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Gonzo Report: GBH stirs memories of diving days at House of Blues
Peering into the pit
GBH: making memories across generations.
Kevin Grossman — formerly of Rat City Riot, now with LoudMouth — shares a memory of touring with tonight’s headline act, GBH. “There’s nothing like being in a poor punk touring band, going to Paris exhausted, and seeing Jock from GBH holding a bottle in one hand and a bong in the other yelling, ‘Kevin from Rat City Riot, get over here!’” The first time I saw GBH, I was seeking refuge from three angry exes — first in the pit, and then onstage. My subsequent attempt at a stage dive was foiled by a local who was sitting on the stage and grabbed my legs, and a bouncer whose job description apparently included causing my head to hit the concrete.
The House of Blues downtown does see the occasional stage dive, but three decades have passed since the aforementioned concussion, and tonight, I find myself up in the balcony section. A leap from here would cause more than a headache and nausea. Also, I don’t feel the need to escape from my wife, who is happily here with me.
We didn’t start off in the relative safety of the balcony. Before this, it was an evening spent meandering around the venue, seeing old friends and having the discussions one can enjoy only at a show in the relative silence that falls between bands. Our first stop was the merch booth, where a pair of twentysomething women formed their own line in the middle of the actual queue, wearing cat-eye makeup and clothing strategically torn to reveal fishnet and leather. I suspected they spent more time getting ready for this show than I spend on a year’s worth of concert prep. But their disruption didn’t faze me, because I was still thinking about what to buy. The fashionable punk girls wanted most of the merch and walked away with an armload of swag. I had a budget to consider. Happily, the prices made me think that Live Nation wasn’t taking their cut, even though it turned out they were. I felt like a sellout for getting a shirt, but the merch guy assured me that the band was benefiting and that they were holding the promoters accountable. He didn’t explain how, though — he just laughed.
We saw the openers NIIS from the floor, and discovered a new band worth listening to. Singer Mimi San Doe prowled and growled, her stage banter delivered in a sweet high-pitched voice that put me in mind of the offspring of The Joker and an anime character. I met guitarist Ryan McGuffin after the set and he was as friendly as a man with no voice can be. He pointed to his throat, indicating that he couldn’t talk, but was more than willing to pose for a pic. The Chisel followed: a powerful live act that benefited from the street punk legacy of GBH.
A shirtless young man used the bar mirror to flex at himself, quite pleased with his physique. He and a woman of the same age then slipped off to the popcorn machine to make out during the rest of The Chisel’s set; it seemed he was not the only one pleased with his workout results.
It wasn’t until my last smoke break of the night that we found our way upstairs to an uncrowded balcony bar, where my bank account was violated by the purchase of an adult beverage for my wife. That’s where we met Grossman, his daughter, and his wife, and where he told me the story of touring with GBH in Europe.
His 10-year-old Izzy is here for her first punk show. Though her favorite band is The Interrupters, she loves GBH. Grossman’s wife Sarah shares stories of having a dictionary handy when listening to Bad Religion and so building her vocabulary. Come showtime, Colin from GBH gives a shout-out to Grossman from the stage, but the singer points to the left section of the balcony, and not toward the center where we are. Grossman flaps his arms in a vain attempt to be seen, but it’s still a cool moment, sure to make a memory for his child.
The floor below is a constant whirlwind of pit activity, and the balcony seems a world away from it, but not from the energy of the music. Some are up here because too many or too few summers have passed since their birth; some just meandered up here and stayed. Others prefer the option of sitting because of health issues. I used to laugh at the idea of being anywhere but right in the middle of the floor action. Now I realize that, at some point, we all spend time in the balcony.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Gonzo Report: GBH stirs memories of diving days at House of Blues
Peering into the pit
Gonzo Report: GBH stirs memories of diving days at House of Blues
Peering into the pit
GBH: making memories across generations.
Kevin Grossman — formerly of Rat City Riot, now with LoudMouth — shares a memory of touring with tonight’s headline act, GBH. “There’s nothing like being in a poor punk touring band, going to Paris exhausted, and seeing Jock from GBH holding a bottle in one hand and a bong in the other yelling, ‘Kevin from Rat City Riot, get over here!’” The first time I saw GBH, I was seeking refuge from three angry exes — first in the pit, and then onstage. My subsequent attempt at a stage dive was foiled by a local who was sitting on the stage and grabbed my legs, and a bouncer whose job description apparently included causing my head to hit the concrete.
The House of Blues downtown does see the occasional stage dive, but three decades have passed since the aforementioned concussion, and tonight, I find myself up in the balcony section. A leap from here would cause more than a headache and nausea. Also, I don’t feel the need to escape from my wife, who is happily here with me.
We didn’t start off in the relative safety of the balcony. Before this, it was an evening spent meandering around the venue, seeing old friends and having the discussions one can enjoy only at a show in the relative silence that falls between bands. Our first stop was the merch booth, where a pair of twentysomething women formed their own line in the middle of the actual queue, wearing cat-eye makeup and clothing strategically torn to reveal fishnet and leather. I suspected they spent more time getting ready for this show than I spend on a year’s worth of concert prep. But their disruption didn’t faze me, because I was still thinking about what to buy. The fashionable punk girls wanted most of the merch and walked away with an armload of swag. I had a budget to consider. Happily, the prices made me think that Live Nation wasn’t taking their cut, even though it turned out they were. I felt like a sellout for getting a shirt, but the merch guy assured me that the band was benefiting and that they were holding the promoters accountable. He didn’t explain how, though — he just laughed.
We saw the openers NIIS from the floor, and discovered a new band worth listening to. Singer Mimi San Doe prowled and growled, her stage banter delivered in a sweet high-pitched voice that put me in mind of the offspring of The Joker and an anime character. I met guitarist Ryan McGuffin after the set and he was as friendly as a man with no voice can be. He pointed to his throat, indicating that he couldn’t talk, but was more than willing to pose for a pic. The Chisel followed: a powerful live act that benefited from the street punk legacy of GBH.
A shirtless young man used the bar mirror to flex at himself, quite pleased with his physique. He and a woman of the same age then slipped off to the popcorn machine to make out during the rest of The Chisel’s set; it seemed he was not the only one pleased with his workout results.
It wasn’t until my last smoke break of the night that we found our way upstairs to an uncrowded balcony bar, where my bank account was violated by the purchase of an adult beverage for my wife. That’s where we met Grossman, his daughter, and his wife, and where he told me the story of touring with GBH in Europe.
His 10-year-old Izzy is here for her first punk show. Though her favorite band is The Interrupters, she loves GBH. Grossman’s wife Sarah shares stories of having a dictionary handy when listening to Bad Religion and so building her vocabulary. Come showtime, Colin from GBH gives a shout-out to Grossman from the stage, but the singer points to the left section of the balcony, and not toward the center where we are. Grossman flaps his arms in a vain attempt to be seen, but it’s still a cool moment, sure to make a memory for his child.
The floor below is a constant whirlwind of pit activity, and the balcony seems a world away from it, but not from the energy of the music. Some are up here because too many or too few summers have passed since their birth; some just meandered up here and stayed. Others prefer the option of sitting because of health issues. I used to laugh at the idea of being anywhere but right in the middle of the floor action. Now I realize that, at some point, we all spend time in the balcony.
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