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A couple months ago, RM woke us up with an enthusiastic call, "Sorry for calling so early!" (It was already 9:00... if not 9:30. Ahh, the lackadaisical schedule of the freelance writer...  Just kidding. We're usually always up by then. After all, we can't miss Regis!) Okay, so where was I? Oh yeah, so RM called and asked, "Do you guys want to see Stone Temple Pilots? I just got an email from Power FM with early bird access codes."
Naturally, we jumped at the opportunity. Â It's so rare that a decent band like STP comes to K-Town. Not to mention, it's always nice to see a band reunited. It's like a second chance to experience something thought to be long lost in the pages of time, even if the band is a little past its prime.
Going on a brief tangent here, I was fortunate enough to attend Ozzfest a few years ago, (Ha. More like almost 10 years ago...), when Ozzy et al reunited for the first time in like, forever. At the time it felt like I had earned some kind of badge of honour, and that someday I would be able to tell my grandchildren  that I got to see the "real" Black Sabbath perform live. Ha ha. And I'm sure my grandchildren will scrunch up their little faces and say, "Black Who?"
Anyhow, while I'm confident STP will not register on my grandchildren's radar either, it still felt like the kind of rare opportunity that should not be missed. Â So the next morning we made sure to get up bright n' early so we could log on as soon as the virtual gates opened.Â
We decided not to get General Admission tickets, because I'm all of five-foot-two-n'-a-half and would never be able to see anything at my height, unless I tortured my tip-toes or elbowed my way to the front. Actually, believe it or not, weaving my wee self through a crowd has always been one of my special talents. Seems I have especially pointy elbows, which is how I managed to fight my way to front n' center for Warsawpack and Bad Religion. However, J n' the boyz are not keen on being crushed, so we opted for best available stadium seating instead, which I believe was a good choice.
The first time I logged in, I screwed up. I tried creating an account, and then eventually learned that my username was taken. Oh yeah! Shit. I created an account when we went to see Cirque Du Soleil last year. The seats timed out and I had to log back in. Dammit. We were now the next section over. I checked out the seating arrangement online, and it looked like this next section had a better view of the stage anyway. Plus, instead of row N or whatever, we were now row D. Wow - for once in my life it seemed like I had just made a perfect mistake.
Another side note, when I announced on FB how I had ordered early bird tickets, right away I got an email from a local celebrity radio DJ from a competing radio station kindly asking me if I could give him the special early bird code. Hmmm.... I didn't end up seeing him at the concert, so I wonder if he wasn't allowed to use the code due to a conflict of interest or something? Or maybe it was because there was like a million people there, so the odds of seeing a familiar face was pretty slim.
Anyhoo, the tickets arrived in the mail and for well over a month, every time I passed the fridge, I would be greeted by a little smiley-faced star magnet who happily pinched the four blue and white slips in its clip. Â One might assume that seeing these tickets day in and day out would be a constant reminder of exciting things to come. But I have to admit that I didn't really get stoked until just a day before the show.
Certainly not like Bro, who was a total fireball of excitement from day one -- not only the concert, but for a long night of good times to follow. He was ready to party like it was 1994, baby!! But perhaps that added boost of unbridled enthusiasm emerges once you have kids and other more adult-like responsibilities... at least for some folks. I'll let you know how the promise of a night out impacts me once I have kids. Then again, as it is, J n' I aren't the sort of people who want to stay up drinking ourselves to oblivion until 6:00 a.m. even with all the delicious freedoms we still enjoy. Sheesh... I can't imagine wanting to stay up all night post-children, when a solid night's sleep is a rare commodity. What can I say? We're old n' lame. However, I appreciated Bro's energy and found it to be quite contagious once he showed up at our place on Monday night.
Our original plan to go out for dinner n' drinks pre-concert didn't quite pan out as we had hoped. Damn real-world responsibilities crampin' our style. Our conference call with les producers ran late. Bro had to do real-estate related paper-work because they're selling their house. And RM... well, RM just needed to grab a shower. By the time we everyone finally met up at our place, it was time to call a cab.
Our friendly cab driver shared stories about all the stoned and drunk people he drove around who had left Jay-Z's perfomance mid-concert a couple weeks before. He was confident that STP would attract a better, more mature crowd. Perhaps he based this assumption upon Bro n' RM's jokey routine about snorting lines of coke off lobster claws. Ah, maturity at it's finest! I have no idea how that topic ever came up in the first place, except that it ended with a round of Homer impressions from the episode when he ate his pet lobster, Pinchy.
Upon getting dropped off at Prospera Place, we were instructed to go around to the side where we stood in line for our frisking and bag check. I was concerned for all of two seconds when I saw the warning sign about no drugs, weapons or cameras. Good thing I left all my drugs and weapons at home. My camera, however, was hidden in the interior pocket of my purse. I briefly worried that if they found it, I would have no place to check it, and since we didn't drive downtown, I didn't have a car to leave it in either. Fortunately, while my frisking was very thorough, my bag check was not. Success! My camera passed through security undetected.
Since we missed dinner, the four of us dined on over-priced beer and popcorn. Jeez, if I felt unhealthy before, this week certainly has been no improvement. Okay, purification starts next week, f'real.
We entered the arena and followed Bro, a season-ticket holder for the K-Town Rockets, to our seats. He knows that place like the back of his hand, and yet, even he was surprised to see how excellent our seats were. I always assumed D came after A, B and C. However, at Prospera Place, or at least for our section, the alphabet begins with D, which means we had front row seats, angled perfectly to the left of the stage. Bro repeated several times that I am now in charge of ordering all future concert tickets. I happily accepted his praise, and didn't bother telling him that our prime seats were due to a total fluke on my part.
As we settled in, Crash Kings had already taken the stage and were jammin' loud and proud. And I do mean loud. Like, not to be a complainer, but they were waaaaaay too loud - and I actually have a good tolerance for noise. (Unlike poor J with his amazing power of super-sensitive hearing. The music was so loud that when he got up to grab some Twizzlers for "dessert", it messed with his equilibrium and he almost lost his balance twice.)  However, this isn't the first time I've been to a concert where the opening act was unbearable. RM explained that it's because the openers don't always have the support of professional sound people, and so they sometimes have to deal with those technical details themselves. I think somebody should offer those guys a tutorial and teach them that extra loud does not always equal extra good. Of course, I did almost enjoy their cover of War Pigs (as I kept one finger in my ear, so as not to rupture botheardrums.)
Finally, Crash Kings left the stage and the four of us sat in a muffled fog, attempting to regain our hearing. I was hoping that they weren't the special guests and that maybe there'd be a second opening act or something. Earlier, J and Bro had fantasized that Eddie Vedder would be a special guest because he had recently been doing some work in Vancouver. And then Slash would join in, and play a number from Velvet Revolver. And then Axel would come on stage, because he's old pals with Slash... and the joke went on and on and on. No such luck. Seems that the Crash Kings were the one and only so-called special guests. Apparently they have a song featured in Zombie Land? I dunno... I saw the movie. Don't remember the song.
Just then a super rowdy fella came barreling towards us, hooting and hollering, jumping and jiving, giving even Bro a run for his money in the enthusiasm department. He took the seat beside Bro and chatted him up as if they were old buddies. Dude was sooo excited... but much like Bro, his excitement was completely contagious as we waited with bated breath for the main event.
Soon, the lights dimmed, and the band took the stage. Scott Weiland was looking his groovy self, stylin' it up in a tight black suit, a bright yellow dress shirt, and a black and green scarf as a flowing tie. While normally I find indoor sunglasses pretentious, I thought his dark shades were a nice touch for that added flavour of rock n' roll coolness, even though -Â unlike the bassist -Â he didn't keep them on for the entire show.
Each member in their place, the band immediately kicked into Silvergun Superman. A song that I'm not as familiar with, (in that I don't know all the words), but was more than happy to head-bob along to. Psychedelic colours spun in the background and lights flashed, illuminating massive puffs of smoke in General Admission -- and the fog machine hadn't even begun billowing yet.Â
The crowd roared with excitement and a bag of All Dressed Old Dutch fell as an offering from the heavens, grazing my head and spilling out on the floor in front of me. Oh well. It could've been worse. It could've been beer. (Which I later learned that RM had experienced a delightful little showering of.) I guess it's the price you pay for being near the front.
Next up was Wicked Garden. The band was tight as ever, probably because they've been playing the same songs for a hundred years, with a brief hiatus, better known as Velvet Revolver. Meanwhile, Weiland's voice was not 100% up to par on this one, but far better than any of the clips I've since seen of the Victoria show from Saturday night. Even though the recorded sound quality is never the best, IMHO, he sounded pretty rough in Vic. He must've rested up on Sunday. Although he occasionally lubricated himself with some kind of bevy contained in what looked like a Starbucks travel mug. I wondered if it was just water... but somehow doubted it.
Vasoline got the crowd super pumped, and people began jumping out of their seats, throwing their fists skyward. I wanted to stand up as well, but didn't want to block the view of the folks behind me. I decided that bopping in my seat and tapping my legs would have to do... for now, anyway.
By this point I realized that the seat next to me was still empty, (if you can believe it!), but next to it sat a woman in her 40's who grooved with her eyes closed. In fact, she seemed to keep them closed throughout the entire show, which we all found rather interesting. Meanwhile, in General Admission small spotlights bounced around like interrogating fireflies, as security pounced on the crowd, scouring for the sources of that skunky smoke. The thick clouds soon dissipated into thin air.
Of course, by three songs in, I'm sure there was already a heady buzz down below, and the audience seemed ready to mellow out with Big Empty. Weiland removed the shades as he crooned to the crowd. Now, instead of lighting doobies, lighters found renewed purpose, as they flickered and swayed peacefully above the happy crowd.
Next came Lounge Fly, and Weiland was the one doing the swaying as he stepped up to the edge of the stage. People attempted crowd surfing, as security pulled on random limbs and redirected the surfers around the barriers to the back of the crowd. Many, if not all of them, ran around the guard rail, arms high in the air, and shoved their way back into the mass of bodies.
Finally, it was time for one of my personal favourites - Sour Girl. Again, the band was totally bang on. Actually, I probably don't need to comment on their playing because each member is a master at what he does, and every single song was as tight as a... never mind. Weiland's singing was a little lukewarm on this one at first, or so it seemed to my ears. But by the time they came to the chorus, he recovered nicely and his voice was like buttah. Of course, I believe the pre-recorded back-up vocals helped to take it up a notch.
By this point, so many people were standing, I figured that it would do no harm if I stood up as well. And while I realize that everyone paid good money to attend this concert and that I probably make a better door than a window, I'm sure the people sitting behind me were able to see around me just fine. Although I did glance back once or twice to ensure that they weren't looking too annoyed or anything.
I continued standing when Creep started up next. RM waited for a lull in the cheering to do his best Sport Goofy impression, "Waaa-hoo-hoo-hoo-hooooo!" The first of countless waa-hoo-hoo's from over the course of the evening. Creep sounded A-OK by my standards... and everyone else's it seemed.
As the crowd chanted, "STP! STP!", Weiland grabbed the megaphone and the boys jumped into  Crackerman. I'm not 100% familiar with this song, so I decided to give my fellow concert-goers a break from my backside, and sat down again.
I don't know why, but for some reason I found it deeply cool to see someone sing into a megaphone. It's almost as nifty as Peter Frampton's singing guitar. Actually, back when I was slinging drinks at the Blue Gator, Papa Dawg of Dogskin Suit would occasionally use a talk box, and it always made me absolutely giddy. Ah yes, it doesn't take much, does it?
But I digress...
So, following Crackerman came the supa-hit, Plush. Again, the crowd went crazy. With the audience all riled up, one dude tried to take his chances jumping the barrier and running on to the floor. I was watching the band, so I didn't notice that he was promptly tackled by several security guards and escorted out. What I did see, however, was another opportunist take advantage of that distraction, as he effortlessly jumped the barrier and raced to the front of the crowd unnoticed. In fact, he made it look so easy, that I would be lying if I didn't tell you that I seriously considered it myself... until I heard about Guy A who had been tackled.  Then the idea wasn't quite so appealing.
Interstate Love Song was up next - and so was I. Even J stood up for this one. He's usually far more considerate than I am, and had previously not wanted to block anyone's view... but c'mon, it was Interstate Love Song. You have to stand! Weiland did his usual dance, only with many more spins this time. Round and round and round he went. I had wondered to myself earlier in the show if he was actually enjoying himself as he danced to tunes they had played a million times before, or if he was bored silly, and the simple dance moves were more an act than an urge. I assume the latter... but for this song, he at least seemed a bit more convincing with all those extra spins. ;)
Down kept the energy up. Weiland's voice seemed to fade a bit for a line or two, but I think perhaps he just needed to clear his throat or something. Otherwise, the rest of the song held up very well. The crowd cheered heartily and the guitarist (forgive me for not knowing his name, and not bothering to look it up), even sprung into what felt like an extended groovy solo at one point which really got everyone's juices going... not that they hadn't been already.
A funky little jam slowed things down for a moment, allowing the audience (and the band) to catch their breath, before they broke into Sex Type Thing which involved more megaphone magic. Weiland wiped his face on a purple handkerchief and handed it to someone in the crowd. Probably one of those four classy ladies with the tight (uncensored) t-shirts which read, "Scott Weiland F*CK my mouth!" Oh, poppa must be proud! I personally thought that something like "Scott Weiland ~ Let's Cuddle!' would be a little more clever and creative, or at least good for a laugh. RM suggested, "Scott Weiland - Let me do your dishes!" But I think I prefer my slogan. It's just a bit catchier, don't you think?
Unglued was up next. I had been watching a parade of people walk past me throughout the concert, so I figured I'd be safe if I ran to the washroom. After all, the band was certainly loud enough that you could easily hear them no matter where you were in the building. Despite my running, I made it back out just in time to learn that the song had ended and the band had left the stage.
Dammit.
Oh well, I'm sure they'll do an encore.
And naturally, after a couple minutes of people chanting "STP! STP!"they finally returned to the stage. Oh what a silly charade these bands put on. Has anyone ever not returned for an encore - except assholes, of course. I mean, I could totally see someone like Axel pulling that shit... heck, the guy didn't even show up for concerts sometimes. But do any bands who actually care about their fans try that stunt?
The encore began with Dead and Bloated. Everyone was standing, and fists were pumping. Dead and Bloated wasn't my song of choice for an encore, but I still held hope that they might play Big Bang Baby next.
Yes, I realize it's certainly not their bestest of songs, but I have a special affinity for it for the stupidest of reasons. The video came out when I was around the 10th grade, and the effects (if you can even call them that) were so simplistic that they were on par with what I was learning in Communications Technology. (A total goof-off, no brainer, easy A class...) I guess that's why I liked the video, because when I saw it, I thought, "Hey, I can do that." And so the song always stuck with me. Lame, I know. But that's my story...
So after Dead and Bloated ended, when Weiland said, "Do you want to hear another song?" and everyone screamed, "Yeeeeeaaaaaahhhhh!" I thought for sure, for sure, it would be my song. Instead it was Trippin' On a Hole In a Paper Heart, which okay, I have to admit is probably a much better song than my tune of choice... but whatever... I guess I wasn't disappointed.... well, maybe just a little. But Trippin' is a pretty awesome song. Everyone was out of their seats, dancing and singing along. It was great... and then just like that, it was over.
STP stood front and center stage for a generous amount of time. They thanked the audience, waved, clapped, threw out little mementos like a frisbee and other tokens, and took several bows. Classy guys.
We hung around for an excessive amount of time afterwards. I don't know why. I think Bro was hoping that we'd get back stage or something to hook up with Eddie, Slash, Axel and the gang. But when I saw the "F*CK my mouth" girls lingering around (sans handkerchief, I might add... so it must've went to someone with a little more je ne said quoi), I knew that there was no way anyone was getting back stage, if they didn't. (Not that I ever expected to in a million years.) Of course, that didn't stop Bro from trying to exit in that direction, which was promptly prevented by a polite security guard who pointed, "Other way, please."Â
And so that was that.
Still hungry and with a natural urge to debrief, we headed over to Roses, which was packed to capacity with people pouring in from both the STP and Misfits concerts. Again, I think Bro thought that since STP would more than likely be staying that The Grand, if they were planning to party anywhere, Roses is the place to be.
Of course, with not a seat free in the house, we ended up heading over to Sergeant O'Flannigans. Also packed.
We chatted with people in the street about the concert. A lot of people (or at least all the folks we spoke to) had travelled from Vancouver to see the show. I'm surprised to hear that STP skipped Van.
Finally, we made our way to Tonics where we chatted until the waitress warned that the kitchen was about to close. I ate about half my veggie burger between deleting fuzzy pictures off the camera (of which there were many, since the lights were always changing, messing with the focus.) Then we grabbed a cab and headed for home. Bro n' RM burned the midnight oil until RM burned out, while J n' I decided to crash early. (If 12:30 is early? I guess it is relatively speaking, when the alternative is 4:00 a.m.) I hear we didn't miss much... just rehashed stories about Motley Crue concerts of years gone by.
And so there you have it. My super long-winded review (although I don't know if it's much of a review as it is an excessive rambling story) of the STP concert.
Dee End.