Foreigner’s front row
Guess this is a blog, rather than a report, as it’s full of opinions and gripes — Mary Jane
Had an unusual experience Friday night (Dec. 3, 2010) when I attended the Foreigner concert at an Event Center in Oklahoma. I had written a story on Foreigner for my newspaper, and so was invited to be their guests at the concert.
The band is incredible, still, and now consists Mick Jones, the only original member who has remained with Foreigner through the decades, on lead guitar, vocals, and keyboards; Kelly Hansen as lead singer on most songs; Tom Gimbel on guitar and saxophone; Jeff Pilson on bass; Michael Bleustein also on keyboards; and Jason Sutter on drums. They travel with a large entourage of assistants, and for this concert invited the Denison High School Mixed Variety Choir to back them on Jones’ classic, “I Want To Know What Love Is.”
Stage lighting is great on the oft-used stage which stands about 5.5 feet high, judging from the heights of the several videograpahers allowed in the fenced-in walkway between the stage and the audience/mosh pit. Sound was equally incredible.
Foreigner’s Mick Jones
So, what was the negative experience? Several phases of unusual events which soured me on ever again going to another major-star performance. It felt very much like working a major vehicle crash with several volunteer fire departments at the scene — every single person having authority and yet not knowing what the overall rules or plan are. Just barking orders.
I had written the story, which is also here on Scene In Town.com, regarding the high school band, which made it in print, above the fold, front page, the day before. That was set up through the Event Center’s promotion person who put me in touch with a Foreigner business manager, who got some direct quotes for me from Mick Jones. In the process, I confirmed with both of them that it would be all right to take pictures.
“Yes,” I was told on both accounts, plus given extra permission from the Foreigner manager that I could also take them while the choir was on stage with the band. Rules were, he said, no flash used and pictures only during the first three songs. I can handle that.
A venue person pulled me two photo passes and two meet-and-greet passes. OK, I didn’t really want to meet and greet the band, since I’d done the story, but I’m game. Up front, close to the stage, a venue security guard saw the meet-and-greet pass plastered onto my shirt, and took me through some swinging doors into a private room. No explanation, but again, I’m game.
“You won’t need that camera,” was the first clue that they didn’t know who I think I am anyway. One grabbed it from my hand and another told me to stand up against the wall. (He didn’t say ‘redneck mother.’) Then, I noticed the band standing at the front of that line, and I realized I was being funneled into having my picture made with Mick and the boys. Very cattle call. They were all gracious and posed with big smiles, over and over again until I figured their cheeks had to hurt.
All I wanted through that time was to get the copy of the article to the manager with whom I had spoken on the phone, because he said he wanted a copy. It took a few questions, unanswered, until Jones, a really nice guy and very good looking in his skinny jeans, pointed me in the direction of their road manager, who reluctantly took the article with a promise to deliver it.
Cattle call over, and me never quite knowing who got that picture of me with the band, because I didn’t, I went back out front and quickly decided I needed to be at the forefront of the mosh pit’s metal fence. But that decision was made after two other security guards told me I must leave after those three songs. What? Leave? When I’d been so graciously given complimentary passes.
During the first three songs, I managed to snap off about 400 pix, the top few of which are posted here. The next snap was a lens cover on my camera, and I settled back to enjoy the rest of the show. But, I looked around and saw hundreds of people still taking pictures, some with camera phones, some with small cameras, some with small video cameras, and a few with Canons like mine, with removable lenses. OK, maybe I misunderstood and it was all right. So, I got mine back out, and shot once. OMG, the security guard was on me like ducks on that poor ol’ June bug.
So, I vacated my prime spot in front of the band and talked with the Stetsun-wearing event manager, to ask why people could take crappy pictures with their little cameras, but I wasn’t allowed to take great ones with my camera. No explanation, just, “It’s the rule,” OK, I’m getting less game. He did confirm again that I could photograph the choir during its life-altering 3 minutes behind the band. He even, because I asked him to, talked to another security guard to explain it to him.
As I bullied my way back through the mosh pit, I noticed several other Canons and a few Nikons sporting zoom lens, but the nearest security guard told me that he couldn’t make them put them up because he wasn’t in charge of that. Huh?
Back at the fence, I pulled out my camera to change to the right lens before snapping the choir, and pointed it at the stage where the choir would be standing, just getting set up. Security guard step-up. We got rather personal that time, as I explained that I did not snap a picture, but when the choir came out, I would be, and he should talk to the one who had been told about that. He did, and there wasn’t any problem with that, then.
Those venue videgraphers in the 4-foot walkway between the pit and the stage also had a job to do when the choir came out. And they did it well. Standing right in front of me the whole time. It was dismal what I was able to snap. Oh, well, maybe their parents were there with those cell phone cameras.
That done, I said goodbye to those around, walked through the capacity crowd, and left, frustrated beyond anything I’ve ever experienced.
Foreigner was incredible to offer the meet-and-greet, (I wonder what happened to that picture!), and they were so kind to the high schoolers on stage. Mick smiled through it all at them, from his keyboard, and then went over and shook all their hands. He even winked at me from the stage, once.
But it’s another major difference between Texas musicians, no matter the level of their stardom (unless possibly it’s at the level that Miranda Lambert is experiencing), and those from around about other areas. It’s the major reason I will stick with our Texas musicians and venues. It’s the humanity that music is supposed to, and usually does in Texas, provide and support.