Thirty years ago, I'm sure when they played Don't Bogart That Joint the auditorium lit up with the sweet smell of muggles. Not Harry Potter “muggles,” but muggles in the sense of the word as it was used in 1940. If you're wondering where Rowling got that term, it's a drug reference from even before MY time.
Parking at the fair is a bitch, so I try to not drive there. Actually, I try not to go there at all, but Little Feat was scheduled to play, and I've never seen them live. I would have liked to have seen them when Lowell George was still alive, but what the hell...
So I had my daughter drop me off at the westernmost gate, nearest the concert. I paid my three bucks for fair admission and walked in. A very pretty sunset was developing.
I paid five bucks for admission to the concert itself (and you fools paid how much to see that God-awful Elton John?) and started walking up... and the sunset was just spectacular. I stopped and stood there watching for a good ten minutes as the crowd walked past, oblivious to the beauty surrounding them.
A big cloud to the west/south-west made it even more spectacular. Some fool noticed me staring at the sky and remarked to whomever he was with as he walked past “I hope it doesn't rain.”
Blindness abounds. These fools will pay ten dollars to see a movie, a hundred to see a Broadway play, ten million to have a Van Gogh painting, but put God's art in front of them and they might as well gouge their worthless eyes out.
I figured I could probably see the sunset from the stands, so I walked on up and bought a beer. Three bucks for a Budweiser. Ripoffs. Damn, but I hate being overcharged.
There was a table set up with t shirts and CDs. The CDs were a little high priced, but were all signed by the band. I got a copy of the double CD Live At the Ramshead. Another twenty bucks.
I walked down, got a seat, and watched the sunset. That big cloud seemed to be getting closer.
As darkness fell, the Groove Daddys started playing. I hadn't heard them before either, despite the fact that they're a local bar band. They played for half an hour, putting on a very good show. I made a mental note to see them again and see if they have any CDs.
I walked down toward the stage, and something wet hit me in the eye. Was someone spitting at me? Another drop. Birds? No, it was starting to sprinkle.
ka BOOM! rumble rumble.
Some guy announced that they were going to wait for the rain to pass, that their radar said it was a smaller, local storm. I walked back to get out of the rain. I spotted Jeff standing by the stairs.
“I thought you guys were supposed to be playing here tonight?” I asked him.
“Yeah, we were supposed to but it kinda fell apart. Hey, everybody's here, come on up.”
When we sat down, I asked Joe what happened to their gig.
“We were supposed to take the Groove Daddies' place where they're normally playing while they're here opening for Little Feat, but they only wanted to pay us half of what we normally get.” Mojo Nixon's song Where The Hell's My Money popped into my mind for no reason whatever.
By ten o'clock, the announcer came on the house speakers, which I could barely hear. He said something about the show being canceled and refunds at the arena.
The arena is on the far side of the fair, a mile's walk away. God damned thieves run the fair, it seems. Three dollars for a seventy five cent beer, gate admission plus show admission, they don't pay the talent shit, but they claim to lose money every year.
Some Chicago politician is lining his pockets big time. Heh, some things never change.
Little Feat owes me a concert.