The Grabby Problem (and Mr. Velvet Hands)

A fan grabbing some ass. Looks like she’s married too. 

So you spend a small fortune on a concert ticket in the pit next to the stage — why? You won’t be far enough from the stage to get a good look at it; your entire view will be of the legs of the performers, and a severely telescoped look at their heads. Your view will be impeded by a forest of hands holding up phones. The sound will not be engineered to resonate well at this distance. You will not be able to sit down. You will be squashed. You do it for proximity: the opportunity to make physical contact with the star.

Everyone on the economic end of the concert experience knows this; it’s why the star will devote considerable time during the show to slapping hands with those in the front rows. Some will even sit down on the edge of the stage to sing a song or two, legs dangling perilously among the fans. Stages are designed to facilitate this, with their promontories stretching out in configurations allowing for maximum front-row exposure.

And if you weren’t quite close enough to shake hands during the show, or just missed by an inch? Then if you hang around afterwards, chances are the star will too, staying to sign autographs as the house lights come up and the crowd files out.

It’s one of the big perks of the ticket price. But has the expectation of physical contact become so de rigueur that it seems a right to those who pay for the privilege? If you’re an excited, perhaps tipsy lady with a powerful crush on the star, where do you draw the line between being satisfied with the momentary hand touch and a full-on grope? What if you have the opportunity, and could reach the denim-clad crown jewels, say — the bull’s-eye — would you? And if you’re the star, how close do you let the ladies get to your wedding tackle? The Inky Jukebox has seen phone footage of the crotches of singers so close to the lens that surely, surely, such an opportunistic grope would have been not only possible, but possibly invited.

Some entertainers have reached a point in their careers where this sort of thing — the grabby problem — is a known issue. Tim McGraw, for example. There was the famous incident in which his wife, Faith Hill, freaked out on a grabby fan after she groped him onstage. There was a mixed reaction: on the one hand, folks thought Faith was being a tad Mama Bear in going after the fan; on the other, folks wondered why Tim himself didn’t respond in the same way.

Skip forward a few years, and here we are again: some woman makes a grab for McGraw’s well-muscled leg (and more?) — but this time, his wife isn’t around to kick ass, so he swats the offending  intrusion away. The trouble is, he makes contact with the woman’s face instead of her hand. And all hell breaks loose. Did he intend to slap a bitch? Of course not. He’s in the middle of a song. Did he do what he felt was immediately necessary to extricate himself? Yes. Case closed. The woman, however, is gunning for revenge (or an apology and cash), for the humiliation. Let’s get this clear: she reached for him, first, not the other way around. Case closed.

Tim McGraw is a veteran performer; he never fails to tell the audience this, as if anyone in the crowd didn’t already know. He is fully aware of what the ladies want. They want to touch his crotch. They want a “Real Good Man.” They do not want “Truck Yeah” or “Mexicoma” to make a set list ever again.

The Inky Jukebox has witnessed McGraw interrupt a show to ask fans to remove their beers from the stage. He cited safety reasons. The fans at McGraw shows are humped so close to the stage upon which he struts that there is nowhere else for them to rest their beers.

Does this mean Tim McGraw must now push his stage back to create distance between him and his fans? Does it mean no more hand-slapping during shows? Or does it mean that people need to respect the basic social boundaries that prevent us from grabbing at what we want whether we're in the front row of a show or at the supermarket?

Sometimes, an iPhone crotch-cam close-up has to be enough to satisfy. Gentlemen: take heed. Except Luke Bryan. Dude already has that angle covered.

(And Justin Moore: don’t stop. OK, you play bigger venues now, and have three kids. But still.)

Whoa, lady! What you grabbin’ at? (Picture cropped.)

Luke Bryan’s Great Show Overshadowed by Trashtalk

Trashgate 2014: Oh, the Humanity! 

This is what the stadium looked like BEFORE the tailgaters filled the stadium

On June 21, Luke Bryan, Dierks Bentley, Lee Brice and Cole Swindell rolled into town looking to party —and party they did, delivering a rippingly entertaining evening of music to a record-breaking crowd of happy fans. This was Bryan’s first stadium show as a headliner, and as such promised to be something memorable: what would he do, given the enormity of the venue and occasion?

Luke Bryan with rally cap on

Rise up out of the ground astride a stuck? Punctuate hit songs with fire works? Invite each one of his opening acts onstage for a special duet? Yes to all of the above. As far as The Inky Jukebox is concerned, pretty much every one of the 53,000 fans had an awesome time. Did a few get drunk? Why yes they did. Had many been holding their own parking lot parties all day? Why yes they had.

Luke Bryan doing a little drinking of his own

The only thing you’ll hear or read about the concert is the furor generated by the trash left in the pre-paid lots in a city still reeling, apparently, with high dudgeon over last year’s Kenny Chesney show. The trash, however, is not what should be causing outrage here: it’s the complete loss of journalistic integrity and ignorant bandwagon-jumping by people who ought to know better and who weren’t there.

Lee Brice, Mr. "Parking Lot Party"

The Inky Jukebox is appalled to find that some of her fellow Pittsburghers and online friends of friends have gone so far (into their own sense of moral outrage) to call for a ban on drinking and concerts in the city, a special tax on anyone entering the city, and for country music fans to leave town. Can you HEAR yourselves, y’all? Seriously? The only shit that needs to stop RIGHT NOW is this nonsense.

Dierks Bentley, Mr. "Drunk on a Plane"

Here is a list of considerations the Trash-Talkers have failed to educate themselves about concerning this concert.

The notion that plenty of concerts are held at Heinz Field (home of the Steelers), and only country music fans desecrate the parking lots.

Actually, Heinz Field has only seen five concerts in the past three years: Kenny Chesney (twice); Taylor Swift (twice); and Luke Bryan. As far as The Inky Jukebox can tell, all of these acts are Country. I don't recall people complaining about Taylor Swift tailgaters. 

Only people not from Pittsburgh attend these shows. Only people from Pittsburgh attend these shows. No Steelers fans attend these shows.

All three are dead wrong. The summer shows at Heinz Field attract an enormous fan base for country music that stretches from Philadelphia to Columbus, Cleveland and down to West Virginia. Not all stadium acts perform at other venues. The crowd consists of people who have driven a LONG way to be here; sailed up and down river to be here, and include a large proportion of Steelers fans. Many of these fans appreciated the tribute to the late Chuck Noll that Bryan thoughtfully included in his show.

This was a run-of-the-mill show.

No it wasn’t: it’s the only show at Heinz field this year (Chesney and Swift aren’t touring, and it was the biggest-ever crowd Heinz Field has EVER had for a concert. It was also Luke Bryan’s first EVER stadium show, and therefore of some historic significance that drew an unusually large crowd from far afield.

All the parking lots in downtown Pittsburgh and which service the stadium were completely trashed by reckless, irresponsible rednecks.

Not so. Only the PRE-PAID stadium lots had a trash problem; they were the lots designated for TAILGATING, a great American tradition engaged in not only by country fans, but by concert-goers and sports fans EVERYWHERE, including STEELERS FANS AND PANTHER FANS AT HEINZ FIELD IN THE FOOTBALL SEASON. In order to manage the inflow of traffic from 53,000 people in a city with Pittsburgh’s topography, it makes sense to designate parking lots for those who are coming from afar and who pay for the privilege of parking in advance with their ticket. These lots open at 9AM, and come with rules which fans are made aware of. They include directions about trash collection, and specifically close in time to allow workers to begin trash clean-up during the show. Parkers are not only invited and expected to tailgate, but they are told that the parking lot authorities will be cleaning up.

Concert-goers have no idea what to do with their trash, so, not caring, they leave it everywhere.

Pre-paid Lot parkers are given two garbage bags when they enter the Lot: one for recyclables, and one for garbage. These they leave by their vehicle when they enter the show, so that the crew can take them away. However, the crew have nowhere to put them, because dumpsters – or enough dumpsters - have not been provided. Therefore, they pile up near the exits. When cars leave, they run over bags, splitting them, and scattering trash.

Concert-goers are riotous drunken rednecks who should not be allowed near a civilized city.

Tailgaters are there to party. They grill food; they drink beers; they play games. They listen to music. They have fun. This is what tailgaters of every stripe do. The tailgaters at Luke Bryan’s show (and Kenny Chesney’s shows) have been there since 9AM when the Lots open, partying. By the time they have to leave the Lot at 8PM, they have been at it for 11 straight hours. People generate a lot of trash in confined spaces over 11 hours. They drink a lot of beer.

Country music fans urinate everywhere like pigs.

If you have been drinking beer for 11 hours, wouldn’t you have to pee? Even if you’d only had one beer, or a glass of lemonade, or even water — over the course of 11 hours, wouldn’t you have to pee? No matter how old you were, wouldn’t you have to pee? And where would you go? The Lot authorities didn’t provide enough port-a-johns to service 53,000 people. That’s a fact. Lines were long and the average wait was 45 minutes. Hold it for 45 minutes and tell me you wouldn’t pee wherever you could. Ten arrests were made for public urination. Only ten!!!!

Drunken country music fans got fisty.

True, several fans got into fights. Hey; they’d been drinking. The same can be said of any football game on any given weekend.

Why didn’t these hooligans transport their own trash home with them?

There is no room in the trunk for bags of trash after you’ve put the folding table and chairs in your trunk, and the cooler and the grill. Leaving sticky bags of liquid and food garbage in your locked car for several hours in the midsummer heat won’t make your car smell nice when you drive home.

Surely there is room in an RV for trash.

RVs weren’t allowed in the lots. Only passenger cars.

The Police were there to help.

There was a huge Police presence at the show. The Inky Jukebox spent an hour after it ended watching them stand around doing nothing to assist a horrible traffic situation caused by people trying to exit lots into the highway entrance lanes, causing gridlock. This caused people in trucks to circumvent the exits and drive over trash bags in the dark.

It was Luke Bryan’s fault.

Get real.

Dierks expresses how we all feel

Also bear in mind that, as the Mayor admitted, all of the lots were cleaned “spotless” by 10AM the next morning, by workers paid to do so. The stadium lots are not themselves in residential neighborhoods; who was inconvenienced? I am sure the tax-paying city workers who earned overtime were glad to make a bit of cash. I am sure the City itself was glad of the fee it charged the promoter to host the concert. I am sure Heinz Field vendors made bank. I am certain the bars and restaurants in the area all did smashing business. The Pittsburgh Parking Authority cashed in on all that downtown parking.

I know that no-one to whom this post is aimed will likely read it, but someone has to offer a counterpoint to the crazy-ass blown-out-of-proportion incendiary and utterly biased reporting (and posting, and re-posting) that’s going on out there. Get it together, Pittsburgh.

The End.

My Kind of Night: Luke Bryan Rocks Pittsburgh

If You're Not Here To Party — You're Stuck In Traffic

Sing it, Luke

If Luke Bryan’s “Dirt Road Diary” read “want to grow up to be the new Tim McGraw,” then his dreams have come true. Earlier this year, The Inky Jukebox saw Mr. McGraw’s show and came away with that sad feeling that she’d just seen a once-bright star lose some of its twinkle. That’s OK; McGraw’s had his run.

 But that left the stage open for some new handsome buck to take his place and that man has arrived. His name is Luke “Shake It For Me” Bryan. As if to prove The Inky Jukebox’s point, it has just been announced that Bryan’s latest album Crash My Party has made the biggest sales splash for a male artist since McGraw’s Live Like You Were Dying in 2004.

Who's #1? You are! 

Bryan slides very easily into that spotlight on his first headlining tour, with a big ole stack of hits to make a fat set list from and the moves and singing chops to back it up. In Pittsburgh on September 28^th, he proved why he’s the current ACM Entertainer of the Year and delivered some whoop-ass to close out the concert season. 

Impressive on the big screen. Just sayin'.

He noted that it wasn’t long ago that this was the very venue of his first amphitheater-sized show (as opening opener for Sugarland and Brooks & Dunn), and that he vowed that night to sell this joint out one day. The Inky Jukebox can attest that he certainly did that.

Close enough to touch, ladies!

There were some tell-tale signs: first, The Inky Jukebox drove past five (5) miles of cars waiting to get off at the venue exit and only just made it into the parking area before it closed. Based on past experience, all of those cars were directed to the overflow parking in a field a mile away. Yet when The Inky Jukebox entered the amphitheater and found her place on the lawn just before Florida Georgia Line came on, the place looked packed to capacity already. Now that it’s getting dark early, Thompson Square’s set opened in the dark, yet folks were still coming in.

Acoustic set with Luke Bryan at piano

Luke Bryan’s got that mix between country topics and a pop look and sound; his latest single, “That’s My Kind of Night” features a club-thump and rap-style lyric, and clearly ruffled a few feathers in traditional circles. Zac Brown talked trash about it, but I don’t think Zac Brown shares the same audience as Luke Bryan, Georgia boys though they both be. What Bryan can do is play his instruments (guitar and piano), sing, — and dance. His booty-shaking is a crowd-pleaser and he knows it.  He genuinely looks like he’s having a blast on stage.

The hardest working ass in country music

The crowd was mostly very young (high school / college) and familiar with the urban hooks and rap that comprise the identity of Florida Georgia Line, which really do cause The Inky Jukebox to wonder about the state of country music. For good measure, Clay Cook has rubbished them by name too.

Shawna Thompson is better than her band

Thompson Square try hard, but like themselves more than the crowd does. Keifer is not that good a singer, but Shawna is. 

Country Boy, Shake It For Me

Luke Bryan Wants You To Crash His Party

Luke Bryan’s kind of night (according to the lead song on his new album, Crash My Party) involves laying you down and loving you right. And in case you don’t get the message loud and clear, he will gladly demonstrate what lies in store, as evidenced at his live shows. Here’s a taste, artfully compiled by someone set to Thun Thun music. This is NSFW.

If you’re reading the rest of this review after having had to have a lie down, you’re not alone. Luke Bryan has made a steadfast leap onto the booty stage of country hunks in recent years, something that hasn’t hurt — anyone or anything. It certainly hasn’t hurt his record sales or votes for Entertainer of the Year.

The other thing that hasn’t hurt is that his records are really really good. They are well written, well crafted songs that feel unforced and melodic. His general themes — country life, drinking, girls — work well for a guy who comes across as someone you’d want to hang out with. This album is anchored by his first single from it, “Crash My Party,” but it’s anyone’s guess as to which other songs will be singled out for radio play, as they are all contenders.

Bryan’s voice is like motor oil running through cogs, making them glisten. It’s not full of power, but lovely in a ballad, and you get a rare glimpse of him letting go in “Run This Town” when he whoops and hollers towards the end.

The Inky Jukebox did the math and decided that the Target Deluxe edition, which contains four bonus tracks, was the best value. Indeed, the extra songs don’t feel like add-ons, but part of the album as a whole. The day it was released, The Inky Jukebox went to go buy it only to find nothing but empty shelves where it had been. A copy was procured at a Target with a demographic less likely to be hit up by country music fans, but it was still the very last one on the shelf.

If you don’t mind, The Inky Jukebox is going to watch that video again.

Poxy Pittsburgh

Asphalt Cowboys and Tailgate Blues:

An Open Letter

Dear Luke Bryan and Jason Aldean

I would like to report that your concert tonight at Pittsburgh’s First Niagara Pavilion (located near the West Virginia border, 40 miles or so away from downtown) was AWESOME. I expect it still is, because as I write, it’s ten o’clock and Jason’s still on stage.

Sadly, I am not there. I fully intended to be. I bought a ticket, paid the babysitter, got in my car and hit the highway a full three hours before the show was due to begin. Two hours later I hadn’t even left downtown.

Things did not improve. Four miles from the venue, the two-lane rural highway — the only road leading to it — was again filled, bumper to bumper, with cars, trucks and things that were not going anywhere. I know I was four miles out because a large sign saying Burgettstown 4 miles was where the traffic began. I can also attest that it was moving at the strolling pace of 4 miles an hour. I know this because it took another whole hour to reach the exit.

The traffic began way, way further down Route 22 to the right.

By this time, I had been driving for four and a half hours. It was nine, and starting to get dark. Folks put their headlights on. Some had pulled over. Other folks had gotten out and were leaning against their vehicles, drinking beers and chatting. Dark storm clouds rolled in.

Being a veteran of the First Niagara Pavilion’s parking lots, I knew that even once you reached the entrance, you could reasonably expect to spend another hour snaking slowly around to find a parking spot. I knew that by this time, this spot would be at the very far reaches of the muddy fields surrounding the venue, and that with all this traffic, lining up to actually get in would take some time too. It was starting to rain, and no umbrellas are allowed. Last year, there were so many people that organizers had to open overflow parking a mile away in somebody’s field. That was incredible fun to hike back to in the pitch dark after the show.

Not having eaten since breakfast, and having exhausted the lone snack size Peppermint Patty I found in my car for emergencies, I also realized that the possibility of food was a long way off.

So I am afraid to say I cut my losses. I took advantage of the Emergency Vehicles Only turnaround, and turned around. As I gained speed going in the opposite direction, I passed another four miles of backed-up traffic which had been behind me.

So, dear Luke Bryan and Jason Aldean: if you were puzzled by the strangely thin audience that lined the hillside tonight despite sold-out sales, it was because we were all still outside. You may have passed many of them in your tour busses as you exited, their headlights making a long, long line in the Pennsylvania night. 

Tim McGraw, Luke Bryan & The Band Perry’s Emotional Traffic Tour

Country Boys, Shake It For Me

You could tell that Tim McGraw was going to play to a capacity crowd in Pittsburgh on July 30, because the right lane of Route 22 was back up for a mile with concert-goers in pick-up trucks patiently edging along to take the Burgettstown exit.

It was a perfect night for a concert; not only because it was a Saturday — which as Luke Bryan noted meant that we could really party and not worry abut getting up for work in the morning (what about getting up for church, huh?) — but because it was one of those midsummer nights with a beautiful sunset taking the sizzling heat off the day, and a sky so clear it was as if all the stars in the heavens had been commandeered for stage lighting.

The Hype Doesn’t Lie

The 23,000-strong throng consisted, predictably, largely of ladies, given that this concert featured a band popular with girls, and two heartthrobs. The Band Perry, who exploded onto the scene last year, clearly understood that they owe their success to the song “If I Die Young” which the crowd sung along with enthusiastically.

A Little Frisky

Luke Bryan performed a satisfyingly long set that included all of his hits and demonstrated ably why his star too is on the rise. Last year’s ACM Top New Artist knows what performing is all about, deftly wiggling his ass not just during his set but in the evening’s high point, where his simulated sex moves brought the house down as he dueted on "Back When" with Tim McGraw.

He’s a handsome man, all lean muscle, built very much like McGraw, in fact, an attribute that can’t hurt. He also knows his fans and what they like, a short list of things that includes Girls, Hunting, and Beer. He’s a country man and sings about things country folk know — and at shows like this, where the venue is far enough outside town to attract a mainly rural audience —that goes a long way. What he also knows is that though his fan base is going to have a large female component, he can’t neglect the guys, so while the girls get the ass-wiggling, the dudes get AC/DC riffs from his axe-grinding guitarists, and an homage to metal, with Metallica’s “Enter Sandman” making an appearance, which, frankly, rocked.

 How Do You Do It? Something Like That

It’s not unusual nowadays for singers to venture out into the crowd to sing a few numbers for the up-close-and-personal touch. Brad Paisley did it to great effect last year, and so does Taylor Swift. But it tends to happen half-way through the show, so the band can take a break or hang back a bit. Not so Tim McGraw, who opened by singing two songs at a mic right among the folks who got decent, but not great, seats. (How d'you like 'em now?) While last year at the same venue he saved most of his giant hits (the ones he cannot leave off the set list) for the encore, this time around he kicked off with “Something Like That” which meant that he was almost drowned out by the crowd singing along.

McGraw and his long-time band The Dancehall Doctors don’t have too much truck with fancy stage sets, preferring to simply deliver songs, one after the other, all night long. Last night’s show was being broadcast live on Sirius satelite radio, and knowing that appeared to make the crowd do their best to be heard roaring their approval and singing along with an alarming gusto — so much so that McGraw often let the audience sing, and showed his admiration for our (admittedly superb) efforts with much non-verbal chest pumping and smiling, not something that you can see on radio, but which works great in person.

Despite this, McGraw was not in best shape; a recently broken foot prevented him from engaging on most of the hip-swaggering moves he usually makes, though not from gently covering the stage as he walked about. “Don’t feel sorry for me,” he told us. “Faith looks damn good in a nurse’s uniform.” One always wonders (hopes) that his wife, Faith Hill, will make a surprise appearance for one of their duets, but this year, as last, it was not to be. His voice also seemed rough for the first several songs (head cold? Pain medication? Old age?). Fortunately, McGraw’s voice warmed up as the show progressed, and he delivered a very fine rendition of The Commodores’ “Sail On,” which he recorded recently with Lionel Richie. He wasn’t sure the crowd would be old enough to remember it —he’s 44 — and they may not have been. The Inky Jukebox (who is the same age) sure does though.

The odd thing that marks the Emotional Traffic Tour is that McGraw does not have an album to promote. This is due to a contract dispute with his label, who has not released it. Nevertheless, he played several of the songs from it — all of which hinted at how great the unheard album is — throughout the night, clearly deeply irked that we cannot enjoy it beyond the live show. This is not the first time McGraw and his label have been at odds (he disowned the third Greatest Hits record – which contained no hits – and rightly so).

The Inky Jukebox appreciates that whoever drew up his set list took a look back at what he performed last year and chose different songs; after all, he’s going to be playing to people who faithfully come out every time he passes through. This time he dug deep, going all the way back to early in his career, and he has a long career from which to select songs. One thing he can’t really do differently though is save the best for last, and again, he did just that, the opening strains of “Live Like You Were Dying” humming in the dark as we awaited the encore. He delivered his signature song simply, giving it his all at the mic stand, seemingly aware that if the global audience listening in live were going to climb on his bandwagon, he ought to act like he was in the studio on this one. The Inky Jukebox wonders if all those folks listening in on their radios could hear us singing our hearts out to every word as if our lives depended on it.

Probably, yes.