Pearl Jam Was Right!

I'm not even taking part in these on-sales but I'm still feeling the tension and exasperation that I've come to associate with any on-sale. Log in at 9:55 for a 10am on-sale, refresh, refresh, refresh, the page finally loads, scan for tickets, nothing available, search again, nothing available, something pops up, take it, whatever it is, the tickets disappear out of the cart, start over, credit card not accepted, password not accepted, event sold out. The clock reads 10:05.

It's starting to feel like those were the good-old days. New aggravations have been added in to make the experience even more terrible. Are you verified? Will the website accept your verified code? Will any tickets show up? Will you be immediately redirected to resale tickets marked 10 times or more above face value? And don't forget the fees.

How I dearly wish Pearl Jam had succeeded in its attempted takedown of Ticketmaster more than 20 years ago. If more bands had joined in, maybe things would be different today, but TM prevailed, grew and grew and grew, merged with an organization that operates venues and sells tickets and sells merchandise, and entered the resale market. It's their world and concertgoers are just living in it.

This isn't news to anyone who's ever bought a ticket. Even when we were waking up before dawn to line up for ticket sales, there were flaws in the system. More than 20 people in line? Time to pull out the random wristbands. Oh, and there's a wristband fee! If the store didn't open precisely at 10, computers logged into the TM system, no one at your location would get a single ticket.

Now we're fighting it out from our desks and phones. We have multiple devices and screens open, friends on standby, fingers crossed that we'll be one of the lucky ones to make it from event page to ticket request to payment page to confirmation. We also have the TM-supported resale tickets to contend with.

I'm 100-percent in favor of fans who can't use their tickets being able to sell their tickets to other fans at face value. I've been on both sides of this transaction — happy to attend an event thanks to access to a spare ticket and happy to pass my ticket along to someone else when I couldn't use it. I'm not in favor of scalpers taking advantage of fan club, radio station, credit card and other presales to scoop up tickets that they immediately release back into the TM system at huge markups. TM charges fees on both the original sale and resale, so of course doesn't care that fans are being shut out or taken advantage of. Artists get their cut, too.

This is all business, I realize it. TM's main concern is its bottom line, and customers and all other concerns rank much, much lower. Over my three decades of concert-going, though, I have contributed to that bottom line. I know if I step back, if I refuse to go to big shows, if I don't join the fan club, if I won't jump through the hoops to get "verified," if I promise to never buy an overly inflated resale ticket, that there are thousands of others ready to fill the tiny void I leave behind.

Maybe this is what Pearl Jam faced back in the '90s, five guys yelling themselves hoarse as everyone around them shrugged their shoulders because dealing with these frustrations is just the cost of being a touring artist, the cost of being a fan. It shouldn't be, though, I shouldn't have to go broke and go gray just because I want to attend a concert. I shouldn't feel like this whole thing is a giant rip off. It is, though. So, what can be done about it?

How Can You Say …

Four years ago, I wrote about a resolution I’d set to see Morrissey in concert. Illness, poor timing and all other manner of roadblocks prevented me from achieving this goal. As of this past Friday night, I can at last say that I’ve seen Morrissey live.

He was incredible.

The crowd was not.

I’ve tread this ground before. Four years ago, my fellow concertgoers drove me to write a simple plea in this blog —Shut Up!

In the few years since, it’s gotten so much worse. I lament this change for many reasons. The most personal is, as a fiercely proud Southern Californian, I take offense to our reputation for being terrible audiences. We always arrive late and leave early. We talk through shows. We have mild, underwhelmed reactions to even the most outlandish spectacles.

For years, I refused to believe it. That wasn’t me, that wasn’t my friends. I’d been in packed, ecstatic, sweltering rooms where music unified, electrified and uplifted. I’d looked up enraptured to the star-strewn heavens as thousands of voices reacted in a joyful call and response. I’d been in balconies that shifted and swayed under the weight of dancing, bounding bodies.

But I’d also been in rooms with crashing beer bottles, blinding cell phone screens and incessant conversations. I’d been in rooms with people who, for the life of me, I couldn’t fathom how or why they were there. I’d longed to tell them how much cheaper it is to go to a bar, a restaurant, or even stay home to drink themselves belligerent, to carry on deep conversations, to go on Facebook. I guess they figure they paid good money for these seats, so they can do whatever the hell they want in them.

I know I feel that way. I think my purchase of that ticket, and the space that accompanies it, entitles me to stand all night (even if the people behind me choose to sit), to dance all night (even if I bump into the people around me), sing all night (even if the people around me would rather I didn’t), scream all night (even if the people around me would rather I didn’t). I also think my ticket entitles me to a night to remember, a night reconnecting with friends and family and heroes and myself, a night to breathe life into old songs, a night to fall in love with new songs, a night to reinforce all the good in my life and banish all the bad.

So maybe we’re all selfish jerks. So maybe going to a concert is as much about celebrating the artist and their music as it is about finding a way to tolerate your fellow fan. So maybe it’s about learning how to compartmentalize, figuring out how to focus on the show and ignore the turmoil right beside you. So maybe it’s about weighing out what matters more, being at the show or being in an ideal environment.

I haven’t reached that level of Zen yet. I can’t not be bothered by the heavy clouds of smoke radiating all around me, the groups pressing their way across the aisles three songs into the main set because they had no idea there’d be traffic, the overflowing cups of beer sloshed over my shoes and everything else, the patrons spending the entire night on their phones, the friends who haven’t seen each other in 20 years having to catch one another up on every single moment that’s passed as the band plays on, the blowhards who have to let everyone know how displeased they are with the set list, the people who need to rush out 45 minutes early because they didn’t realize shows last until at least 11.

At Morrissey on Friday night, I had all of that in my small section of the Hollywood Bowl. I wanted a magic wand that would banish all the loud mouths and trouble makers, and pull me closer to the stage (and add my favorite song to the set list). But I also had Morrissey, his humor, his style, his passion, his language and, greatest of all, his voice, his gorgeous, resonant, radiant voice warming all of us on that autumn night. Bless him for it.

'You Never Know How It's All Gonna Turn Out, That's OK'

We live in a Gilmore Girls world, one where we don't have to rely on cable-TV marathons, the stacks of DVD sets in our cupboards or a Netflix binge session to get our fill of Lorelei and Rory's quips and adventures. Thanks to Netflix, Amy Sherman-Palladino and Daniel Palladino, and Warner Bros. Television (plus the millions of eyeballs that have eagerly devoured season after season of the original show for the past decade), we have four new episodes of the beloved show to enjoy.

I've only made it through one complete viewing but know I have so many more in my future. There are jokes to memorize, Easter eggs to discover, tears to re-shed. One thing I won't be doing, though, is railing against the show and its creators for ruining whatever feelings I had toward the Gilmores, their loved ones and friends with these new episodes.

I promise not to spoil anything for anyone who hasn’t caught up yet, so will stick to what's already been shared in trailers and decried in a multitude of other essays—Rory's life isn't perfect when we catch back up with her. While there are some who are disappointed, let down or infuriated by this (and you can easily find their pieces all across the internet), I actually appreciated that Rory's life at 32 isn't beautifully sorted, that she's having a hard time coming to grips with who and what she's supposed to be.

When this revival was announced, I thought about where Rory would be nine years after we last saw her. She'd gotten a job covering the first Obama presidential campaign for a news website. Would that lead to a job in the press corps after his election? From there, would she get a job at the New York Times? CNN? NPR?

I think there are some Gilmore fans who were expecting to find Rory on the staff of a globally esteemed new organization. After all, she was the Chilton valedictorian, editor of the Yale Daily News, idolized Christiane Amanpour, read 339 books over the course of the original show's run, and, most importantly, was Rory Gilmore, so of course she would be on the fast track to somewhere grand.

Except, that’s now how it works anymore. It probably never worked that way. Being the top student at Stars Hollow High didn't guarantee Rory the top spot at Chilton. Being the student editor at Yale didn't guarantee her the fellowship she wanted. Websites fold, media organizations get bought out, writers get laid off. Good staff jobs are hard to find and even harder to keep. As someone who's worked in publishing for nearly two decades, I know.

While watching these new episodes, I thought about what it is that's made Gilmore Girls stick with me so strongly for so long. The show is quirky and magical. The dialog is fantastic and made to be quoted. What stood out the most, though, was the show's honesty. It let its main characters be unlikable and make terrible decisions, and then deal with the consequences. It also dealt with the difference between who you were supposed to be and who you actually are.

Lorelei was supposed to be a debutante, an Ivy League grad, Mrs. Christopher Hayden. That she wasn't, that she took a left turn, that she made a completely unexpected life for herself made her story so much more interesting. Paris doesn't get into Harvard. Lane doesn't marry a Seventh Day Adventist doctor or become a rock star. Christopher and Logan don't grow up.

In the updated version of "Where You Lead" Carole King and daughter Louise Goffin recorded for the show's theme, the pair sing, "You never know how it's all gonna turn out, that's OK/Just as long as we're together, we can find a way." Buoyed by our past experiences, guided by our trusted advisors, and supported by our loved ones, we do find a way when life doesn't turn out the way we'd hoped or planned. Though they could have made her meet or exceed our highest expectations, I appreciate that the Palladinos have Rory walking the same rough road as the rest of us.

Look How All the Kids Have Grown

It’s been ages since I last posted here, but if you’ve read any of my stories in the past, you know that I’m passionate about the arts and pop culture. In a college dance class, our instructor talked about the importance of non-dancers taking dance classes and developing an appreciation for the arts because we’re the ones who are going to support the arts, we’re the ones who are going to buy the tickets and donate to the companies and keep the whole thing going. That really impacted me.

I’m not a singer, can’t play an instrument and will not be center stage any time soon. Realizing those limitations, yet still fully embracing my love of the performing and visual arts, I’ve dedicated myself to passionately supporting the performers and performances that have touched and shaped my life. Even though I don’t completely buy in to the High Fidelity theory that what you like is more important than what you’re like, I do believe that what you like does contribute to who you are as a person.

Who I am is a person who will cry at live performances, joyfully overwhelmed by the music, the story, the sets, the everything, and what it all means to me. This is exactly what happened Saturday night when I took my nine-year-old niece to see Gwen Stefani, my feelings for my girl and my girl all intermingling and reducing me to an overly sentimental mess.

Gwen and No Doubt hit at the perfect time in my life. I was a college freshman in Orange County, hearing whispers about this local band that just might make good. The band did, more so than anyone could have imagined, and my generation had another girl to emulate and admire (and that was such an incredible time for admiration-worthy females). Though I could never pull off her crop tops and bleached locks, I was drawn to Gwen for her energy and sincerity. She gave us her all on CD and on stage, and I ate it up (and still do).

With No Doubt and as a solo artist, Gwen has used her music to work through her life’s challenges and triumphs—falling in love, getting her heart broken, growing older, finding success, fearing failure. Not that it’s all so serious, like all of my favorite artists, Gwen has managed to mix the light and the dark, the fluffy and the stark. She’s given us “Rich Girl” and “Don’t Speak,” “Simple Kind of Life” and “Hollaback Girl,” and I’m forever grateful.

The No Doubt and solo songs have been steady companions for over 20 years, making the fun times more joyous, making the hard times sting a little less, making me feel tougher when I’ve needed it most. “Settle Down” got me pumped for interviews when I was out of work. “Simple Kind of Life” helped that tenuous late 20s/early 30s time feel a little more normal.

This music has seen me through my twenties and thirties, job loss, boy loss, quarter-life crisis and so much more. It’s also been a bonding for my brother and I. He was there before I was. He nudged me harder toward No Doubt as the music was swirling all around. He took me to my first No Doubt concert and we’ve gone again and again and again. As a father, he’s made sure his kids have full access to his music library and is proudly raising kids with excellent taste and (unlike us) actual musical ability.

Taking all of this into account, how could I not tear up Saturday night when the first notes of “Underneath It All” began and my niece turned to me, her bright eyes shining with recognition, her smile joyously overtaking her face, the two of us springing from our seats so we could sing and dance along, both of us knowing the words by heart? Getting to be at The Forum (a room with so many great stories) with a girl who takes up so much of my heart, getting to share this music that’s been a presence in more than half of my life, getting to see her develop her own relationship with Gwen, knowing that I can do it again and again and again, as Gwen sang, “I’m really lucky, underneath it all.”

Two Nights at The Forum With U2

I longed to be a music journalist, dedicating my life to covering every aspect of the pop world—from in-depth interviews to thoughtful reviews. I came close-ish but now turn to this blog to dip my toe in that dream world while making my actual living covering things other than music.

I didn't end up at Rolling Stone or MTV. I'm not ghostwriting the memoir of the guitarist from a '90s band. I'll never be nominated for a Grammy for liner notes. I won't be on the voting committee for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. So many missed opportunities.

There are times, though, when I'm grateful I didn't make it down that path, like this weekend when I was loving every second of U2 at The Forum. I could be a fan, not a critic. I could be goofy and hyper and dance badly and sing even worse. No note-taking, no early morning deadline, just pure bliss.

I write this as a fan. I write this as someone who just attended her 15th and 16th U2 shows. I write this as a person who was more than a little judgmental of the people who sat down when "The Wanderer" started playing (it's Johnny Cash, people, show some respect). It's pretty freeing.

The two Innocence + Experience shows I attended this past weekend were amazing. Totally, completely, utterly amazing. I'd put on my blinders in anticipation of these shows, avoiding interviews as well as friends' write-ups and photos. I wanted to walk in totally fresh, ready to be surprised and stunned.

I was.

U2, thanks to the help of its incredibly talented creative team, has earned a reputation for inventive, envelope-pushing live shows. This tour's innovations are ceiling-suspended speakers that deliver warm, clear, rumbling sound throughout the arena, and two video screens that surround an elevated catwalk, allowing the band to perform within the projected animations and videos.

I knew none of this going in so when a ladder dropped down from the screens and Bono climbed inside, only to be seen a few minutes later walking across an animated version of the street he grew up on, disappearing and reappearing in time with various musical cues, I was wide-eyed and thrilled.

It wasn't just the spectacle that made the show, none of that would have mattered if the music didn't deliver. It so did. The band opened with "The Miracle (of Joey Ramone)," then took us back to "Boy" and spent some time on "Songs of Innocence." The evenings were then filled with a mix of old and new, the sentimental and the anthemic, radio hits and fan favorites.

"Song for Someone" and "Every Breaking Wave" have become new loves. The double-header of "Angel of Harlem" and "When Love Comes to Town" on Sunday had me screaming at the top of my lungs (I'm sure I ruined many a phone-captured video). "Stuck in a Moment" always chokes me up.

Beautiful.

Thanks to my seats on the side of the stage, I had a great view of everything both nights. The guys looked so healthy, and played and sounded as good as they looked. Bono talked about the audience filling the hole left by his mother's death and lifting him, and the band, up. With all that's gone on in the U2 universe these past few months, I think we're happy to be there for the band considering how reliably the band has been there for us.

This weekend wasn’t only about the shows for me, it was also about spending time with people I adore. Thanks to this band, I've had incredible adventures, I briefly had the title "contributing editor," I worked with a group of people who are making a positive change in the world because of Bono's example (visit africanwellfund.org for more on this fantastic organization), and I've made great friends. This weekend was reunions and trips down memory lane and hug after hug after hug.

If I was working for The Times this weekend, I wouldn’t have had any of that. I would have had notes to take, a deadline to make. Instead, I have this. I have a camera teaming with pictures. I have a scratchy throat. I have songs stuck in my head. I have more memories to recount at the next gathering. I have another tour to look forward to.

First in Friendship, Fourth in Obesity

I recently asked my Facebook friends to suggest romantic movies that would be great Valentine's Day counter-programming to "Fifty Shades of Grey." They made some fantastic suggestions, from classic to recent, definitive to off-the-wall, but my suggestion to anyone looking for a love story, or several, to delve into is just tune in to "Parks and Recreation."

Tonight, this amazing show is airing its final episode, an hour-long farewell that hits the airwaves at 10. I could write about my sadness at the show ending, or the injustice of its 13-episode final season being burned off in a month-and-a-half (#tankit), or the ridiculousness of a show that aired Thursdays at 8:30 and 9:30 getting its farewell Tuesday at 10. I could mention how I'll likely never watch NBC again with this show following "Community" out the door and nothing comparable walking in. Instead, I'll just write one more time about how much I love this show.

"Parks and Rec" is one of the rare shows that I've watched from the beginning and stuck with. I've done that because, season after the season, the show has gotten better, funnier, sweeter, stranger. Pawnee has become a real universe with recognizable landmarks and residents. The main characters have grown multidimensional. I watch the show because I care about these people and their town, because I want to know what will happen next, because of the writing and the acting and the sets, for the in-jokes and the political commentary. I watch because it's great.

I also watch because I'm a softy, because I rooted for Ben and Leslie to get together, because this is the show that had a wedding with the vows, "I love you and I like you." I watch for Jerry/Larry/Garry and Gayle, for Donna and Joe, Tom and Lucy, Ron and Diane, April and Andy, Ann and Chris, Ann and Leslie, Ann and April, Ben and Jerry/Larry/Garry, Leslie and Pawnee.

This show had heart. It was sweet and goofy, but still landed punches. It made fun of government while showing what people could accomplish working together. It believed in small dreams and lofty ambitions. It showed how you can come back from crushing defeat.

I'm going to miss all of that. I'm going to miss having a show I look forward to every week, a show I watch live and hate to miss. Must-see shows are few and far between these days.

I'm going to miss the camaraderie of the cast and crew, of seeing the people who make this show in press, on panels and at junkets, their genuine respect, admiration and affection shining through.

Thank you to every single person who made "Parks and Rec" a reality, who brought Pawnee and its citizens to life. Thank you for creating this strange and lovely universe. Thank you.

Living in an Extraordinary World

Gwen Stefani rocked the crowd at The Orpheum last night. Of course she did because that's what Gwen does, she gets people on their feet, singing and clapping and dancing, jumping, screaming and swaying. She calls and we respond. She says move and we do. She asks for more and we give it because we know we're getting so much more in return.

It's been 20 years since I first learned about Gwen and No Doubt as a college student in Orange County. Everyone talked about the band, just months away from breaking huge, so personally. I still feel like anyone in the (714) is less than six degrees from a member of No Doubt.

I've since developed a relationship with the band and its music, speeding along the 57 anytime "Just a Girl" came on the radio, getting over some boy or other to "Ex-Girlfriend," finding comfort in "A Simple Kind of Life," being pushed forward by "Settle Down." The music—fun, fantastic, rollicking pop that it is—is personal so it makes a lasting connection.

Even though her solo work is fluffier, dancier, lighter than her music with No Doubt, much of it sticks, too. Who hasn't tried to maintain a friendship with an ex? Who hasn't been afraid to take a career risk? Who isn't driven craziest by the person they love the most?

I went last night to sing and dance and yell and jump and check out the costume changes and people-watch. I went last night because, 20 years in, I'm still fascinated and inspired by Gwen Stefani. I went last night because, a generation later, my niece and nephew are Gwen fans, too.

Sharing that with them excites me. Singing "Spiderwebs" with my niece in the car, buying my nephew Adrian Young drumsticks for his fifth birthday, decking out all the kids in Harajuku Mini for the holidays, these are just a few of my joys in being an aunt.

Even though I don't agree with everything she says, even though I understand the criticism levied against her turn on "The Voice," I'm happy for the kids to know Gwen because there's so much to admire about her, like determination, loyalty, creativity, confidence. I'm happy for the kids to see that being the only woman in the room is an opportunity to shine, not to hang back. I'm happy for the kids to have great taste in music.