"Would you take me in?
Are you lonely in the dark?"
- Billy Squier, "In the Dark"
So far, I've been to three concerts this year -- Ghost, Bruce Springsteen, and Rush. These artists couldn't be more different, but their shows shared one thing: none featured an opening act.
In all of these cases, the decision made sense. Ghost was setting an atmosphere from the time fans entered the arena, and it would have been unrealistic to have an unrelated band play first. The other two were working with decades"'long playlists and could easily fill an entire night.
To some, the absence of an opening act is a blessing, and I've sat through enough badly botched sets to understand why. A lack of experience becomes dangerous when glitches creep into a set. Sometimes the mismatch between opener and headliner is too great to overcome. In other cases, the anticipation for the main act is so great that sitting through the first set feels like an inconvenience rather than part of the experience.
But sometimes you find a gem at the beginning of the night. It could be an artist that provides the perfect setup for the main event. Some become tied directly to a moment in time. Others may not have even been on your radar before the night began, but you leave the venue as a newly converted fan.
These are some of my opening act memories:
Billy Squier Opening for Queen
Madison Square Garden
July 1982
I had an after"'school routine: I would sit at the kitchen table with a glass of milk and a box of Oreos, reading my grandfather's copy of the Daily News. I'd eat the cookies as I worked my way through the paper. The comics came first, then the centerfold, and, before getting to the day's hard news, the warm"'up of the entertainment section.
I can still vividly remember reading the headline listing the concerts scheduled for the upcoming summer. As I scanned through it, the name of my favorite band jumped out. Queen was touring that summer, and I had to see them.
My mom bought the tickets for me as a present to celebrate my graduation from middle school. I had invited my best friend, whose father convinced my mother that we needed an adult chaperone. I'm not sure why, but he ended up being the one to take us.
Tickets in hand, I sat on the front porch with my sister waiting to be picked up. Anticipation turned to anxiousness as the planned time came and went. Finally, the car pulled up, and my friend's dad walked over to say hello to my mom.
"Sorry I'm late, but it shouldn't be too bad. There's an opening act, so we won't miss much. Billy something."
Squire, I thought. It's Billy Squire. How could he not know who this was? Don't Say No is an amazing album.
When we finally got to Madison Square Garden, the show had already started. As we made our way up into the arena (is there any other venue where the "floor" is five stories up?), the muffled sounds grew louder. We showed the usher our tickets and stepped into the bowl.
The timing of our entrance was perfect: the pulsating synthesizer greeted us at the start of "In the Dark." Bombarded by the sound waves, it was the first time I could feel music. There wasn't a better way to be thrown into the concert experience.
(Note: You can view every article as one long page if you sign up as an Advocate Member, or higher).
Post Article Comment and Rate This Article
