My sister lives in Atlanta with my 18 month old nephew, and I decided after a long week of touring the southeast that I had to swing through to visit. I arrived to find my sister’s street is blocked off for this annual music pilgrimage known as Music Midtown. While an 18 month old can definitely stiffle your music festival desires, the next best thing is sipping free, cold beers on her roof deck listening to the action and imagining what is happening over there.
So, let’s start Friday night off right. I finally get settled in right at the start of Foo Fighters, and it is awesome. I can imagine the late thirties cougars adjusting their fake boobs while holding their young prey in their teeth. Hold on, I just heard three drunks leaving the festival and “WOOOOO”ing down the street. They must be enjoying this as much as me. From this distance, I can truly appreciate the guitar mastery (though I have no clue if that is Groehl or Smear making that madness happen out there). Let’s assume it is Smear. Wow, an imaginary drunk girl just puked next to me… all down her cute ass sundress and onto her boots. She is going to regret that pre-show stop at Blake’s when she wakes up in the morning. Whoa, I think they are covering Jimmy Buffet as fast as they can now. Maybe that is what made her puke…. Wait, that was Pink Floyd. Damn Cicadas.
Now they are playing “Best Of You”, but I’m pretty sure Bruce Springsteen is singing. The whole crowd is singing “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I wonder if they can hear me doing the same from up here. This is the best freaking concert that I’ve never been to ever. They came out and said something about waiting 10 years for something to happen. I can’t wait to read some quality music blogs tomorrow to see what actually happened.
“WITH TIMES LIKE THESE……..” Shit, I can’t hear the rest of the song because a dude is pushing a rattle-y ass shopping cart down the street.
“And on and on and on and on again”…. dude, these beers are saweet up here. Shit, is my nephew crying downstairs? Nope. Damn, cicadas.
Holy shit! Holy shit! Tom Petty alert. Dude, how did they get Tom Petty to come on stage and sing “Breakdown” for all these Atlanta hooligans… and believe me, they are hooligans. Well, actually, I can’t see any of them, but I’m pretty sure that it is a Juggalo Gathering out there right now. They are all inappropriately drunkenly moshing in the middle of the backward ball-capped frat boys to this sweet Petty jam.
Now, Joan Jett is on stage singing “Bad Reputation”. How did she not play that during her earlier set? I’m assuming that she is up there with Foo Fighters, but, who knows, maybe this is her encore. Dang, that imaginary girl puked on her boots again. Someone should take her home.
I need to take a leak. I’ll be right back.
Dammit, set break…
scratch that… party’s over, and there are tons of drunks peeing on the house…
Until tomorrow, that is the dispatch from the Roof Deck!
