To the idiot in the Hawaiian shirt and his equally vacant girlfriend who nearly ruined my moment with Gregg: a quick etiquette lesson.


Dear Concertgoer:

Last night at the Gregg Allman concert I stood to the right of, and slightly behind, you and your date during “Dreams.” If you’d read my letter to Mr. Allman in the most recent VCReporter, you would know that there is a little nook in my heart where he resides, and being 10 feet away from him while he sang my favorite Allman Brothers song would rank as one of my top 20 perfect moments in this life.

I had waited in the VIP section, trying to groove along to one blues number after another, hoping and praying for that one song, my song, for what seemed like an hour, when alas that first note finally rang out.

Of course I immediately beelined for the stage so I could see my man up close, singing the song that made me fall so hard for him and his voice. I’m used to battling some hardass crowds to get the view that I want at a concert, but wading through a sea of 40-60 somethings in Hawaiian shirts proved much more challenging.

When I finally got sort of positioned well enough to see my man up close, my moment with him was abruptly usurped by your clumsy schoolboy public groping of the half-drunk woman accompanying you. Gregg’s timeworn, angelic face was blocked repeatedly by the back of her head as she squirmed beneath your hairy paws. And it only got worse. Not only did you steal my moment, but your immature antics nearly eclipsed the song. Come to think of it, aren’t you one of the jocks that used to ruin punk rock shows in Hollywood and OC in the early 80s? You look awfully familiar.

As I stood there, unable to see my man, suppressing the urge to shove the two of you out of my way, I remembered many years ago when Tony and I put on quite a show of our own at a Black Crowes concert. I’m pretty sure the people behind us were none too amused and it occured to me now that this might be payback. Karma, if you will. So I chilled.

I was never able to regain eye contact with Gregg, but I refused to let it further taint the experience of his voice, this song—live. So I settled into the cirumstances, closed my eyes and felt what I couldn’t see.

That doesn’t let you off the hook though. For future reference, there is an unspoken etiquitte adhered to at concerts by those who are used to seeing live music, those who hold it in high regard. Those who will squash you next time you act like a fool. So don’t.



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