To the People Sitting Next to Me at a Concert: Shut Up!

I went to my first concert in 1989. It was a New Kids on the Block "Merry Merry Christmas" show at the Great Western Forum and I was 12. I stood on my chair, I jumped around, I screamed, I danced and I sang, just like the thousands of other pre-teens and teens in the crowd did that night.

One thing I didn't do, though, was talk all night.

At last night's John Mayer show at the Hollywood Bowl, the couple in front of me talked to each other all night. They laughed, showed each other pictures on their phones, passed food and drinks down to their neighbors, did pretty much everything but watch the show they, and everyone else in our section, paid good money to do.

Though the couple in front of me was the most annoying, they weren't the only people in my section talking throughout the show. When not occasionally stopping to record songs with her phone, the girl next to me talked loudly to her friend about school, work, other friends, whatever. The topper, though, was when she moved down because the talkative couple and other neighbors were disrupting her filming. How dare they!

To that girl and her friend, to the couple in front of me, to the people behind me who also talked all night, I'd like to say one thing―Shut Up!

The first concert where I remember sitting next to loud, rude people was Tina Turner and Cyndi Lauper at the Arrowhead Pond in 1997. As Cyndi performed a stunning acoustic version of "True Colors," the group of friends next to me talked and talked. It was so irritating and distracting but, sadly, that's more and more the way people act at concerts.

I like dancing at shows, like singing along, like waving my arms and just going for it, but will rein it in because I don't want to annoy the people sitting around me. Maybe I shouldn't bother, maybe I should keep it up, stand the whole night even if every other person in my section is seated because if they won't shut up so I can hear the music why should I care if they're able to see the musician?

I know I'm slipping a bit into curmudgeon territory, lamenting the loss of civility and common courtesy in contemporary society, but I don't care. If people are behaving rudely, they need to be called out. If you want to have deep conversations with your friends, go to a restaurant, go to a bar, hang out at your house, talk on the phone or consider any of the other myriad options available that are less distracting and intrusive (both for your conversation and your neighbors) than going to a concert. You'll save a lot of money, too.

When I go to a concert, I go to hear my favorite songs played live, I go to sing along, I go to be part of a music-fanatic community, I go to turn to my friends and mouth, "Oh My God!" when a hidden gem or random cover is pulled out, but I don't go to listen to you. Please, take your conversation elsewhere because whatever you have to say isn't a tenth as interesting as whatever the night's performer has to say. Really, just shut up.

'Why Not?'

When I got my current iPod as a free replacement for the first-generation Mini I had, I decided to forgo the stress of putting music on it (How could I possibly select 500 songs from all the songs I own?) and instead dedicated this iPod to podcasts. I now subscribe to about a dozen, including "How Did This Get Made," "Pop Culture Happy Hour," "Sound Opinions" and "WTF," all of which I heartily recommend.

I also subscribe to SModcast, Kevin Smith and Scott Mosier's six-year-old podcast. The pair (with occasional fill-in co-hosts or guests) have recorded nearly 300 episodes and I'm a recent listener, so I've had some catching up to do and have been listening to the show a lot lately. A LOT. Like several a day. A lot.

Smith and Mosier met at film school more than 20 years ago and have since partnered on nearly a dozen films, with Smith the writer/director and Mosier the producer. SModcast was started as an excuse for the best friends to get together once a week and spend an hour or more having the conversations they had when they first met, sharing personal stories, dissecting the news and playing out ridiculous scenarios, mixed in with a healthy dose of dick and fart jokes, all of which is so much fun to listen in on.

A few weeks ago, Smith and Mosier discussed a news story about a man offering free room and board in exchange for the boarder dressing in a walrus suit into a "Human Centipede"-esque horror story, a story that Smith quickly turned into a screenplay, "Tusk," that begins filming soon. (Smith has written about the story of "Tusk" on his blog and for The Hollywood Reporter.)

I first wrote about the "Tusk" story in the summer and continue to eagerly follow its developments because, even though I'm not a horror movie fan, I'm inspired by what Smith and Mosier have done with this idea and with so many others. SModcast is a great example of that, as it's grown from one weekly podcast into an entire podcasting networking and online radio station with shows that tour internationally.

It's not simply tracking the progression of these ideas from inception into reality that's hitting me so hard at this point in my life, but that Smith and Mosier have been taking risks in doing these things, and are fully aware of the potential costs.

Earlier this week I listened to episode 154 "SMundance", released in February 2011, where Smith talked a bit about Sundance 2011 when he premiered his film "Red State" and announced he'd self-distribute the film, which led to a ridiculous amount of backlash. Mosier hadn't produced "Red State" because he was working on developing his own projects as a writer, director and producer, which he admitted in the episode was a big gamble.

"I've been trying to do my thing and, honestly … I just knew that if I kept doing it, I would keep doing it," he said. "I knew that I had to basically be like, 'All right, motherfuckers, swim,' I was like, I've got no choice. … I'll admit something personal, for the first time I many, many years in my life, I sit down every month and I'm figuring out how to pay my bills sometimes."

Nearly a year ago I was presented with the option of taking an assumed safe route or going out on my own, and chose the latter because I recognized how much of a trap being safe can be, because I know how easily time slips away, because I didn't want to be in suspended animation for the rest of my life and because sometimes you just have to jump. Overall, I've been secure in my decision, though every once in a while I hear a tiny doubting voice. Listing to Scott Mosier tell his own story about taking a really big chance quieted that voice and the only thing I heard after that wasn't "Why?" but "Why not?".

This fall, two-and-a-half years after "SMundance" was recorded, Mosier has been making the rounds to promote two of his projects, the acclaimed documentary "A Band Called Death", which he produced, and the upcoming animated film "Free Birds," on which he is a co-writer and co-producer. Even though my own gamble probably won't have such tangible results, it's great to see what could happen if you take a chance.

'Better, Better, Better, Better, Better'

"Seriously, can anyone still relate to The Beatles?" asked Kitty (who I guess is the new Quinn) on this week's Beatles-themed episode of "Glee." "Pretty much the entire world," replied Blaine (who is so many good things, despite the horrid olive-green-shirt-and-brown-pants combo he was wearing this week. Why?).

Putting asides aside, I still relate to The Beatles. Always have. Always will. My mom was a 13 when The Beatles happened, the perfect age to get caught up in the hysteria (which she totally did). The band and its music remain a strong presence in her life and, as a result, have been a constant in mine.

Even though I've never met any of the band members, The Beatles still feel like family to me. I guess it makes sense that hearing the band's music, seeing their faces and listening to their stories my entire life would bond them to me, as I'm sure it has for kids of every generation since the band's initial impact.

Monday night a lifetime dream was realized when I finally got to see Paul McCartney perform live, me and my mom two of the few thousands penned in on Hollywood Blvd. for a free concert. He played 15 songs for us, and even though we were two blocks away and couldn't really see anything, I was still overwhelmed and absolutely grateful to be there and to finally hear those songs live.

I tried my best to hold it together, even though I was pretty certain as soon as I learned we'd won passes that I'd wind up crying at some point. I misted up during the soundcheck performance of "Let It Be" (but who wouldn't) but really "Hey Jude" really got me, especially when I saw a woman near me (who'd been sweetly dancing with her husband throughout the show) wipe tears from her eyes.

It was the story behind the song. It's the still-stunning knowledge of how young Paul was when he wrote the song. It was the thousand voices singing the na-na-na-nas together. It was every time I listened to The Beatles when I was happy or sad or sick or reading a book or on a car trip or in a restaurant. It was every time I've watched "Hard Day's Night" and "Help." It was everything.

Here's Monday's set list (jealous?):
"Magical Mystery Tour"
"Save Us"
"Junior's Farm"
"Jet"
"New"
"Lady Madonna"
"Birthday"
"Another Day"
"Everybody Out There"
"Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da"
"Band on the Run"
"Back in the U.S.S.R."
"Day Tripper"
"Let It Be"
"Hey Jude"

Paul's new album "New" is out next month. He's been touring, playing epic, energetic sets, and is showing no signs of slowing down. I'm anticipating local tour dates to be announced at some point and, yes, I'm sure I'll cry at least once during the show and I'm fine with that.

'Could I Interest You in Hours of Fun?'

Last December, I set seeing Morrissey in concert as my lone New Year's Resolution. Sadly, timing and a lack of funds preventing me from seeing Morrissey at either of his LA shows this past March, first at the enormous Staples Center and then at the comparably cozy Hollywood High School auditorium. With his recent talk of retirement and spate of health issues, I figured I'd forever lost my chance to go to a Morrissey concert.

I got a second chance of sorts last night thanks to the concert film "Morrissey 25: Live," which will be released on DVD in October and was shown in theaters for one night only. The film captures the Hollywood High show and I wondered how many of the faithful gathered in the theater with me last night were there back in March, one of the 2,500 lucky fans who snagged tickets during that very brief on-sale window.

I know that going to a Morrissey concert is a special experience full of pomp and ritual. This knowledge both intrigued and intimidated me. Would I stand out when I didn't do that thing at that moment in that song? Would I miss a joke or important moment because I was a first-timer, an observer, and not part of that tribe?

I don't think that Morrissey fans are unfriendly or unwelcoming; I just understand that it can be difficult for an insider to explain the rituals and traditions to an outsider. I also respect the culture their love for the music and the man has created. I went to a Phish concert a few years ago and though the music was great and the fans were so warm, I left early because I didn't belong, I didn't know what to do at the certain moments when everyone else seemed to know exactly what to do, and that's part of experience.

Being one of those people, the super-fan, the nerd, is damn fun. I adore that rush of recognition at a U2 show when Edge plays for milliseconds and I know exactly what's coming next. My friend and I are in a (hopefully) never-ending text conversation populated entirely by lines from our favorite movies and TV shows. I blocked out the weekend as soon as this fall's CommuniCon was announced. I can trace the relationships between the characters in Kevin Smith's Askewniverse and did appreciate that "Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back" felt like it was made just for me, and the other fans out there like me.

My own experiences being one of those people help draw me to other über-fans—I want to play in their sandbox, too. It's so effortless dealing with people who speak your same language, who know the customs and celebrate the same holidays. It makes perfect sense to me that Simon Pegg and Nick Frost built a 20-year-plus friendship on a "Star Wars" reference, that of course they'd know "that's my kind of guy" based on a little only the two of them understood.

Even though I didn't know all the songs and wasn't primed for all the applause lines in Morrissey's show, I did appreciate the excitement, the dedication, the passion his fans are so eager to express. As Abed said on "Community" (and I quoted when I wrote about the first CommuniCon), "I guess I just like liking things," though in the case of Morrissey fans (and the rest of us who are diehards for whatever else) I guess they just love loving things, their man in particular, and I was happy to sit on the sidelines last night and just be an observer.

John Mayer and His Travelling Band at the Verizon Wireless Amphitheatre

During his show on Saturday night in Irvine, John Mayer took several opportunities to thank the audience for showing up, for braving the traffic (which actually wasn't bad), for being patient over the last three years as he regained his voice, for "defending me to your friends over drinks," and for general love and support.

Deserved or not, John Mayer does attract negative attention. He's a punch line. He's a tabloid headline. He talks too much. He dates too much. He's too much.

If it wasn't for the music, maybe I would feel the same way, but for the past 12 years, I have had the music and that's why I'm a fan. "Why Georgia?" got me to buy "Room for Squares," and ever since, I've eagerly counted down to the release of each new album, including "Paradise Valley," coming Aug. 20. All those songs are what got to me to read the interviews, follow his blogs and go to the shows (seven to date).

Saturday's show heavily featured songs from last year's "Born and Raised" and the soon-to-be-released "Paradise Valley," songs with an open, easy, strum-around-the-campfire feel. Older songs "Half of My Heart" and "Who Says" were reworked, sped up, clanging, thumping.

For the first time, I sat through a John Mayer concert, partially in deference to the other people in my section and partially because it just felt right to relax and listen.

I'm going to John Mayer's show at the Hollywood Bowl in October. Maybe I'll dance, maybe I'll sit, maybe the set list will rock harder, maybe it will be mellower. Regardless, I know I'll be happy to be in the room, listening to the words, listening to the music, singing along.

Saturday night's set list:

Queen of California
Paper Doll
I Don't Trust Myself
Fool to Love You
Something Like Olivia
Half of My Heart
Vultures
LA Song (In Your Atmosphere)
Free Fallin'
Wildfire
Goin' Down the Road Feeling Bad
Love Is a Verb
Slow Dancing in a Burning Room
Waiting on the World to Change
If I Ever Get Around to Living
Who Says
They Call Me the Breeze
Born and Raised
Age of Worry
Gravity
Face to Call Home
Let My Love Open the Door

'Let's Be Outspoken, Let's Be Ridiculous, Let's Solve the World's Problems'

I've been waiting months to see "Before Midnight," so excited that Julie Delpy, Ethan Hawke and Richard Linklater were ready to share another chapter in the now-decades-long story of Jesse and Celine. The movie went into wide release today and I went this afternoon, and walked out.

I haven't walked out of many movies, I've actually sat through some really terrible movies, but a few minutes into the epic third-act hotel fight scene, I couldn't stand it anymore and left the theater. I understand that "Before Midnight," and the two movies that preceded it, are about two people talking every aspect of life and relationships nearly to death, but I didn't care enough about these two people, their fights and their circumstances to stick around.

I'm a member of Generation X, we're navel-gazers, we over-analyze and over-share. It started in the confessionals on the first seasons of "The Real World" and has found its way into social media, our need to tell everyone who we are, how we feel, what we're thinking about. That compulsion has lead to some great art and important revelations, but today, in that movie theater, it was just annoying. As the small child told his warring parents in the commercial for Dr. Marvin Monroe's therapy practice on "The Simpsons," "Why don't you both shut up?!"

Jesse and Celine are awful people, or at least at a point in their lives where they're acting awfully. I couldn't pick a side; I had no one to root for because they were both so selfish and ridiculous. Even when they're not fighting, they're constantly picking at each other. Why should I care if their relationship falls apart when I don't even understand why they're in a relationship in the first place?

The hook of these three movies is that the audience wants to know what happens to Jesse and Celine. Did they meet six months later? Did they spend the night together? I wanted to know the answers to those questions, but I've lost interest in the answers to any new questions posed by "Before Midnight."

Well Worth the Wait

I've been making my way through some TV-on-DVD sets this past week—"Daria," "Undeclared" and, currently, "Parker Lewis Can't Lose." The kind of marathon viewing DVDs make possible sparks nostalgia, taking me back to who I was and what the world was when I first watched these shows (The house shirts! The combat boots! The answering machines!).

Going through episode after episode, I also started missing the old way we watched TV, having to wait a week or longer between episodes, the tension building over how cliffhangers would be resolved, our relationships with characters deepening as we spent months or years with them. Now being able to watch an entire season in one day, that payoff is gone.

Because I watched these three series (and the others I own on DVD), live on TV the first time around, I remember the waiting, the wondering, so major plot developments, like Lizzie and Steven getting together on "Undeclared," are less jarring because I remember it taking a few weeks to build as opposed to just a few minutes.

With Netflix releasing every episode of the new season of "Arrested Development" in one chunk for fans to devour in one sitting or savor over the course of several days, as opposed to being parsed out over several weeks or months in a traditional TV schedule, I wonder if our viewing experience is being diminished. I do enjoy marathon viewing of shows I've already seen but am not sure if I could develop the same intense appreciation for a show I've only seen on DVD as I have for the shows like "Daria," "Gilmore Girls" and "Parks & Recreation" because I invested months of viewing in each.

I used to get so impatient waiting through a six-week hiatus for my favorite shows, anxious to know how the conflicts would resolve. Even when having to wade through the frustrations of pre-empting and schedule swaps, the payoff of a brand-new episode usually made it worth the while. If the waiting is erased and time invested lessened, will our relationships with our favorite shows and characters weaken? Will we even have favorite shows anymore? Or will all shows, episodes, characters, plots and settings be mashed together as more bits of the endless stream of content flowing at us?