Punks Not Dead (But I'm Getting Better...)

I was more than certain I'd have no voice whatsoever this morning after spending 9 straight hours last night screaming at the top of my lungs GIT YER FALL OUT BOY CDS FOR $15! GIT YER CD AND WRISTBAND AND MEET FALL OUT BOOOOY! but then substitute Natasha Bedingfield, Kaci Brown, Tyler Hilton, Lifehouse, or Gavin Degraw throughout periods of the night and you get a sense of walking a mile in my Mephistos -- though honestly out of every act appearing at the Winter Meltdown last night the only one the kids were truly interested in were Fall Out Boy, so basically my tramping up and down the line outside the door before opening in the face-numbing frozen night air with a box full of Natasha Bedingfield CDs and wristbands were met with blank, bovine-like stares until I cracked open the Fall Out Boy CDs and then the melee of squees commenced. Smelled like teen spirit from then on out.

The actual line for the Fall Out Boy autographs was a rather ugly scene of pissed off teenyboppers and spaniel-eyed emo boys, and the final abrupt cutting off of the line from the band after the autograph session had about the same air of organization as the last helicopter out of Saigon (but a lot funnier) but after all that foolishness was over the rest of the evening was relatively smooth sailing and I could wander the halls of the brand spankin' new ODU Convocation Center and get a good look around for the very first time. Pretty overwhelming, to me at least. The center stands on the very block where over 15 years ago I spent most of my nights at the little punk clubs and college pubs along the strip, which have since been bulldozed to make way for this gleaming new monstrosity. Gazing out into the sparkling multi-seat area it was really hard to wrap my brain around the fact that I was standing right where my old stomping ground, the King's Head Inn, used to be...

Where I saw almost 90% of every punk show that I ever attended. Where Joe used to book bands and DJ our Club Pretension dance nights. Where S. and I used to decorate the walls with black garbage bags and silver spray-painted dried macaroni noodles. Had art exhibits and Dadaist "happenings". Previewed underground movies. Where you could still smoke indoors. Where my old roommate set his hair on fire and ran through the pit. And that old guitar that had been permanently epoxied onto the outer wall. All gone. An entire era. And I was surrounded by a whole new generation of concert-goers who have absolutely no recollection of what was once there before. Not even the girls that I worked with were a day over 22 years.

Anyway, back to the Meltdown, the Gavin Degraw line at 11pm (the last meet-and-greet) was almost equally as long as Fall Out Boy, but a lot less rowdy. And every last one of them were girls. Not a single dude in the whole bunch. I will say though that Gavin was extremely sweet and accommodating to every single fan in line, considering that we had to make it move as fast as we could so that he could get back out on the road. Despite the "no autographs" rule Gavin signed everything every girl handed him with graciousness and even posed for pictures, and hugged every one, even happily lurching his body halfway across the table to embrace a young girl in a wheelchair. Wonderfully nice fellow, and very professional. Actually they were all quite nice, and even though I'm not a fan of any of their music I almost regretted not bringing my own camera to take some pictures of the event myself. In all we made about $7,000 in CD sales and everyone at the event was pretty pleased with the way we handled things. But man, doing an event like this again just reminds me once more how bloody old I must be getting, being barely able to keep up with my younger colleagues who were all about the same age and had the same energy and enthusiasm that I had back in the King's Head Inn years. Another generation takes up the mantle. Meh. At this point I guess they can have it all to themselves.