a week ago I met someone who, it turned out over the course of the conversation, was at a show that I’d gone to as well. it was the white stripes at the tsongas arena in lowell, ma, in 2003. I was 17. the tsongas arena was an ugly small relic of ma’s unfortunate love affair with concrete in the 70 and 80s, a hockey rink with grimy padding thrown over the ice to accomodate the throng of people that spilled in.
the opening act was whirlwind heat, and they were loud and obnoxious, as opposed to the white stripes, who were loud and frenetic and rarely paused between songs. the crowd was vicious but so enthralled that the energy went not into stage diving or moshing but a constant surging motion - when they launched into “black math” I remember being pitched so far forward I could feel my calves stretching to their fullest extention, and I thought to myself “if I fall now I’m going to get trampled, if I fall now I’m going to get trampled.” by the end of the seemingly endless set I was so covered in sweat and beer that my face froze as I walked with my friends out to my trusty ‘93 volvo to drive us all home, the sound of the radio drowned out by the ringing in our ears.
I remember the show vividly, but I can’t remember who I met last week that’d been there as well.
March 08, 2009, 3:15pm Comments
