Dinosaur Jr. @ Metro (11/30/2005)

Ok, I don't get it. I honestly for the life of me do not get it. This review is going to be rather different from what readers are normally used to when checking out my work. But I wouldn't be a good rock critic if I wasn't completely upfront about my feelings towards a record or a concert. In the case of Wednesday night's Dinosaur Jr. show at Metro, I must come clean and say I missed the memo that explained why this group was hailed as an important band from the 90s alternative era of music.

Metro held an e-mail promotion for those that subscribe to their newsletter where they offered the first 50 responses two tickets for either Tuesday or Wednesday night's show. To my recollection, the shows were not sold-out. I entered the contest thinking it might be a decent time. I would have a better time dealing with the show knowing I got in for free than knowing I wasted $30 that I could have put towards gas for the car or tickets to ride Metra to work. My girlfriend had expressed an interest in seeing the show in the first place but she knew I wasn't impressed by the band when I glanced at them at this summer's Lollapalooza. I thought that if I won I would take her and let her enjoy the show even though I wouldn't be the most excited person in the crowd to be there. Well, sure enough, I received an e-mail on Wednesday afternoon congratulating me for winning 2 tickets for that evening's show.

Now, my only memory of Dinosaur Jr. was probably when I was either 13 or 14. MTV--when it actually played videos-- used to have this Dinosaur Jr. video on heavy rotation where J Mascis (singer/guitarist) was riding around in a golf cart. That's it. That's what I walked into Metro with in the back of my mind about this band. I decided I would review the show having a pretty open mind about the band and that my opinions would be that of a first time listener. Sure, I didn't think much of them at Lollapalooza, but I'm willing to give a band a second chance (I did it with the Secret Machines and came to love them). Opening the show were Magik Markers and local band The Ponys. Liz (my girlfriend) and I saw The Ponys as part of this past Hideout Block Party. Both of us really liked what we saw and heard. So, we looked forward to seeing them again.

The Magik Markers certainly removed all of the connotation surrounding the word magic with their 18 minute set of feedback. I would actually be doing The White Stripes a disservice by comparing Magik Markers to them. Think of Jack and Meg White reversed in their musical roles and sounding like they came straight out of the worst mental ward you can imagine. Jaw dropping? You bet. It was so horrendous that someone in the crowd wrote a large sign and placed it on the stage, not too far from where the drummer was, well, drumming (the fact he needed to adjust the microphone on one of the drum heads seemed rather feeble in the big picture). The sign read, "PLAY A DAMN SONG ALREADY! SIGNED: YOUR MOM."

The Ponys sort of came and went. I don't think The Ponys at their best could have rescued the crowd from what we all just experienced. They put on a good show, but it didn't hit me quite as hard as when I saw them at the Hideout.

Then came Dinosaur Jr. in the original lineup. Mascis had this massive amplifier setup that reminded me of Pete Townshend's setup in The Who when he used to play with 3 full stacks of Hiwatts. I used to think there's no such thing as too much volume. I stand corrected. The opening song was this mess of drums, bass, and guitar. Somewhere in all that was some singing, but I couldn't tell. I understood the female singer of Magik Markers mumbling, "Bull shit! Bull shit!' more than I did Mascis' vocals. The bassist, Lou Barlow, drowned out Mascis entirely. Lucky us, Liz and I were positioned in front of Barlow and his PA system. After the first song, I turned to Liz and said, "We'll leave before the encore." There were some in the crowd that pleaded with Barlow to lower his amplifier volume. He laughed and said, "Stand over there," pointing to Mascis' side of the stage. I wanted to try and give this show a chance, but after six songs enough was enough. Liz also felt the same way as I did about making our early departure.

What wasn't I hearing that the guy playing air drums heard? Was I missing something? Would ear plugs have made the show better for me? Did I not catch the right beat to let loose? What was it?

Somewhere, someone must have said to Mascis, "The Pixies are cashing in. You should, too." Some doors should just never be reopened. All I saw on that stage was a troll of an old man, an aging Cousin It, with a fancy guitar effects panel and big amplifiers. What J Mascis was on stage was everything Paul Weller did not ever want to happen to him as the frontman of The Jam at the height of their success: a sad, old man trying to play rock music to a bunch of teenagers and 20-somethings.

The only thing that salvaged the night was the spectacular meter parking found in front of a McDonald's on Clark St. just 2 blocks from Metro. You know it's a bad concert when at the end of the night you're at your happiest for finding street parking around Wrigley Field prior to entering Metro. J Mascis, you and I weren't meant to be when I was 13, and it just wasn't meant to be when I was 24. Farewell...