It wasn’t Dave Matthews cursing that bugged me. It wasn’t even the three-and-a-half-year-old in the next row listening to Dave Matthews curse that bugged me.
It was listening to said three-and-a-half-year-old’s mom tell the woman beside me “oh yeah, and I have a one-year-old at home!” So you had a babysitter and you chose to drag your toddler to a late night rock show? Are you kidding me?
In terms of sheer inappropriateness, they could have done worse than DMB, it’s true. But we were under the pavilion, not out on the wide-open lawn, and Dave and co did not stop spinning out samples of Big Whiskey and the GrooGrux King until well after eleven (that’s eleven P.M., mind you).
The child was dead on her feet exhausted, the air was heavy with pot smoke, and the high percentage of people in and around her parents were either high or drunk. That included the heavily stoned woman beside me who kept leaping to her feet and trying to dance with the child (who I’ll wager she didn’t know – based on the conversations going back and forth) in the aisles. This when she wasn’t high fiving . . . everyone . . . and falling over me trying to find a purse that was supposedly under me (like I told her, it wasn’t).
Rescued from the pothead, the little girl cuddled on mom’s lap before her parents finally opted to pull out their immense backpack carrier, which dad strapped on. Mom placed her inside and dad was stuck with a big hump on his back, which he had to turn outward into the aisle – only to be instructed time and again to clear the aisles by a performing arts center staffer. And through none of it did the child sleep. She tried. You could see her eyes slipping shut, and then someone would scream “we love you Dave,” or a loud crescendo would burst forth from the stage and her eyes would snap open again.
In other words, dad was miserable too – he wasn’t able to fit into his seat with a big thing on his back, and he couldn’t very well dance or have fun.
The little girl just wanted to go home. Heck, I wanted to go home, where my daughter may or may not have been asleep but was certainly having quiet time in her room after a bath. She didn’t have to deal with crazy strangers. She didn’t have to try to sit within the seat allotted her by virtue of a ticket for a four-plus-hour show. What’s more, her ears were safe from noise that is considered hazardous to adult ears (anything over 80 decibels is bad for you – rock concerts are usually around 150).
If dad was miserable and the kid was miserable, what’s the point? Don’t you go to a concert to . . . gasp . . . have fun and rock out?
A day time concert where you can set up far from the music, I can see, but would you bring your kid to a late night rock concert?