My first “live” Paul McCartney concert experience was in 1965 at the San Francisco Cow Palace when he played and sang with a little group called the Beatles. My boyfriend of the time and I had cut class at Berkeley and drove up on his purple Czechoslovokian motorcyle. We had no tickets. We got there and were able to purchase 2 seats on the end of the 7th row on the floor for $7 apiece. That concert was a classic and deserves its own column, so, moving on.
My second “live” Paul McCartney concert experience was when he was singing with “Wings” and played in Ames at the Hilton Colisseum. By the luck of the draw, my name was drawn first for tickets in the state of Iowa in a drawing that took place outside the Younkers entrance at Duck Creek Mall. Paula Sands (KWQC anchor) came over to me and asked me to purchase 4 tickets (there was an 8-ticket limit) and sell 4 to she and husband, David Sands,which I did. It was a great concert and we were very close to the front.
My third “live” Paul McCartney concert experience was at Wrigley Field a few years ago with my daughter. We were in the upper bowl, but the seats were tiered and were good. I knew every song he played and the fireworks at the end were great. The concert was well worth the money. Interestingly enough, all of the anecdotal stuff he mentioned in concert in Moline he had (also) mentioned in Chicago. He also had exactly the same band with him on Tuesday as he had at Wrigley Field.
My most recent “live” Paul McCartney experience was at the TaxSlayer Center (previously the Mark of the Quad Cities) ,on Tuesday night. I’ve seen so many glowing accounts of the concert—most of which I agree with—that I thought I’d throw in “another country heard from.” I sat down when I reached home and wrote this account of Tuesday night’s concert—where I knew 75% of the songs, as opposed to 100% at the others—to my son and daughter, to let them know how the concert went. So far, no comment from them. [Perhaps they, too, have had to put up with a Bobblehead who just won’t quit and semi-ruins their concert experience.]
I got in on a pre-sale for concert tickets, so our tickets in Section 213, row 11, seats 3 and 4, cost us $213 apiece. While this is not “cheap,” our upper tier seats were definitely not the ones that people were paying thousands of dollars to secure. We climbed 45 stairs to reach the 11th row in the upper bowl. As luck would have it, the 2 seats next to us remained empty and we moved over into seats 2 and 3, leaving a seat on each end (1 and 4), which made us feel less like sardines.
Getting into the venue was not that difficult. We were “wanded” and purses were checked, but it did not take that long and it was not that onerous.
The first sign of trouble came with the realization that a First Class Bobblehead was going to sit directly in front of me for the entire concert. A bobblehead, as you all probably know, is someone who never sits down, screams loudly all the time, is constantly waving fists and arms in the air, and generally seems to have not received enough attention from his or her parental unit as an infant. The one in front of me resembled a small creature that might live on the back of a rhinoceros, to make an animal allusion, because of the size differential between him and the man on the end of the aisle. I say this because the gentleman on the end of the row in front of us (Row 10) was really, really large. He had a very hard time making it up to his seat. I say this with empathy, as I have a bad left knee and am no Birdwoman, myself. He was a red-head and fair and overweight and the SHAKING of his entire body was really concerning, to me. I am not joking about this; he was in distress.
I was very concerned that the man on the end of Row 10 was going to have a heart attack, as he was beet red, sweating profusely and shaking. He immediately began blotting his face with a napkin and guzzling water from a bottle someone in the row below handed up to him, but he was really distressed. I honestly thought we might need to administer CPR. I looked around for someone to assist us, who might be in an official capacity, but there was no one
The Bobblehead, wearing glasses and his baseball cap backwards seemed over-caffeinated, went into high gear immediately and never once let up. He seldom sat down and emitted ear-shattering hoots and hollers throughout, singing along loudly to the point that it was hard to hear Sir Paul. My husband cautioned, “Just ignore him” and, as God is my witness, I did. That is why most of my pictures have his arm or hand in them. He did leave once, giving me a clear view for about 10 minutes.
Mid-concert a blonde girl, clutching a beer bottle, came to our row and leaned over and began hugging and kissing Mr. Bobblehead. To do this, she occupied the empty aisle seat, which she soon announced, very belligerently, she intended to sit in for the entire concert. I asked her, “Don’t you have a seat and a ticket for that seat somewhere?”
She admitted that she had a seat “way over there,” (throwing her arms around in a random fashion.) As politely as I could, I suggested that, if she had a ticket for a seat, she should probably occupy her own seat. She didn’t seem to like that logic, but it was pretty obvious that if she were to move into the row we were in, my husband and I would be subjected to even more extreme aggravation that would be IN OUR ROW. We already were having difficulty seeing over Mr. Bobblehead’s appendages, at times, and hearing the concert, at times (Mr. Bobblehead liked to sing along, loudly). With this blonde person in our row it would be a double whammy. She was not very smart about how she threw out this idea, declaring it as a “fait accomplis” without any attempt at asking nicely or explaining why allowing her to shove her way into our row would be a “good” thing for all of us. She did not ask if she would be an acceptable addition to our row or if we would mind. She simply loudly announced that she was going to move into our row and our seats, while sloppily guzzling something from a pink can. She was also very loud.
The blonde clutching the beer bottle left—for a while—but, of course, decided to come back later and pretty much ruin the concert during the Grand Finale number (“Live and Let Die”), which was song number 32 (of 36). At that point, she was truly drunk. When I objected to her inserting herself into a row she did not belong in and SCREAMING as loudly as possible in my left ear, she called me every name in the book, gave me the finger, and then hit me. On the nose. I suggested that she might want to “Go away” or I’d have to find a cop who might escort her somewhere, and that I would press charges if I had to miss the rest of the concert to find an officer of the law.
This was RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF the biggest number of the night (“Live and Let Die”) when various flash pots were detonating down below. I missed most of it because a drunk blonde person assaulted and insulted me. Her friend (Mr. Bobblehead) now climbed over the BACK of his seat to get into our row. This put him in between Blonde Drunk Girl and me. If you’re keeping score, there are 2 seats there, and now we have 3 people occupying them. I’m thinking, “This can’t be good!”, but I’m also glad that there is someone between the young girl who had just assaulted me and her.
I believe I said, more than once, “Keep her away from me.” Since she had already hit me once, I didn’t think a repeat performance would be any more enjoyable. Since I was trying to film the Grand Finale number, I may even have some film footage of this intrusion into our personal space. It’s pretty erratic, but if I can find it, I will post it later.
It was pretty clear that there were not going to be any security officers rushing to my aid. My husband was sitting closer to the stage (seat 4), looking to his right, and was engrossed in the pyrotechnics going off down below, so he did not notice all of this until it was almost over. When he did, he asked the duo to calm down (both were drunk) and stop.
Mr. Bobblehead, perhaps realizing that his drunk friend (wife? girlfriend?) had gone too far, did take her “away from me” shortly after she assaulted and insulted me. I was able to enjoy songs #32 through #37 in peace. Too bad that the first 31 were ruined by this pair. Good thing that my nose is Irish and small and pug-nosed, as a Grecian honker might have been broken by the blow.
So, when I’m asked (by my husband), “Which concert did you enjoy the most?” I can’t say it was the one where 2 young rude people did their best to ruin it for me (and all those around me). I also enjoyed the Wrigley recent concert more because he played nearly all songs that the audience knew well. I’d have to rate them in order chronologically and say that this was the fourth concert and #4, through no fault of Sir Paul’s.
There were three factors for my rating, beyond the inexcusable rude behavior of two young drunk concert-goers:
1) Paul played more recognizable songs at the other 3 concerts
(2) My tickets at the Cow Palace for the Beatles and at the Hilton Colisseum for Wings were better (Wrigley was a draw) and cheaper.
(3) Nobody wants to have to put up with rude behavior from two strangers that they in no way have instigated. And I DID pay $426 for these tickets, so…. (In the age of Trump, don’t expect courtesy may be the name of that tune).
Read the full article at Weekly Wilson.