May is Metal Month on VH1. There is something wrong with with VH1 doing Metal, but I'll take it. If nothing else, it's been a trip down memory lane. Here's an account of my first live show experience.
August 22, 1987 Castle Donington, Monsters of Rock.
In the summer of 1987, my family and I had just moved back to Germany. We were visiting my dad's family in the Midlands in England that summer. My dad hadn't seen his family since 1979 and so it was a homecoming for him. My aunt has a son, J, who is 2 years older than me. He was a metalhead. Me,I was as metal as a 12-year old girl could be, which meant I listened to a lot of Bon Jovi, Skid Row, Cinderella, Kiss and Motley Crue. I was a few months from hearing GnR's Appetite For Destruction, an album that today is still a staple in my music library. In other words, I wasn't very "metal". Basically, I wasn't a new wave fan or a politically-charged fan. If you had long hair and I liked your Metal Edge picture then I was into you. My cousin on the other hand, was into the gritty UK metal like Motorhead and Black Sabbath. He loved making fun of my pansy bands. For all his grit, he was way into Def Leppard, which I always felt was more a show of patriotism than taste in music.
My aunt got us all tickets to the Monsters of Rock festival at Castle Donington. Through whatever connections she and Uncle G had, she knew that some of the bands were lodged at a nearby fancy Nottingham hotel. We got dressed up and went there for dinner on August 21. At some point my mom and I went to the lobby and ran into Tom Kiefer from Cinderella. He was a looming, lanky figure. He posed for a picture. I don't remember anything about that encounter. The picture is not anything I would ever want to publish because I was a geeky kid with braces. Nonetheless, it is my first photographic account of an encounter with a rock idol and so I will always cherish it.
The next day was the festival. My aunt was supposed to go, but she and my dad had stayed up all night drinking and reminiscing. Her feet had swollen to the size of footballs and she was in no shape to walk. So, my dad, my mom, my Granddad and I got in the car and went to the festival. My cousin had gone with his friends. In no way did he want to be seen with his family. I never saw him at the show, but when we met up later we both gushed about how fun it was.
There were no other 12-year olds there, just a lot of Lemmy and Ozzy clones. They were rough, dirty, and mean. Since they were all stoned or drunk, and had been for hours, they were belligerant, too. I was scared. For the first time in my short life, I knew fear! Aside from the glossy glares and comments, there were objects constantly flying through the air. What I remember seeing thrown: bottles of piss, mudcakes, and potatoes. At some point, I was sitting on my Granddad's shoulders and got smacked in the back with a potato. I had a tender spot on my back for some weeks after that. I have to say, for every one mean metalhead, there would be one muddy beast who would stand up and offer me a bit of protection. Even in this brutal atmosphere, English decency prevailed and I was able to watch the show almost unharmed.
On a side note: having been to concerts in Germany, the UK, and in the states, I have come to realize that UK metalheads mean serious business. My dad always said that English audiences are serious about concerts because it's an escape from the harsh realities of life there. Most English struggle economically every day, and so for them a concert is like church. It reminds them that life can still be good. The band has to earn the audience's respect, but when they do, the audience will show you their passionate allegiance for years to come, long after an act has been deemed cheesy or "so last year" in America. It's beautiful.
Back to Donington. I remember that Jon Bon Jovi had a close beard and looked haggard. Ever the showman, he still put on a helluva performance. In the end, Paul Stanley, Bruce Dickinson, and Dee Snider joined BJ onstage for some jams. They covered CCR's "Travelling Band". I remember thinking that this must make my dad happy, since he is the biggest CCR fan I've ever known. I'm sure my dad didn't even notice- he was probably too preoccupied with (1) keeping his family alive and (2) figuring out the best exit strategy. For me, it was a baptism by fire and a beginning. It not only opened my eyes to that kind of world, but it made me appreciate what a reaffirming experience a live show could be. (It also further strengthened my love and respect for my Granddad. The day before the show, he bought me a blue regatta raincoat so that I wouldn't catch my death in the mud. At present, it's the only raincoat I own and still wear.) Today, I'm battling a fever which may explan why I'm waxing philophical about my chosen form of worship. Fuck it. In a few days, J and I will be in front of yet another stage. Life is good.
On the stage that day:
Bon Jovi
Dio
Metallica
Anthrax
W.A.S.P.
Cinderella
-K
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