Beck review
 I saw Beck once. And as far as my experience as a concertgoer, in terms of my interaction with those in the crowd, it was perhaps the best show ever. In the 45 minutes I was there, before I got tired of standing, I almost got into a fight, ruined someone's night, watched some chick die and then come back to life. If all shows were that interesting, I wouldn't mind paying $6 for a beer. I'm not much of a Beck fan. I like him, I just don't know any of his songs except that "I'm a Loser" song, and the "two turntables and a microphone" one. And I hate those songs. I've heard some of his folk stuff, and I like that, but I was going to the show because we had free tickets and drink passes. So we post up in the back of the small club, right near the bar, but just as I went to say something, this flabby dork in a Packer's jersey and an Ohio State hat and glasses, who probably prayed all week that Beck would play that Loser song, turned and shushed me. I started laughing. "Did you just fucking SHHH me"? I asked. "Some of us are trying to listen to the music," he said. "So you shushed me? How fucking old are you, Grandma?" He responded with a fuck you and turned around. I took a step or two closer to his ear and said, "Hey, buddy. I'm gonna fuck up your whole night." And so my shushing began. If anyone spoke, I shushed them as loud as I could. If people clapped, I shushed them. If a glass fell and broke, I shushed the glass. When the guy turned around and told me to cut it out, I cocked my head to the side, smiled and shushed him. Then his unbelievably far-from-hot girlfriend jumped in and said, "Why don't you grow up?" To which I responded, "Shhhhhhhhhhit, bitch. Why don't you SHHH." Her boyfriend didn't like that and got in my face and started saying something that had to do with music and love and Beck and me and fight and asshole. But I couldn't hear most of it because I was making my best "duh face" and shushing uncontrollably like a freezing chain smoker in Antarctica trying to catch his breath. I was a fully automatic shushing machine, and it made his blood boil. He stepped back to pull a punch, and security stepped in. They broke us up and made me go hang out at the other bar. As they were escorting me away, some goth chick in heavy "evil" makeup and latex fell over and died and was carried off on a stretcher. With security preoccupied by the dead chick, I was tempted to go fuck with the shusher some more, but went for a beer instead. Twenty minutes later I noticed the dead goth girl ordering a beer a few feet from where I was standing. "You're not dead," I said, "cool." I meant to say, "You goth fuckers go a bit overboard with the whole death thing."
Comments
Anthony J Sullivan
24 Jan 2008, 04:01
This is the greatest concert story ever.
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