I Counted Crows And Goo-Filled Dolls

So I went to a concert Saturday night, one that involved the stage antics and musical projection of the Goo Goo Dolls and, more importantly, the Counting Crows. I have seen both of these bands live before, however both shows were (coincidently?) ten years ago. It seems only fitting that my friend shall be blessed upon with the receiving end of six free tickets and that he forgo, nay damn to hell, the comments I have stated about his mom and the sexual escapades of which she has been involved in with men of such low caliber (myself included), and to allow me entrance into the outwardly projection and personal presence of their music. Which was an awfully nice thing for him to do, as I had nothing to do that night until it was my turn to have my way with the earthly spawn of whose vagina this friend had emerged from, and I had a few hours to kill.

The Goo Goo Dolls were as expected, and I guess if that is all one achieves then they have at least avoided failure by default. The Goo Goo Dolls are like that polite friend at a party. He never gets out of control, always says hello but never holds conversation, and basically is forgotten until he breaks something or drowns in your pool after overdosing on barbiturates. They put on a good, but bland live show. The Counting Crows have always been a good live band, and their music generally seems more fun to listen to, especially live. However, it should be notated and remembered, lest ye be damned to forget, that when one plays a song live of original origin consisting of 4 minutes, one should not attempt to go all “Grateful Dead  on our asses” and turn that 4 minute tune into a 15 minute epileptic seizure with background music. This is a big no-no. Hell, it was bad when the Grateful Dead did it, and they were the only ones who could do it.

The experience however was quite enjoyable, as I believe whole heartedly that Mother Nature created summer for the nights alone, and the festivities one might engage in during said nights. A warm summer evening at an outside amphitheatre is a far superior day than attending a movie in an expensive theatre with even more expensive popcorn. I would explain in detail the differences of these two escapades, but such things are not for my brain to ponder. Trust me; if there is one thing to do this summer, it is to go see a live show. Well, that and fuck Stacy’s mom of course, but that’s a given.

-B
Stacy’s mom, has got it goin’ on