Wednesday, November 15, 2006

The Biggest Rock Band vs The Biggest Stadium

If U2 are the biggest band on the planet, does it immediately follow that the best way to see them perform is in the planet's biggest stadia? Or is the plural of stadium, stadiums?

These were just two of the big topics being discussed all around Sydney recently as U2 performed in front of over 150,000 fans at approximately $120 each. The other big topic is what happens to the $18 million?

I am a complete stranger to stadium rock. The exception is a couple of Big Day Outs 10 years and a continent apart from each other. In 1995 I was fortunate to get a glimpse of Silverchair as the organisers, showing great foresight but poor planning, booked Silverchiar on the smallest stage at Subiaco Oval in Perth. Fans hung off trees, goal posts (no mean feat in Aussie Rules only Perth) and rooftops to watch them, while members of Green Day tried to convince a fan to jump off the speakers. In 2004 at Sydney's Showgrounds, PJ Harvey was dwarfed by the stage while the Foo Fighters, Jayne's Addiction and the Stone Temple Pilots revelled in it and The Vines wasted it and their music.

In those young and carefree days I'd willingly stand up for hours on end in order to get a few metres closer to the mosh pit. Being the nerd I was I even accidentally ended up in it once but a ripped shirt and swollen eye (both accidental) convinced me that, like advanced levels of hand-eye coordination, it just wasn't me.

So it was with some foreboding that I ventured to the Acer Arena (formerly Sydney Superdome) and the Telstra Stadium (formerly the Olympic Stadium) to watch Pearl Jam and U2 respectively. I could probably write an entire article about the days when the names of mass viewing venues described what they were for (like Sydney Cricket Ground, The Entertainment Centre or The Melbourne Vomitorium), but that just puts me even further into the grumpy not quite old man category so I won't go there.

Now don't get me wrong when you read the next few paragraphs. U2 are excellent musicians. They have revolutionised how music is written, watched and listened to. They have demonstrated outstanding longevity, social responsibility and foresight. But I prefer Pearl Jam. Sure they're rougher, less consistent, drink and smoke on stage and are musically limited. Sure they rode in on Nirvana's coattails and are riding the retro boom to even more fortune. But I just like the music more (and the fact they drink and smoke on stage). And I wasn't all that impressed by the stadium rock experience at the stadium, an entire evening of watching the screens from hundreds of metres away, an impressive (don't get me wrong) audio visual experience that I could have watched at home through my stereo and on my large-screen TV for $135 (minus the cost of the DVD) less.

And while the Acer Arena proved to be a better venue to watch a rock band than the Stadium, in future I might stick to nothing bigger than the Hordern Pavilion where security guards don't stop me from pushing to the front or taking my own bottle of water or chewing gum into the venue (as happened at the Arena).

And while I'm ranting and showing my age, when did kids at rock concerts start going all Hillsong during the slow songs (two hands raised to the heavens, head slightly back and eyes closed)? And you can tell smoking is out of favour when, as well as the Hillsonging, no-one puts their cigarette lighter in the air to sway to the music but their mobile phone (though I will give U2 some credit here by taking advantage of this by encouraging some impressive audience participation even if it was just a plug to contribute by SMS to Bono's Make Poverty History Campaign).

Anyway, I must stop now. My rheumatoid arthritis is playing up and the wrists and back hurt from all the typing, I can't see the screen through the bifocals and I need to put my teeth in a glass of water.

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Sunday, November 12, 2006

I Have A Dream That's Out Of This World

Martin Luther King Jr had a dream, though if you read his speech you'll see he actually had about six. I have a dream too. No, really.

Last year, Richard Branson announced the first ever plans to launch space passenger flights. For only about $200,000, passengers get a week of training, 1 1/2 hours up, 3 minutes of weightlessness (or throwing-up time as it may be for many people) and 1 1/2 hours down. And I'm there.

Well OK, maybe I'm not there straight away. For a start I need the money, and right now there is the small matter of the mortgage. But in 13 years, or on my 50th birthday, the mortgage should be paid off, the will updated, the life insurance renewed and the superannuation contributions maxed. And 200 grand won't be worth nearly as much then - hopefully.

I've always wanted to be an astronaut. But being:
a) a lazy bastard;
b) not American;
c) physically adverse to hard training;
d) not in possession of a physics or aeronautics degree; and
e) not wanted to join the air force (the small matter of killing people for a living)
it wasn't going to happen. Until Mr Branson came to my rescue.

I had dreamed of hitting golf balls on the moon (alas I hate golf, kicking a rugby ball would be more to my liking but with no atmosphere the ball would expode or implode or something that someone with a physics degree would know. In any case I'm a shit kicker). So now Virgin spaceflights offer me the opportunity to finally kill myself in a suitably reckless manner. Unfortunately, my suspicion is that I'll be beaten to the punch, so to speak. One mid-air explosion, failed engine or screams in space that no one will hear, and the whole operation could go belly up.

Which is a shame. Risk is a central component of my character. It's why I eat at Asian street stalls and drink the water, support the Waratahs, and got married. People like myself who live on life's edge need an outlet for our personalities. If not, we'd be like that rugby ball on the moon and just explode. Or is it implode? Whatever.

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