Muse at the Bank of America pavilion was my first real non-classical concert. Amanda had her own ticket, but DJ coordinated the getting of tickets for myself, Ginneh, and EricVW. He also coordinated the forgetting of said tickets in his car back at Eliot, something he realized when we stepped off the bus in front of the pavilion. So we listened to the opening bands from a bench outside a nearby restaurant while a slightly frantic DJ crawled through Boston traffic back to Newton, returning with tickets shortly before Muse started playing.
Concerts. Are. Loud. My eardrums were buzzing inside my head, and I could feel not only my pants vibrating against my knees, but my collar against my neck, my bangs against my forehead, and if I placed my hands on the side of my mouth, I could feel my teeth chatter along to the bass. There were the apparently requisite flashy media projections against the back, but the music was superb (although I couldn't understand a single word of the lyrics, save for "Time is Running Out," and that's only because I've played keyboard for it.)
Eric noticed me looking around the pavilion during the concert instead of watching the stage, and asked if I was ok. Some people go to concerts to watch concerts; I go to concerts to watch concerts and to watch how people react to concerts. A sea of folks from goth punks to yuppies to balding middle-aged men were standing in the strobe lights, brows furrowed and lips bit in a pose of feigned with-it-ness, bobbing heads, screaming drunkenly, and dancing in their seats (which nobody sat in) as if they were the people on stage, not Muse. I wonder how many of them actually got into the music and how many of them danced because that's what you're supposed to do to appear cool at a concert. A half-clothed man clambered on the chairs behind us to get beer, using our shoulders as an unwilling handrail. Every time Muse spoke, folks would pump their hands, formed into a fist with the pinky and index finger sticking up (don't know what the gesture is called) into the air and scream.
People are very interesting to watch. I don't understand them.
I would, however, love to play with the lighting rigs they had there. Gels of all colors stuffed into the ceiling. Fog machines and small swiveling projectors that sent fingers of light through them. Strobes. There was a catwalk suspended from the center of the stage with four huge spots on it - and no visible means of getting to them. You'd have to take a crane up and back down. The acoustics must be fantastic.