Sporadic… Inconsistent… blame it on the weather… whatever. Here's a a long, rambling narrative to make up for my meager output recently. Hey! It's a holiday, so sit back, relax and read…
I was thinking the other day about how so many of my musical memories are connected to various clubs and venues. Growing up in Cleveland we had plenty to choose from: The Cleveland Agora, The Richfield Coliseum, Music Hall, Public Hall, Peabody's Down Under, The Pirates Cove, and Blossom Music Center. I recall certain bands and performances because I remember the stage so well on which they played. You've heard me wax poetic about The Agora before—and I'm sure I'll do it again just because I saw so many memorable shows there—but for now I'd like to concentrate on a different venue.
The Richfield Coliseum was built in 1973 in Richfield, Ohio—about 45 minutes south of Cleveland with a maximum capacity of 20,000. The Coliseum's primary function was to serve as the home for The Cavaliers (basketball), and The Barons (hockey), who were later replaced by The Crusaders. Like most sports arenas of its kind, “design sensibility” and “acoustics” were probably never part of the conversation when it was being built following the style of Early American Brutalism. It was a cavernous concrete structure with uncomfortable plastic seats that brought your knees up around your ears. A simple whisper would echo round the room for minutes, let alone a guitar chord amplified through a stack of Marshall amps. Crowd control was handled by two sets of working doors for the entire building, and there was only one main “road” in out of the parking lot: the exit ramp off of I 270. Unfortunately, the Coliseum was the place to go if you wanted to see any of the “big name acts” coming to Cleveland in the '70's and '80's.
Fortunately, by the time I started getting interested in seeing some of these “big name acts,” my father's corner bar at the top of our street was owned and managed by a pair of brothers; one of whom, just happened to work in the ticket office at the Coliseum — and so from 1974 until I moved to Washington in 1985 I was musically “connected” and was often able to score center seats on the floor no further back than row ten or off the floor just to the side at stage height. Now that's entertainment. And from that privileged vantage point I recall:
Fortunately, by the time I started getting interested in seeing some of these “big name acts,” my father's corner bar at the top of our street was owned and managed by a pair of brothers; one of whom, just happened to work in the ticket office at the Coliseum — and so from 1974 until I moved to Washington in 1985 I was musically “connected” and was often able to score center seats on the floor no further back than row ten or off the floor just to the side at stage height. Now that's entertainment. And from that privileged vantage point I recall:
- The first time I ever saw The Who was two or three days after “The Stampede” in Cincinnati and Keith Moon was still in the band. When John, Pete and Roger walked out on stage Moon summersaulted out and nearly plunged 20ft off the stage. If Pete hadn't reached down and grabbed him by the collar I would have been witness to another Who show marked by tragedy! Later when the crowd wouldn't keep quiet while Pete introduced selections from Tommy, Keith jumped up on his drum kit whacking his sticks on the mic like a judge's gavel: “Oi! Let's have some quiet 'ere. This is a fuckin' opera, init?” Later, as blue laser beams swept through the darkness during the synthesizer break in “Won't Get Fooled Again” I was certain my 10th row-retinas would melt if one of the beams shone directly into my eyes. I didn't need to worry about that happening… when Daltrey screamed “Yeaaahhhhhggghhh” towards the end of the song, it was timed with a burst of light like an A-bomb test in the desert without any protective eye-wear—rendering me with 2/3's of Tommy's disabilities — and a huge grin on my face.
- Black Sabbath. Yeah, Black Sabbath, and I'm not one bit embarrassed. What teenage boy wasn't into heavy metal for at least a little while? On the way to the show satanic forces caused my friend Dave's green VW bug to slide off the icy interstate and hit a guard rail. Drunk and fearless we hopped out of the car, pulled it off the guardrail before our hands could freeze to the metal, and continued on to the show. At one point in the concert, something on a zip line was supposed to swoop down over the audience's heads and end up in Ozzie's hands on stage (presumably so he could bite its head off?), but it got stuck about halfway. Crazed, geezing metalheads, pulled it off the zip line and proceeded to tear it to pieces a few rows behind us while the Oz looked on in dismay and pleaded with them to stop.
- David Johansen / The Ian Hunter Band. Only one month after both these performers played sold-out shows at the Agora, they were back in town on the same bill for a killer sold out show at the Coliseum. Highlights included watching Johansen strut around the Mick Jagger-sized stage he'd always dreamed of playing on, watching Ian Hunter's guitarist: Mick Ronson, shortly before he passed away, and the absolute surge of electricity when the opening chords for “Cleveland Rocks” reverberated 'round the room and 20,000 people were up on their feet singing the chorus to an anthem celebrating a city which hasn't had a reason for many anthems to be written about it in a long, long time.
- The Go-Go's / The Police. As soon as The Go-Go's took the stage I fell in love with drummer Gina Schock from ten rows away—possibly the first woman I had ever seen sitting behind a drum kit. Meanwhile, the three members of the Police were nothing but a “class act.” Their sound was impeccable, their demeanor humble, and every song they played a hit. Stuart Copeland sat behind a massive drum kit and attacked it more than played it. Sting played a stand-up double bass that momentarily transported you out of the Coliseum and into a small, smokey jazz club, while Andy Sumner hopped around stage like a little pixie with a guitar; tapping on more guitar pedals than I had ever seen.
- Donovan opened for Yes and realized three songs into his set that despite the polite applause, no one really wanted to hear material from his new “comeback” LP. So he switched into “greatest hits” mode and the sold-out audience wouldn't let him leave the stage without a rousing, sing-a-long version of “Atlantis.”
- The Moody Blues very first reuinion show—thankfully without an orchestra in sight.
- The return of Roxy Music before they became so slick and packaged and boring. Back when they were still recording songs called “Trash.” Phil Manzanera's absolutely shimmering guitar and Andy McKay's barking saxophone.
- Taking my 9-year old brother and his friend to their first ever concert: Yes, again, with their surrealistic stage show and elaborate progressive rock.
- My friend Dave dragging me to see some guy and his band that he really liked in 1976… some guy who was too “big” for The Agora or Music Hall… but too small for the full-sized Coliseum so they moved the stage to half-court and called it the Coliseum Theatre. Some guy who told stories about pissing in his desk at school. Some guy who, after playing a splintering 2.5hr set brought out Ronnie Spector as a guest so he and his band could run through a half dozen of her hits too… Some guy named Bruce Springsteen…
- Donovan opened for Yes and realized three songs into his set that despite the polite applause, no one really wanted to hear material from his new “comeback” LP. So he switched into “greatest hits” mode and the sold-out audience wouldn't let him leave the stage without a rousing, sing-a-long version of “Atlantis.”
- The Moody Blues very first reuinion show—thankfully without an orchestra in sight.
- The return of Roxy Music before they became so slick and packaged and boring. Back when they were still recording songs called “Trash.” Phil Manzanera's absolutely shimmering guitar and Andy McKay's barking saxophone.
- Taking my 9-year old brother and his friend to their first ever concert: Yes, again, with their surrealistic stage show and elaborate progressive rock.
- My friend Dave dragging me to see some guy and his band that he really liked in 1976… some guy who was too “big” for The Agora or Music Hall… but too small for the full-sized Coliseum so they moved the stage to half-court and called it the Coliseum Theatre. Some guy who told stories about pissing in his desk at school. Some guy who, after playing a splintering 2.5hr set brought out Ronnie Spector as a guest so he and his band could run through a half dozen of her hits too… Some guy named Bruce Springsteen…
- 2nd row center seats on New Year's Day for Bruce Springsteen and the Darkness on the Edge of Town tour. Looking at my watch—two hours into the show while Springsteen apologized for going to “take a little break,” but promising to “be back shortly to play a lot more music!” Check out these never-before-seen concert photos that my high school buddy Joe Armao shot that night at the show and I cleaned up through the wonders of Photoshop.
- Todd Rundgren & Utopia. The Ra Tour featured a stage with a 20ft tubular pyramid that Todd climbed to the top of during one of his guitar solos and then, unseen amidst a barrage of strobe lights, clipped into a wired harness so he could drop from the top of the pyramid and continue the solo swinging upside down inside the frame of the pyramid. You had to be there.
And then there was the time we went to see The Tubes and got treated to one of those “special moments in music” that is just magic…
Usually when a third band unexpectedly appears on stage--before the already dreaded mediocre funk band originally scheduled to open the show, the evening starts to look pretty grim. And then, when the venue doesn't even deem it necessary to turn off the house lights when the unannounced mystery band takes the stage... well, that can't be good.
I'm sure, at first, most people in the cavernous room thought Chris Difford, Glen Tilbrook, Gilson Lavis, John Bentley and Jools Holland were just a bunch of whacky roadies who had commandeered the stage without permission. But it took less than half a song to quiet the crowd, and under the harsh white lights used to illuminate a basketball court, Squeeze premiered an amazing set of music from two LP's that had never even been released in the United States—and they did it with about three feet of stage in front of the other two bands' gear! I don't think I've ever seen an audience go from cold to hot so quickly in my life. Maybe it was Tilbrook's black and white checkered suit or maybe it was Jools' crazy piano antics that won the hostile crowd over... But as every unknown catchy song came to a crashing end, you could hear people all around asking each other “Who is this?” Thirty-five minutes and a dozen songs later they were gone, sweet harmonies and punky-poppy chords still hanging in the air. Later, the Tubes played an absolutely brilliant show complete with all the props and gimmicks that used to make their concerts so memorable, and I was grateful to experience it; especially the amazing version of “White Punks on Dope” and their superb covers of “The Kids are Alright” and “Baba O'Riley.” However, as we searched for our car in the parking lot afterwards, it was the music of Squeeze that kept popping into my head. The heavy accents, the clever songwriting, the harmonies, the melodies, the attire, the attitude, the antics... Now that's entertainment!
After all that, the Happy Medium Song of the Day (special holiday edition) comes not from Cool For Cats, the album I looked for at Record Theatre every day for two weeks after work before it finally came out, but the very first Squeeze LP that took even longer to reach America: UK Squeeze. The song is called “Take Me I'm Yours.” (Please use the comments box to share your thoughts.)
Usually when a third band unexpectedly appears on stage--before the already dreaded mediocre funk band originally scheduled to open the show, the evening starts to look pretty grim. And then, when the venue doesn't even deem it necessary to turn off the house lights when the unannounced mystery band takes the stage... well, that can't be good.
I'm sure, at first, most people in the cavernous room thought Chris Difford, Glen Tilbrook, Gilson Lavis, John Bentley and Jools Holland were just a bunch of whacky roadies who had commandeered the stage without permission. But it took less than half a song to quiet the crowd, and under the harsh white lights used to illuminate a basketball court, Squeeze premiered an amazing set of music from two LP's that had never even been released in the United States—and they did it with about three feet of stage in front of the other two bands' gear! I don't think I've ever seen an audience go from cold to hot so quickly in my life. Maybe it was Tilbrook's black and white checkered suit or maybe it was Jools' crazy piano antics that won the hostile crowd over... But as every unknown catchy song came to a crashing end, you could hear people all around asking each other “Who is this?” Thirty-five minutes and a dozen songs later they were gone, sweet harmonies and punky-poppy chords still hanging in the air. Later, the Tubes played an absolutely brilliant show complete with all the props and gimmicks that used to make their concerts so memorable, and I was grateful to experience it; especially the amazing version of “White Punks on Dope” and their superb covers of “The Kids are Alright” and “Baba O'Riley.” However, as we searched for our car in the parking lot afterwards, it was the music of Squeeze that kept popping into my head. The heavy accents, the clever songwriting, the harmonies, the melodies, the attire, the attitude, the antics... Now that's entertainment!
After all that, the Happy Medium Song of the Day (special holiday edition) comes not from Cool For Cats, the album I looked for at Record Theatre every day for two weeks after work before it finally came out, but the very first Squeeze LP that took even longer to reach America: UK Squeeze. The song is called “Take Me I'm Yours.” (Please use the comments box to share your thoughts.)