So a few Mondays ago the Poaikots and I went to see Keb' Mo and Bonnie Raitt. After dining on the grounds of the venue, we took our seats in the balcony box to see Mr. Mo. Who we love. A lot. And rarely get to see live.
It's kind of a laid back venue and everyone was fairly subdued because it was also bitch hot, especially in the amphitheatre. So we're sitting, we're listening, we're clapping, and enjoying ourselves. Until.
Now up to this point, the only people sitting to my immediate right (separated by a shoulder-high partition) are a middle-aged couple. They are the only ones in the box, with an empty row of seats in front of them, which face a low cement wall. Said cement wall is there to prevent folks from hurtling into the orchestra seats far below. And are used to anchor a multitude of heavy stagelights.
So about halfway through Mr. Mo's set, the only things that have caught my attention are: GuyNextToMe periodically and spasmodically breaks into serious air-drumming. Okay, he's into drumming or would like to be, no big deal. Other thing: he chooses to yell "Keb Mo!". A lot. And while said Keb Mo is singing. Not after the song, not while others are applauding, but while Mr. Mo is singing and everyone else is listening
. And enjoying
. And not so much enjoying the yelling of "Keb Mo!". Like, dude, I know
who the fuck is on stage, okay? Shut. Up.
So I'm ignoring the air-drumming and tolerating the loud Artist Identification System announcements, and then They arrive. They are three fairly attractive middle-aged women and their...grandma? Great-grandma? The first sign of trouble is when one of them suddenly appears at the first row of seats in front of Air Drummer Guy, turns her back to the stage, and proceeds to loudly and drunkenly YELL at the others to hurry up " 'cause Keb Moshe's shingin'!"
Which, thanks, drunken chick! Because I had ignored earlier broadcasts of the Artist Identification System, so had no clue who the black man onstage was, much less what he was doing. Now bear in mind, for those of y'all who don't listen to Mr. Mo', his music is sort of subdued. It's blues music, so while folks get all riled up with appreciation after
his songs, they aren't of the "let's-yell-Free-Bird-while-he's-singing" variety.
So They file into their seats, after much deliberation and falling against one another and pushing poor sober Grandma around in attempts to sit next to her. However, Their seating plan wasn't quite functional. Because Drunk Chick #1 was sitting on the aisle, and really
wanted to interact/DANCE WITH Drunk Chick #3, who was sat at the far end of the row, effectively flanking Not So Drunk Chick #2 and Sober Grandma. So instead of changing seats or, oh, SHUTTING UP, Drunk Chicks #1 & #3 proceed to stand up and dance. If by "dance" you mean "shake their middleaged asses to some rhythm they only hear in their heads because it doesn't match what's coming from the stage at all". And issue the aforementioned mating call of the drunken middleaged white woman: Ooooowwwww! Aaaand lean forward so that Air Drummer has their asses
in his face
, which his wife is enjoying far less than he is. Aaaand the leaning forward is influenced by the approximately gazillion wine coolers They had earlier because Their "dancing" now is more "potentially lethal tumbling".
At which point my tarblack heart is revealed, because the only thing I'm thinking is that the poor bastards in the orchestra seats below will get nailed by the stagelight that will break Their fall
and save Them, dammit. And I will have to write my own blues song about how They continued to interrupt Mr. Mo's real fans, the ones who come to hear him sing.
Eventually Air Drummer's wife fetched an usher who sshh'd them (while she was gone, the Drunk Chicks turned to Air Drummer and cooed "Oh, we aren't bothering
y'all, are we?". And Air Drummer ASSHOLE answered, "Ah, that's just my wife. Ignore her. I do. I'm havin' a great time!". Then they all drunkenly whooped and high fived). Then after the intermission Drunk Chicks #2 and #3 didn't return, so Drunk Chick #1 spread herself out next to Sober Grandma and pretty much quieted down. Air Drummer Asshole was so disappointed.
God, I love the general public.