Thinking about Peter Gabriel. I know: ick.
So Peter Gabriel. I saw that douche once. I used to sort of like him, in a non-commital sort of way. The album with Shock the Monkey is pretty good, and Salisbury Hill is a decent enough song. It's just all so... earnest.
Anyway, I was thinking about Peter Gabriel today. His big trademark showstopper was walking to the edge of the stage, striking a Christ-like pose, then falling back into the audience and letting himself be passed around for a bit on the tops of everyone. Sort of like a Ouija board in negative.
So, I was thinking about this, wondering if he ever felt fear or whatever, then it struck me: of course not, because this was at a fucking PETER GABRIEL concert. People probably pressed mugs of camomile tea into Gabriel's mitts as they gentle beared him like a wounded and disadvantaged baby lamb Try that crap at a ZZ Top concert and you're going home with a custom tracheotomy.
Which brings up another point: you can take your Agnostic Front gigs, your big scary Hatebreed concert, your Fifty Cent show, but for scariest, most likely to be killed show, my money is on a ZZ Top or Molly Hatchet show at some god forsaken county fairground or Indian casino in the middle of July. The ONLY time I felt threatened at a gig was at a GEORGE THOROUGHGOOD show at the Concord Pavilion in the mid eighties. The folks attending that show are the ones buying carbon alloy Bowie knives from the home shopping network at four in the morning, gakked up on glue fumes and antifreeze. My friends and I were dancing, and you could see the hill behind us lit up with wolf-eyes, these forklift operators JONESING to try out their commemorative Iwo Jima brass knuckles on our pink subraban skulls.
Anyway, I was thinking about Peter Gabriel today. His big trademark showstopper was walking to the edge of the stage, striking a Christ-like pose, then falling back into the audience and letting himself be passed around for a bit on the tops of everyone. Sort of like a Ouija board in negative.
So, I was thinking about this, wondering if he ever felt fear or whatever, then it struck me: of course not, because this was at a fucking PETER GABRIEL concert. People probably pressed mugs of camomile tea into Gabriel's mitts as they gentle beared him like a wounded and disadvantaged baby lamb Try that crap at a ZZ Top concert and you're going home with a custom tracheotomy.
Which brings up another point: you can take your Agnostic Front gigs, your big scary Hatebreed concert, your Fifty Cent show, but for scariest, most likely to be killed show, my money is on a ZZ Top or Molly Hatchet show at some god forsaken county fairground or Indian casino in the middle of July. The ONLY time I felt threatened at a gig was at a GEORGE THOROUGHGOOD show at the Concord Pavilion in the mid eighties. The folks attending that show are the ones buying carbon alloy Bowie knives from the home shopping network at four in the morning, gakked up on glue fumes and antifreeze. My friends and I were dancing, and you could see the hill behind us lit up with wolf-eyes, these forklift operators JONESING to try out their commemorative Iwo Jima brass knuckles on our pink subraban skulls.
Labels: Thinking about crap
posted by Greg Mills at 6:00 PM
5 Comments:
Oh, I don't know. I always kinda liked Peter Gabriel. Not sure why, but it's a long-term childhood thing. Does this destroy any residual musical coolness I may unwittingly have possessed?
Kim, I was right there with John Cusack outside Ione Skye's window. I'm down with Gabriel, though I don't go down ALL THE WAY with him.
The Greg Mills tent is a big tent.
when i was little, i went to his concert and asked for his towel (with his sweat on it) and he refused. Instead he signed the back of my hand thus incapacitating me for a week.
That's pretty great he did that for you. He was about as big as you could get in the eighties and nineties.
I once was given a plastic lobster by the bassist of the Jazz Butcher, and Johnathan Richman bought my college roommate a burrito.
And Paula's friend had sex with Bernie Summers from New Order.
I saw Peter Gabriel, Joan Baez and Tracy Chapman in one sitting at an Amnesty International Show in the 80's.
How pussified was I?
One of my scariest shows (other than Social Distortion on Acid) also took place at the Concord Pavillion-- Motley Crue, without Tommy Lee. I got free tickets.
Pregnant women slugging Jack Daniels out of the bottle. REAL classy bunch.
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