We can rebuild you, we can make you better, stronger, faster...
This is long. This is rambling. This is schmaltzy. This is fangirly. Read it or die don't, but you can't say you weren't warned.
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Submitted for your approval whether you like it or not: A twentysomething, years-long fan of a certain rock and roll trio. She is alone. But she knows that the experience she is about to undergo may just hold more meaning for her than for anyone else there. Bold statement? Perhaps. But only the truth, my friends. Only the truth.
Hello, LJlanders. Welcome to the Green Day show through Cat's eyes.
I arrived about an hour and a half before the floodgates opened at ye olde Tacoma Dome. The crowd was already backed up on the ramp and restless. Being a solitary show-goer, I was able to easily weave my way through the assembled almost to the front of the line. At 6:30 p.m. sharp, the tape was lifted and the stampede began. It was run or get trampled, so I...sort of skipped merrily along, really. Got felt up searched for god knows what, passed, and it was into the Dome we go. Scanning my ticket was a snap. All those ulcers for nothing. As usual. I continued skipping toward the stage. I must've been a sight; this twentysomething with black-ringed eyes and Joan Jett hair, skip-to-my-louing like a little girl. For a moment, I again felt like that little ten-year-old girl who'd just bought her very first record. I was seeing everything with fresh eyes and a kind of excitement I hadn't felt in years.
I wound up about three people back from the barricades on the immediate left of the catwalk. A mother - incidentally named Celia - of two thirteen-year-old girls struck up a conversation with me out of nowhere. She mentioned that the girls had only recently become fans, but have been going back through the band's catalogue and loving every minute. I smiled the smile I always smile when the ol' fangirl pride kicks in. I never get tired of hearing how my boys still have the ability to incite such devotion from scratch. "They say they've never heard anything like it," so said Celia. "They're so inspired, they want to start a band of their own now." Yep...there's the pride. Celia asked me how long I've been a fan, and I must admit I couldn't help beaming just a little when I said, "Thirteen years." She looked surprised, but her teenage charges were only too keen to ask me question after question about the boys and their music. And of course, I was delighted with their enthusiasm (and thoroughly enjoyed being the elder fangirl) and was happy to answer. One, who's been playing guitar for three years, mentioned her crush on one of the boys. "Billie?" I asked, already knowing. "Yes!" the girl swooned. Totally, swooned. It was cute. I had to giggle. The other? Well, turned out she's a Mike girl. And plays bass. More cuteness.
I heard some chick to my right say, "What are their names again?" and the dude standing next to me reply, "Billie, Mike, and...the other guy." Woah. Yo. Bro? No. "Tré!" I said before realizing I'd even thought it. "Oh, yeah," the dude said to the chick. "That's the drummer." You're damn right, that's the drummer. The drummer. Tré fucking Cool. Christ. Some people really don't deserve to be on the floor.
Soon, 7:30 p.m. drifts upon us and it's Jimmy Eat World time. Now, I don't know much about them but the music I've heard I've liked. They almost immediately launched into their first song upon stepping onstage. They were fast and vibrant, absolutely getting the energy level up. Incidentally, Jim Adkins sounds better live than he does in-studio. And they had pretty lights. The crowd started to shove forward quickly, with some blonde chick barging her way up in front of me. Being short, I don't appreciate being stuck behind all the tall people, which I was for pretty much all of Jimmy Eat World's set. In between bands, the front only got packed tighter together by the moshers and the dopes behind us, though somehow I wound up only two people back instead of three. So I did what any determined fangirl would do; I reached through and grabbed hold of the barricade. When the infamous pink bunny stumbled onto the stage, the crowd started moving again and through a series of squishing and squirming, I was able to wrench myself up to the very front, where I stayed for the rest of the night.
In the moments between the bunny and the band, something shifted in the air. It was palpable. I was looking up toward the stage in what seemed like a vacuum...all time stopped. I felt a shiver set me on my toes, and then there they were.
Billie Joe. Mike. Tré fucking Cool.
There they were. Easily less than twenty feet from where I stood; so close but still a world away.
Was that a Madonna reference...? *shakes head* Anyway...
Everybody knows by now what songs they played and in what order. I sang every one of them with all my heart and soul, feeling everything this music has ever made me feel, raising my hand to the ceiling and letting every emotion that sprang up wash over me. Some were screaming. Some were all-out bawling. I was singing, and feeling that old fangirl love-light sparkle and glow.
Almost immediately, I was being absolutely murdered against that guardrail. Elbows in my back, stupid spiked bracelets threatening to take my eye out, moshers kicking me in the head, feet stepping on my feet, the chest, the ribs, the arms, the hips being jammed into the metal so hard...ow. Getting hoarse and dehydrated added to the slaughter. All night with this. And it seemed that whenever security pulled someone out of the crowd on the left side, they always pulled whomever it was over my head. So about thirty times that night, I had to deal with getting my neck bent to unnatural degrees, my hair pulled, more shoes to the head, my shirt pulled up and nearly off, and losing my footing when the kids started to push again. I almost fell about five times, but held onto the railing and dragged myself up again. People were trying to push me and the others up front backward to get to the railing, and some did get sucked into the crowd but I held onto that railing with a death grip, even when I felt like my arm was going to snap. Nobody was taking my spot from me. Fucking nobody. All the while, I never took my eyes off of my boys. I couldn't. I came here to see Green Day, maulings be damned.
I couldn't see Mike from where I was for much of the show, which did bum me out. I love the Mikeness. I could see Tré the whole time and throughout the show I would look back at him, smiling and internally (and sometimes not so internally) squeaking. I can't be certain (mostly, I think, due to my usual cynical reflex kicking in) but I want to believe that for a second or two, he saw me. I could swear there was some Tré eye contact. And that makes for a very happy Cat. By the way, if and when you go to a Green Day show, you must watch Tré. I'm not saying you have to glue your attention to him (although--wait, don't even get me started), but do keep an eye on him. If you don't, you will miss the most priceless shit ever. I can't even break it down, it was just wonderfully adorable, hilarious, idiosyncratic crazy Tré stuff. Jeez, as though I didn't already love the man to pieces. Fucking fantastic. Also, if any of you remember my griping about wanting to hear Tré sing but probably not getting to, I was happily proven wrong as he did do a bit of "All By Myself", wherein I simply could not stop the damn dorkiest girly series of squeakage even if I'd actually made any attempt to. The love was high that night, my friends.
Billie Joe. What a performer. To see such an enormous stage presence (especially, let's be honest, in the form of such a little guy) is fucking incredible. I've never seen anybody absolutely own a crowd like that.
Me:
Oh, you should've seen it. Hundreds of people who'd have done anything - everything - at the snap of his fingers. He's amazing. He ruled that place.
The Mom:
He's the master of his domain.
Me:
*snerk* Yes.
He smiled a lot. Every so often, he would laugh. And I'm not going to kid you, there's no way around it; I melted. Every time. How on earth anyone can watch that beautiful creature and not fall in love, I will never understand. He's really something else. There's a light about him that's undeniable. He was meant to do what he does. But on a more personal note, this is a man whose music and whose band has - and I never say this lightly - saved my life. Green Day seems very oddly in sync with the patterns of my existence, always "showing up" again at exactly the precise moment when I need them. It's not easy to explain, but it's the most bizarre coincidence - or should I say, series of coincidences. I would have liked to have been in the front of the catwalk, but it's no surprise to me that I ended up where I was, my view often being of Billie outlined by a spotlight, bright white incandescence (I love pretentious words) appearing to glow from his inside outward. I'm of no organized faith. This show was seriously the closest thing to a religious experience I've ever had and DON'T LAUGH. Heh. I felt that light myself. I'll spare you the details, but suffice to say I feel different. And trust me, that can only be good.
So, now that the schmaltz is out of the way, it's on to yet more squeaky-fangirly stuff. Because, let's face it, that's what everybody really reads these things for.
Tré was wearing his black-and-white striped tie. Incidentally, my favorite. I love watching him play; he truly is the most incredible drummer. Amazing. When he did "All By Myself", he was sort of half-skipping across the stage and acting all innocent...until pretty much giving the microphone a hand job. I fucking love that man so hard.
Also, I was too close to the stage to really see what was on the screen at any given time, but I did happen to notice that there seemed to be an inordinate amount of gratuitous crotch shots of Tré at the drums. To say that I didn't mind would be a bit of an understatement.
I mean, what? Who said that? Somebody's saying stuff...
*cough*
I wish I had more to say about Mike, but I just couldn't see him very much! When I did see him, though, he was jumping about fifty feet in the air, making those Mike Dirnt bass faces we all know and love and just generally Dirnting it up as only he can. Holy Mikeness. He walked out onto the catwalk as Tré's old familiar rolling drumbeat signaled the start of "Longview", and stop-started the chords until the audience was practically foaming at the mouth; then and only then he kicked in the world's greatest bassline.
In between songs at one point, Billie told a story of how the boys played small towns in Washington (including Longview) when they were first starting out, and ended it with a how-I-met-Kurt-Cobain story. Of course, here in Washington it was met with much approval. In the form of huge applause and lots of lighters in the air.
"We Are The Champions" was glorious. I saved the three pieces of confetti that got stuck in my hair. Heh. And I swear I was the only person singing along to "Maria". I don't know if that's more funny or irritating.
Speaking of irritating, I had to listen to this group of chicks behind me shriek "Ohmigod, I love you, Billie Joe!" at least eleven billion times. Meh. First of all, you morons: No, you don't. Secondly: He can't hear you. Shut the fuck up. Ugh. Is it terribly snoblike of me that I knew they were latecomers to the fandom who were only in it for "Boulevard" and the eyeliner? Who were just going to bail on the band in the next cycle? Yes, yes it is. I am a snob. Totally. Annoying twits.
Ah, but nothing could ruin my night. Not twits, not being relentlessly crammed into a metal guardrail, not dehydration, nothing.
Billie giving the band introductions was great. (Introducing Freese: "And on the xylophone...the saxophone...the telephone..." Dork.) I love listening to him talk almost as much as I love listening to him sing. The kids they pulled up for "Knowledge" were all very good. After Billie showed the guitarist the chords, he did kiss him and the guy looked shocked for a split second before laughing. When he was told he could keep the guitar, the guy put his hand on Billie's neck, pulled him closer and kissed him on the cheek. How cute is that?
Uh, "Hitchin' A Ride". Yes, well...I love that song.
Anyway, so in the in-between-songs breaks, they--
All right.
So like I said, I was just off to the left of the catwalk and in the middle of the song, we all know how it goes. Billie started in with his usual callback games only this time, he mixed in some variations. (One of them was a half-squeak, half-shout, after which he paused a moment and giggled. Seriously, giggled. Excuse me while I die of the cuteness.) He set the mic stand almost at the edge of the catwalk, the sounds he was making getting gradually dirtier...and filthier...until yes, oh yes, we're looking at a man with his hand down his pants. Now, from my vantage point of just literally three, maybe four feet to the left of and slightly behind him, when I glanced at the audience I could see the reactions of the people in front of him, and holy gods, was it hilarious. I swear to you, those girls - and a few of the guys - were going to pass out. Gaping in what was either disbelief or stupor, or shrieking like maniacs, they were. I just watched. Full on, I know I was staring and I know how I was staring. I don't know which was better; watching him pull up his shirt ever so slowly before sliding his hand down past his belt...or listening to him do it. Oi. For a minute there, I think he kinda got lost in it. It was seriously, "And now we interrupt this amazing rock show for two-and-a-half minutes of soft-core porn." Damn. And me without my camera. He actually kept that up...so to speak...a lot longer than I'd thought he would...but let's be honest, he could've done it for two hours and I'd have made no argument against it. Afterwards, of course, he grabbed the mic off the stand and screamed, "Somebody fuck me!" and cue the audience losing its collective mind. As if that weren't bad enough, as he put the mic back on the stand, in a decidedly devious tone of voice he said with a smile, "I like the rough stuff."
...
Hey, Billie? Don't even joke about that. You fucking tease. *growl*
Nothing like super notable happened to me, personally (unless you count the reawakening of my very soul, but you know, details), but Billie and I made eye contact lots. Quite a few times, when he came close by he looked right at me and smiled. Aww. Ain't that just neat? I'm sure it was obvious how blissed out I was; it had to have been written all over my face. When he would walk out on the catwalk, everybody always reached up to him, but I never did. Not once. I don't know why, I just couldn't do it. Not that I wouldn't have wanted to touch him, but...I suppose I was just all too happy to see him so close. To simply be mere feet away from this man I've adored for thirteen years. Let everyone else have an aneurysm scrambling for his attention. I'm fine right where I am, being here.
When it was all over, I was soaking wet and could hardly move without feeling painful pangs in practically every square inch of my body, limping and in desperate need of water. But I couldn't stop smiling. I was surprised I didn't cry during the show, though I did feel the tears start to touch my eyes on "Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life)". It wasn't until I was driving home that it hit me and I did cry, laughing and squeaking all the while. I remember thinking, Oh, it finally happened. They've driven me insane.
I was geeky and bought a tour shirt. Why the hell not. It's a medium, but it seems like a large and I sleep in it now.
So here I sit, my friends. Bruised literally from head to toe, aching, ears still ringing, drinking hot tea and thinking back on the grand and yes, I'll say it, magical night that was September 26th, 2005. My band. My boys. I was there. I suppose the real question remains; "Is the love worth the pain?"
Of course it is, don't be an asshole.