On Friday Jen and I regressed in age and attended the Anger Management Tour at Jones Beach Amphitheater. Our primary motivation was to see the headlining act, Eminem, whose latest CD is receiving lots of airplay in our respective stereos. If given the choice I’d much rather see a show in a small venue – the Supper Club, Bowery Ballroom, Irving Plaza, even the floor of Hammerstein Ballroom are all more intimate venues than the colossal Jones Beach Tommy Hilfger (blech) Amphitheater. I am however of the belief that if an artist comes to town and I have their CD and can afford to go to the concert, then my attendance is a must.
Thus Jen and I found ourselves at Jones Beach on Friday, a venue where the list of the items forbidden inside the “compound” walls is about 30 long (weapons, umbrellas, backpacks, food, bottles – you name it, it’s not allowed.) In spite of its prohibitive rules, Jones Beach hosts a star-studded concert series this summer – Area2, Mary J Blige, and Smoking Grooves are among the stellar acts performing over the next few weeks. Luckily we knew about their no-booze policy and crammed two small bottles of vodka (a little bit of weed mixed with some hard liquor…) into Jen’s bag, which made it in past the security check (unlike my backpack, which we parted ways with at the door.) We immediately purchased ourselves a $8 nacho platter and $4.50 sodas to mix with our vodka, and surveyed the crowd.
The Anger Management ticket holders were primarily white and under the age of 21, which I suspected would be the case but was still surprised by once I was in the middle of it all. Jen and I parked ourselves on a bench outside the amphitheater and people-watched throughout the opening acts. Not only were we met with a number of seatus-interruptors (New York kids are bold – I’ve never been hit on by so many people in one day in all my life), but I was told by a 22 year old boy that I reminded him of his aunt, and that he was afraid I was going to yell at him for being drunk. I informed him I was as drunk as he, and not to worry. It was a moment plucked right out of Sex and the City, but somehow since it happened to Carrie in the Fleet Week episode, I didn’t feel so bad. At least he didn’t tell me I reminded him of his mother.
Eminem’s lyrics make even more sense now that I’ve seen his followers. They really are white suburban teens. Some were accompanied by their parents, and I couldn’t help but think, what are the parents doing to protect their children's virgin ears during the “When I say fuck, you say that -- Fuck…THAT! Fuck… THAT!” portion of the warm up act? Judging by the kindred looks I was getting from the smattering of attendees over the age of 25, I am definitely of the older demographic targeted by Em’s music. It’s not a club I want to be a member of, but if in order to dance to some good rap I have to look at little out of place, so be it.
Of course none of this mattered when Eminem took the stage. Although our seats were so high up I was scared (I actually imagined myself taking a wrong dip during a dance move and rolling over the lower bowls of people and into the Long Island Sound), thanks to the immense computer screens to either side of the stage, we were able to see Eminem as clearly as if we’d been in the third row. I am sure that Jennifer has bruise marks on her arms from the many times I grabbed her screaming “OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD,” while I gazed at Eminem’s visage. I know how the 14 year olds at Beatles’ concerts circa 1963 felt. He seriously looked so hot it took my breath away. How old am I again?
Jen and I are suckers for extravagant shows, and in this vein, Eminem joined the ranks of Madonna and Marilyn Manson. The stage was adorned with a Circus marquee displaying “The Eminem Show”; a Ferris wheel rotated at stage left, and a 25 foot platform adorned stage right, where Em and his collaborators would take breaks from bopping across the stage and rap from atop the platform. The show opened with "Square Dance", whose dark gothic chords were the perfect soundtrack to the circus-like setting. The songs were punctuated with pyrotechnics and Eminem changed outfits about three times. It was exactly the type of show we paid to see, and we danced and ogled to our hearts' content.
There were some disappointments however, the most obvious of which was poor sound quality. When we first sat in our seats and surveyed the gargantuan theater around us, I commented that I would be happy to just listen to the CD pumping out of the immense speakers. Wrong. I might have been better off synchronizing my Walkman with Eminem’s songs – I’m accustomed to hearing every note, every bass line, and I’m afraid the 3-story-high speakers did not do the songs justice. Not only that, but the music often overpowered Eminem’s lyrics. (This could also be because we were practically in the very last row of the uppermost bowl – still, we paid a lot for our tickets, and expected better sound than what we got.) I was also a bit disappointed in Eminem’s compression of his songs – one of the other sticky rules about Jones Beach is that shows must wrap up by 11 pm, so in order to fit as much in as possible, Eminem abbreviated most of his performance. I realized that a lot of my favorite lyrics come later in his songs, and was sad that the post-song fireworks hit before I could hear “Lyrics lyrics, constant controversy, sponsors working round the clock to try to stop my concerts early…” Technically, it was Eminem who was stopping the concert early last Friday, or at least the songs.
Highlights of the night included "When the Music’s Over", where his collaborators jumped around the stage with him, including an artist that I will refer to as the “Shower Cap Rapper”. Although this too was cut short, the song was fun, and with such a large stage, it looks better to have more people up there, rather than Em pacing back and forth (and looking, from our seats, like mini-Eminem). He pummeled a Moby doll during “Without Me” and got nasty with his female counterpart in “Superman”, a song which is quickly becoming one of my favorites, because it’s so schizophrenic and hilarious that I can’t help but think Em is a lyrical genius for writing it. (It was during this song that I found myself bellowing, “Fuck ME. Fuck ME,” in spite of the parents and teens around me. Shameful.) I seriously considered finding a security guard after the show and telling him, “Please tell Eminem that Gina and Jen are here to have sex with him. We’ll wait right here for him. Thank you.” I didn’t do this, but instead picked up my bag from the coat check and made my way to the bus. Sad.
Eminem isn’t for everyone, but he’s definitely for Jen and I, and didn’t fail to deliver last Friday night. It was well worth the trip, the smuggling of booze, and the fielding of 21-year old suitors to enjoy this experience. Unlike our kiddie counterparts, however, the show depleted us of our energy, and we went straight to our respective beds like a couple of 45 year olds. Maybe it was the energy of the show, and maybe it was the vodka, but we both slept well, with visions of Eminems dancing in our heads.
