right: William Beckett (lead vocals), Michael Guy Chislett (rhythm guitar), The Butcher (drums).
I have such an unexpected total crush on Mike Carden, I blame it on his multiple VERY SEXY guitars. Guitars make me weak in the knees, it's not my fault!
Picture from the stage:
So, considerably more than ten feet away from that. Still amazing. Flamingo!
Note: TAI later updated their blog talking about how Detroit was always one of their favorite stops on any given tour. Is it silly that that made me feel good about myself? *grins*
I actually didn't know anything about +44 before this concert, but they were GOOD. We missed about half their set hanging around TAI and pining, but the songs we caught were catchy and fun and rock-ish. Apparantly the band is made up of two blink-182 members, the lead singer/bassist and drummer, and two other guitarists. The lead singer reminded me of Billie Joe with a bass maybe ten years ago, a lot of jumping around and energy and almost young in his enthusiasm. The drummer was amazing, he basically drummed with his entire body from the waist up, it was pretty sexy. So, A+, am considering buying their album.
As soon as +44 left, the energy in the theater completely changed. As the headlining act, Fall Out Boy got a very elaborate set-up, the drummer on the top of a two-tier platform with ramps leading up to both levels, random glass-box columns and things. People were literally cheering for the stage being assembled, for the guitar techs and drum techs and who the fuck ever came out on stage. Dirty, FOB's court jester and the tour's host, came out and hyped everyone up a little more, and then the lights went out.
Throughout the show, parts of the seats had been empty, there were usually sections of people sitting down or not doing much. As soon as the lights went out, everyone from the front row the the very back edge of the lawn surged to their feet. It was incredible, like an energy wave funneling towards the stage, and as it hit the band was launched onto the stage like corks from champagne bottles and launched straight into their first song. The entire theater from lawn through pavilion slants in towards the stage, no flat areas, so it was literally like a funnel. This was my first concert, so it's probably understandable that I don't have the words to describe being a part of this giant mob of people, this huge lunging human battery entirely focused on powering four tiny people on their tiny stage. It was simultaneously anonymous and intensely personal.
What can I possibly say? Patrick Stump is a fucking angel of music, he is made of summer sunshine and the soft tickle of new grass on the inside of your knees and also PURE SEX, particularly when he performed Golden with nothing but his own voice and his hands on a piano. Pete Wentz is beautiful and his voice is unexpected; not low and harsh, but soft and warm, except when it goes clear and wicked in amusement. He did a lot of switching off stage-sides with Joe Trohman, the guitarist, and there was an appropriate amount of guitar-spinning and insane leaps and running down the ramps at neck-breaking speeds. Also two incidents of Pete pressing his body against Patrick's side, his face into Patrick's neck, and playing there for a few calm moments before turning away; one incident of basically guitar sex; and multiple incidents of Pete throwing himself down on his back and playing his bass there like a spaz. Also one long, glorious moment where he wasn't wearing a shirt. Kelly and I would turn and scream at each other like teenaged girls, appropriately.
FOB are motherfuckin' rock stars and they want you to know it, baby. Giant columns of flame, fireworks, huge plasma screens splashed with pop-culture images and lyric snippets, streamers, confetti, the works. It was an experience, let me tell you.
During "Dance, Dance" Pete and Joe suddenly appeared at the top of the pavilion, no more than fifty feet from me, and played there for the song; I turned around and stood precariously on the flippable seat of my chair, then balanced on the narrow back of it and just stared at their faces, their hands moving. So close. After, they disappeared back to the stage, and Pete added "You guys in the back are some crazy motherfuckers!" to his pre-song warm-up.
It was Dirty's birthday, so they brought out a cake and we all sang to him, and then they smashed it in his face and threw the remnants into the crowd. This was after he took multiple fastballs to the chest in honor of the Tigers. So this is what it takes to earn your keep as a FOB roadie, eh?
To get back to Patrick, his voice is incredible. I spent the entire set pressed up against the seat in front of me, dancing and waving my hands like a lunatic, and then he would hold this note and I would find myself leaning forward like a jumper, like some suicidal instinct was urging me to throw myself forward and hope that I landed at his feet. In interviews he seems a bit insecure about his weight and his receding hairline; he could weigh 300 pounds and have a combover and still be the most amazing person in any given room. The fact that his hair is soft and strawberry-blonde, his eyes are beautiful and his skin is perfect and his mouth is ridiculous and his thighs are seriously hot just makes me wonder how he even exists on this planet.
The set ended with "Saturday", and midway through Pete Wentz suddenly shed his bass and his hoodie and, wearing a thin t-shirt and barely held back by security, leaned out over the crowd. They clung to him, ran their hands over him, and he reached out his arms to touch people further and further back and we screamed until our abused vocal cords finally gave out completely, and spent the ride home whispering hoarsely in abbreviated sentances and joy and wonder.
Pete Wentz without hoodie, so, about ten seconds before he let the crowd molest him.
Patrick Stump, Angel of Music. Guest starring a shitload of confetti. Again with the guitar thing!
It's cliche to say this, but I really feel like I understand the bands better for this. Albums are what bands do; touring is what a band is, as far as it goes. This was my first concert ever and it was incredible and I am so grateful that I could kiss someone for it.
All pictures taken by the girl who runs TAI Online at this very show I was at, except for one stock photo of Cobra Starship, and the two merch photos.
Got there half an hour early and still missed almost all of Cobra Starship's set because we were in line at the merch booth, ARGH. Although we could hear the songs and totally danced in line, I'm not going to lie. Cobra Starship is amazing dance music. I ended up getting this shirt:
Which is actually even cooler than I thought, because it's slightly off-center so that the cricket is on the right side of your chest and "fall out boy" on the right side of your ribcage, with the antennae arching over to the left. Very cool. Also, because I endorse Pete Wentz's craziness, this necklace:
Which I love more than is good for me. This is just random facts.
We got back in time to catch Cobra Starship's last song, Snakes on a Plane (Bring It). Which, if you're only going to catch one song, that's it, because William Beckett comes out and Gabe Saporta molests him in the friendliest way possible. Between that and Cobra's keytarist, a stunningly gorgeous woman named Victoria with amazing legs, there was plenty of eye candy to keep me happy.
Like this:
I know he's completely insane, but it's kind of hot. Again, note BEAUTIFUl keytarist in the background. She made that thing look cool, I don't even know how. I threw my fangs up when the asked, I have no shame.
Incidentally, I bought the album when I got home, and it is danceable and shameless and more than a little viral. I had SOAP stuck in my head all through French, which, VERY distracting.
The band, a publicity photo, obviously:
Gabe, again, is the supertall guy in the middle. Seriously, he's wearing a cravat-type-thing. How could I fail to love him?
Then there was Paul Wall. Hip-hop, ugh, that is all.
Which is actually even cooler than I thought, because it's slightly off-center so that the cricket is on the right side of your chest and "fall out boy" on the right side of your ribcage, with the antennae arching over to the left. Very cool. Also, because I endorse Pete Wentz's craziness, this necklace:
Which I love more than is good for me. This is just random facts.
We got back in time to catch Cobra Starship's last song, Snakes on a Plane (Bring It). Which, if you're only going to catch one song, that's it, because William Beckett comes out and Gabe Saporta molests him in the friendliest way possible. Between that and Cobra's keytarist, a stunningly gorgeous woman named Victoria with amazing legs, there was plenty of eye candy to keep me happy.
Like this:
I know he's completely insane, but it's kind of hot. Again, note BEAUTIFUl keytarist in the background. She made that thing look cool, I don't even know how. I threw my fangs up when the asked, I have no shame.
Incidentally, I bought the album when I got home, and it is danceable and shameless and more than a little viral. I had SOAP stuck in my head all through French, which, VERY distracting.
The band, a publicity photo, obviously:
Gabe, again, is the supertall guy in the middle. Seriously, he's wearing a cravat-type-thing. How could I fail to love him?
Then there was Paul Wall. Hip-hop, ugh, that is all.
After Paul Wall came The Academy Is...! And the ellipse is annoying to type, so I'm just going with TAI from here on out. They did very good, energetic set.
This is a good time to note that my section, center and further back, was largely empty in front of me until the Fall Out Boy set. Which worked out marvelously, because people behind me were standing up so I wasn't alone, and people in front of me were sitting down so I could see clearly.
William Beckett is basically a giant gay flamingo with the stalking-walk and the knees and elbows everywhere. He was the only person with a microphone with a cord, apparantly so he could alternately molest it and use it to do the Limbo. I'm not even kidding. At one point he pushed up his shirt and ran his hands over his chest and I was almost pathetically grateful for his very impossible existance.
Their lead guitarist, Mike Carden, is amazing live, intense and fast and leaning forward to play directly into the front rows, which visibly swooned at the attention.
This, by the way, is Mike Carden. Another picture of him later, but JESUS CHRIST THE PRETTY.
After the set William Beckett was all "We're going to go sign autographs at that merch booth... over there!" *limp-wristed floppy sort of point*. Of course, there are almost half a dozen merch booths. We still got up and wandered around the venue rather vaguely looking for them, because it was a gorgeous sunny day and the venue, outside the stage, is all hills and trees and little paths.
Eventually we ran into the OMG HUGE line where the band was, and skipped it in favor of hanging around, dodging Security, and taking blurry cell phone pictures which I won't post because they're mostly impressionistic memories. And, in my case, having friends climb me like a tree to get a better shot. William Beckett actually caught a glimpse of me once, arguing with a friend about how she should put her arms around my fucking neck now before she slid off and broke her skull open. He even smiled, rather amusedly, at the sight.
Mike Carden is even prettier up close. I was so close to jumping him. William Beckett always looks model-perfect, whether in a music video or a photoshoot or behind an autograph table on a sunny day after a set from ten feet away.
Pictures from the autograph table:
I was ten feet away from that, people, do you know how cool that is? From left to right: William Beckett (lead vocals), Michael Guy Chislett (rhythm guitar), The Butcher (drums).
I have such an unexpected total crush on Mike Carden, I blame it on his multiple VERY SEXY guitars. Guitars make me weak in the knees, it's not my fault!
Picture from the stage:
So, considerably more than ten feet away from that. Still amazing. Flamingo!
Note: TAI later updated their blog talking about how Detroit was always one of their favorite stops on any given tour. Is it silly that that made me feel good about myself? *grins*
I actually didn't know anything about +44 before this concert, but they were GOOD. We missed about half their set hanging around TAI and pining, but the songs we caught were catchy and fun and rock-ish. Apparantly the band is made up of two blink-182 members, the lead singer/bassist and drummer, and two other guitarists. The lead singer reminded me of Billie Joe with a bass maybe ten years ago, a lot of jumping around and energy and almost young in his enthusiasm. The drummer was amazing, he basically drummed with his entire body from the waist up, it was pretty sexy. So, A+, am considering buying their album.
As soon as +44 left, the energy in the theater completely changed. As the headlining act, Fall Out Boy got a very elaborate set-up, the drummer on the top of a two-tier platform with ramps leading up to both levels, random glass-box columns and things. People were literally cheering for the stage being assembled, for the guitar techs and drum techs and who the fuck ever came out on stage. Dirty, FOB's court jester and the tour's host, came out and hyped everyone up a little more, and then the lights went out.
Throughout the show, parts of the seats had been empty, there were usually sections of people sitting down or not doing much. As soon as the lights went out, everyone from the front row the the very back edge of the lawn surged to their feet. It was incredible, like an energy wave funneling towards the stage, and as it hit the band was launched onto the stage like corks from champagne bottles and launched straight into their first song. The entire theater from lawn through pavilion slants in towards the stage, no flat areas, so it was literally like a funnel. This was my first concert, so it's probably understandable that I don't have the words to describe being a part of this giant mob of people, this huge lunging human battery entirely focused on powering four tiny people on their tiny stage. It was simultaneously anonymous and intensely personal.
What can I possibly say? Patrick Stump is a fucking angel of music, he is made of summer sunshine and the soft tickle of new grass on the inside of your knees and also PURE SEX, particularly when he performed Golden with nothing but his own voice and his hands on a piano. Pete Wentz is beautiful and his voice is unexpected; not low and harsh, but soft and warm, except when it goes clear and wicked in amusement. He did a lot of switching off stage-sides with Joe Trohman, the guitarist, and there was an appropriate amount of guitar-spinning and insane leaps and running down the ramps at neck-breaking speeds. Also two incidents of Pete pressing his body against Patrick's side, his face into Patrick's neck, and playing there for a few calm moments before turning away; one incident of basically guitar sex; and multiple incidents of Pete throwing himself down on his back and playing his bass there like a spaz. Also one long, glorious moment where he wasn't wearing a shirt. Kelly and I would turn and scream at each other like teenaged girls, appropriately.
FOB are motherfuckin' rock stars and they want you to know it, baby. Giant columns of flame, fireworks, huge plasma screens splashed with pop-culture images and lyric snippets, streamers, confetti, the works. It was an experience, let me tell you.
During "Dance, Dance" Pete and Joe suddenly appeared at the top of the pavilion, no more than fifty feet from me, and played there for the song; I turned around and stood precariously on the flippable seat of my chair, then balanced on the narrow back of it and just stared at their faces, their hands moving. So close. After, they disappeared back to the stage, and Pete added "You guys in the back are some crazy motherfuckers!" to his pre-song warm-up.
It was Dirty's birthday, so they brought out a cake and we all sang to him, and then they smashed it in his face and threw the remnants into the crowd. This was after he took multiple fastballs to the chest in honor of the Tigers. So this is what it takes to earn your keep as a FOB roadie, eh?
To get back to Patrick, his voice is incredible. I spent the entire set pressed up against the seat in front of me, dancing and waving my hands like a lunatic, and then he would hold this note and I would find myself leaning forward like a jumper, like some suicidal instinct was urging me to throw myself forward and hope that I landed at his feet. In interviews he seems a bit insecure about his weight and his receding hairline; he could weigh 300 pounds and have a combover and still be the most amazing person in any given room. The fact that his hair is soft and strawberry-blonde, his eyes are beautiful and his skin is perfect and his mouth is ridiculous and his thighs are seriously hot just makes me wonder how he even exists on this planet.
The set ended with "Saturday", and midway through Pete Wentz suddenly shed his bass and his hoodie and, wearing a thin t-shirt and barely held back by security, leaned out over the crowd. They clung to him, ran their hands over him, and he reached out his arms to touch people further and further back and we screamed until our abused vocal cords finally gave out completely, and spent the ride home whispering hoarsely in abbreviated sentances and joy and wonder.
Pete Wentz without hoodie, so, about ten seconds before he let the crowd molest him.
Patrick Stump, Angel of Music. Guest starring a shitload of confetti. Again with the guitar thing!
It's cliche to say this, but I really feel like I understand the bands better for this. Albums are what bands do; touring is what a band is, as far as it goes. This was my first concert ever and it was incredible and I am so grateful that I could kiss someone for it.
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