Even though I’m much too an Elitist to admire anything about Bon Jovi other than his teeth, I thought I’d get something positive from attending his show at Soldier Field.
Soldier Field –in all its ugly concrete shielding– sits on the Chicago water front; entering its bowels did nothing to improve our relationship. I ended up wandering the shadows of a big stadium – an act which holds its own sad sense of nostalgia.
I didn’t enjoy sitting with folks from Rockford who don’t mind telling you that if they had their d’ruthers, Soldier Field would sit in a corn field. We share this dream for different reasons. They don’t like Chicago, big city jungle (any politically incorrect implications intended); and I don’t like these simple-minded beer droolers invading my town.
Kid Rock pointed out that his band was playing live and not using any “tapes” as he put it. He said this while one of his music videos was playing on two big digital screens and his band was drilling the “Sweet Home Alabama” riff into the ground. Later he demonstrated his drumming ability by banging on some drums for about thirty seconds of “Cat Scratch Fever.” He then picked up a guitar and played about ten seconds of “La Grange.” I felt like I was in some dude from Rockford’s bedroom while he showed off his lack of talent on all the things his dad bought him at Guitar Center. He did shut up for a minute and his band did a pretty good rendition of “Everyday People.” All in all it would have been a pretty shitty cover band down at the beach a couple of yards away. Or as it turns out, music to please dumb as dirt hillbillies from Rockford. Although nobody seemed all that pleased with Kid Rock. Not even the teenagers dragged to the show by their parents. Every teenager I saw looked bored as a turd from minute one until they were finally allowed to leave.
No matter, this crowd didn’t like surprises and they weren’t about to get any. Bon Jovi came on and made sure of that.
I was able to stand it for about forty minutes. But then he went on another 80 minutes. I had already left my seat to avoid Rockford beer down my back and because I really. Really. Could not be there any longer.
Out in the shadows, a country girl come straddle up next to me. Wanting to know on how come I don’t dance. I told her that I couldn’t dance to “Have a Nice Day.” She told me it’s all about the lyrics and everything they said was true. She still could not believe I couldn’t dance to anything by Bon Jovi. Maybe I couldn’t dance at all. I told her I could’ve danced to “Everyday People.” She left soon after.
The big hair is gone but them country folks got some fat asses. Filled with food stuffs just like they fill their ears with music stuff. Not real food and not real music. And not real people either I don’t reckon. Thems too fat now to be real, full of bad stuff. Make me vomit.
Damn you Bon Jovi and your magic, revealing the ugly truth that lies beyond my city. The great masses of dumb as dirt turdy mouthes and their awful tastes. Take it back to Jersey and take Soldier Field with you. Leave us kind city folk alone to our jazzy jazz jazz and our funky funk funk.
Elitist red meat! I love it! Fuck Bon Jovi!
Was Triumph the Insulting Comic Dog there? I hear he and JBJ are tight. I pretty much loathe Bon Jovi, but to be perfectly honest — I probably would have loved seeing that show if for the spectacle alone. Kid Rock, however, can suck it.
I don’t know Mercygiver, it just got worse. Par example, Kid Rock joined Bon Jovi on stage for an unrousing rendition of Bob Seeger’s “Olde Tymey Rok ‘n Rol.”
Considering all that goes on in this town for a hundred bucks in the Summer, it is depressing to me that this show (the tickets went on sale in friggin November) sold out.
Mainstream entertainment delivers as a balm on the rash of contemporary fears that the lights might suddenly and ultimately go out for good. It’s no surprise people like totally disposable garbage like Kid Jovi’s Segar cover. It makes the emptiness seem so . . . fulfilling. Were the pendulum to swing towards common sense, guys like Will I Am would be strung up on the nearest bridge and then an official decree would be ordered to erase any trace of his existence from all human record. Question is — would it be enough? I say, “It’s a start.”