Boston is home to some great venues to see a concert.  One of my favorites is the Orpheum Theatre on the edge of Boston Common.  The Orpheum is an old theater built in 1852 after the style of an opera house.  Originally called the Music Hall, it was home to the New England Conservatory and the Boston Symphony Orchestra who made their debut there in 1881.  The BSO called it their home until 1900 after which they built their own hall, Symphony Hall, where they still play today. The Orpheum has played host to many illustrious composers and speakers.  Tchaikovsky premiered his First Piano Concerto there.  Civil rights activist Booker T. Washington and author Ralph Waldo Emerson both gave noted lectures to its audiences.  In later years, the theater went through conversions which changed it from a music hall, to a vaudeville hall, and then to a movie house, until being converted back into a music hall in 1968.  The theater has seen many renovations and even the closure of two of its original entrances, leaving only the back alley entrance through Hamilton Street.

It can be a little tricky finding parking for the Orpheum due to the narrow, one-way streets that comprise the neighborhoods surrounding the auditorium.  Even the roads around Boston Common itself form a large figure eight where most sections only run in one direction. The parking garage below Boston Common is reachable only through a bisecting road and its reduced height clearance won’t accommodate many SUV’s, including mine.  Metered parking around the Common is rare, so the few parking lots and garages in the area can fill rapidly on concert nights and weekends.  Fortunately, Boston has a pretty reliable public transportation system and there’s a train stop within a hundred yards of the Orpheum itself.  However in typical Boston fashion, the trains stop running at 1:00am, fully one hour before closing time for bars and nightclubs.

Even after successfully navigating either the streets around Boston Common, Beacon Hill, Downtown Crossing, and the Theater District; or the train system beneath all four; you’ll need a little first-hand knowledge to locate the Orpheum itself.  As I wrote earlier, the entrance is located down an alleyway and there’s no sign for it visible from anywhere other than when standing in the alley itself.  Depending on the size of the show and type of music, I suppose The Orpheum could be located by following the throngs of similarly dressed concert-goers; however, with the Theater District in close proximity, this may result in a futile effort.  Your best bet toward finding the Orpheum is to locate the corner of Boston Common where the train station exits and you’ll find yourself at the end of Hamilton Street.

Aside from other concert-goers and prerequisite ticket scalpers, you’ll be surprised to find the tour buses for the bands parked right in the alley. Although I have yet to see a band actually exit the adjacent building into the buses, after each show a dozen or so fans can be found loitering around them for a glimpse or an autograph.  Once inside the Orpheum, the building’s charm is evident in the small artistic flourishes that adorn the architecture. Whereas a modern rock arena is usually comprised of steel girders, concrete pillars, and fluorescent lighting, this concert hall is adorned with classic columns, gilded arches, ceiling murals, carpeted flooring, and wall sconces.  Not to take anything away from the skilled construction crews who efficiently assemble today’s stronger, sturdier, safer buildings, but I would like to see some of that efficiency result in more time for artisans to contribute aesthetics.

The seating for the Orpheum is separated into two levels: the orchestra level and the balcony level.  Although technically, the Orpheum also includes a mezzanine section, it’s really just the first five rows of the balcony, separated from the rest by a walkway.  Since this walkway is the main conduit for everyone in the balcony to take to get to the concession counters and the bathrooms downstairs, it’s important to note that the view from the first row of the mezzanine is substantially better than the first row of the balcony.  Regardless, I’d still take most rows in the balcony over the back rows of the orchestra, which are marginally obstructed by the balcony itself as it hangs over the auditorium.  Aside from the aforementioned sections, there are six opera boxes on each side of the auditorium, jutting out from the side walls which remind me of the boxes where the old guys from the Muppet Show would heckle the cast and close the show.

Although I had sat in nearly every corner of the Orpheum over the years, I had never managed tickets to opera boxes until Christmas 2004.  That year, for her birthday, I decided to surprise Maggie with tickets to see the Barenaked Ladies at the Orpheum.  We had both seen BNL in concert before we had met, but hadn’t yet seen them together.  I waited until tickets went on sale through Ticketmaster and repeatedly scanned for the best seats available.  I finally found a pair of seats in the orchestra section about halfway back, unobstructed by the balcony.  Tickets were going fast and I had already turned down a pair two rows in front of these seats, in the hope that a better pair would turn up, so I bought them. After completing the credit card transaction, I had the nagging feeling that I shouldn’t have given up so easily.  I logged back into Ticketmaster and continued searching when after about the fourth search, I found what I was looking for: two tickets, Mezzanine, squarely in one of the Muppets boxes.  I had to recheck the map a couple of times to confirm that I wasn’t mistaken, but that’s exactly where they were.  A whir of key presses and a few clicks later and I had bought a second pair of tickets to the same show, thinking I’d just sell the first set of tickets online.

Several weeks passed and my tickets hadn’t arrived - not the Muppets box tickets nor the plain old, ordinary, not too bad orchestra seats.  Eventually, even Maggie’s birthday arrived and still no tickets.  I resorted to putting a copy of the invoice in a card along with a story about how the tickets would eventually arrive, probably about a week before the show.  I even told her about the second set of tickets and a friend from her work was very excited to take them off our hands, which was good since it was doubtful that they would arrive in time to sell on EBay.  Then another couple weeks passed, but still no tickets.  When the tickets still hadn’t arrived by the Monday before the show, I called Ticketmaster and explained that I hadn’t received them.  The customer service rep was very nice but unable to determine whether or not the tickets were mailed, so she arranged for me to appear at the ticket window with a picture ID.  Then, two days before the show the tickets finally arrived in the mail.  I separated the two pairs and Maggie gave the plain old, ordinary, not too bad orchestra seats to her friend at work.

On the evening of the concert, Maggie and I had dinner at home before heading in town.  Traffic wasn’t too bad and I navigated the narrow streets of Boston like a seasoned pro until I arrived at our “secret” parking lot tucked down one of the side streets, out of view of all the major access points.  We had only a short walk to the Orpheum from the lot and arrived with time to spare.  I handed one of the people at the door our tickets, but her scanner let out an off-key tone during scanning.  She tried scanning the ticket again before summarily declaring that it had been cancelled.  At once I realized that after my phone call to Ticketmaster, they had cancelled the tickets, so the attendant directed us to the pickup window for the replacements.  I presented my license and received four replacement tickets, including two for the ones we had previously given to Maggie’s friends!  Maggie and I hadn’t made arrangements to meet them before the show and we didn’t know how we would get in touch.  We had just started to walk back out to decide our next move when as luck would have it Maggie spotted the two of them grimly waiting for the next customer service window. They had already tried to enter as we had and were similarly denied.  I presented them with the valid tickets and shared a laugh over a couple Harpoon drafts inside.

When the lights flickered to indicate that the main show was going to soon start, we made our goodbyes and went our separate ways.  As Maggie and I made our way up to the Muppets box, we had to pass through several security checks until we could take our seats.  The box required more security than would have been needed for the plain old, ordinary, not too bad orchestra seats which added to the VIP feelings we both had.  From our booth, we had a great view of the whole auditorium from our perch over the stage.  “Great seats, huh?” I asked and pointed out Maggie’s friends sitting in the seats we would have gladly taken if I hadn’t felt the urge to keep looking.  The show was great but even more so because from our seats perched over the stage, we felt like BNL was playing just for us. Several times, Ed Robertson looked up at us in our box and gave us a sly smile.  I imagine he thought to himself, “Those boxes remind me of the old guys from the Muppet Show.  What the heck were their names?” They were Statler and Waldorf, Ed.  And thanks for the great show.

"Once you say you’re going to settle for second, that’s what happens to you in life."
John F. Kennedy

One of the more interesting venues in New England is the storied Hampton Beach Casino Ballroom.  Built in 1899 with construction money provided by Massachusetts businessman, Wallace D. Lovell, the Hampton Beach Casino was a welcome attraction for the beach-going middleclass looking to escape the heat of the city.  Although today, the term “casino” typically refers to a gambling hall, it can also refer to a dancing or entertainment hall as it does here.  The large wooden structure was built 2 1/2 stories high, running 190 feet along the boulevard.  At the time, it was considered the Coney Island of the North and even featured regular baseball games in the rear.

In 1927, the Hampton Beach Casino added the Casino Ballroom, one of the largest on the East Coast featuring the top acts of the day, and garnering more than 20,000 patrons weekly.  The Ballroom was an instant hit with the public where they could dance the night away to popular musical acts.  Through the years, The Ballroom continued to adapt itself to current musical tastes, hosting big bands through the 1950’s, like Louis Armstrong, The Dorsey Brothers, and The Kingston Trio; and rock-and-roll acts through the 1960’s, like The Doors, Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and The Who.  However, in 1971, a riot erupted during a Jethro Tull concert when over 3,000 fans without tickets stormed the gates.  The riot could only be squelched after the New Hampshire National Guard was summoned.  The town reacted harshly and passed a ban on rock performances, seemingly dooming The Ballroom for future generations.

The ban lasted until 1976 when Fred Schaake, Sr. purchased The Hampton Beach Casino with a small consortium of fellow businessmen.  Schaake had worked summers at The Casino since age 14 and had seen it in its prior glory.  He felt that The Casino still had value to the Northeast and could be restored and be profitable.  Although family vacations had shortened considerably since The Casino’s original inception, families no longer spent an entire summer at a cottage on the beach, Schaake had ideas on how to capitalize on the changing market.  He immediately began renovations, removing decaying buildings, and installing two mini-malls and the first seasonal McDonald’s, which is still closed in the winter months even today.  Next, Schaake and one of his partners, Jim Goodwin, rejuvenated the Casino Ballroom.  They worked to remove the town’s ban on rock acts and diversified the performances.  He also focused on making things as comfortable as possible for performers, encouraging them to stay for long periods and to come back often.  From 1978-1979, Roy Orbison considered The Ballroom a favorite venue and headlined four shows a year.

Today, Fred Schaake, Jr. owns and runs the Casino.  He has continued his father’s goal to diversify acts, as represented by the eclectic mix of bands, sporting events, and comedy acts the Casino Ballroom regularly showcases.  As his father did before him, Schaake has also continued to adapt The Casino to the times, installing corporate skyboxes about a decade ago and closing The Casino Opera House’s movie theater in 1982.  However, much of The Casino Ballroom itself stands as it did in 1927, giving patrons a glimpse into the past.  It features the same wooden spring floor that provides comfort and bounces along with dancers, as it did when The Ballroom was originally constructed.  A large mural is painted on one wall representing The Ballroom’s history and displaying accurate renderings of many of the artists who have played there over the years.

The Casino Ballroom is still a favorite venue for many acts today.  The Black Crowes had called it their home away from home.  It’s clear that the joy that acts feel backstage carry forward to their stage performances.  I remember one night in particular when Bush played The Ballroom.  At one point during the performance, the speakers on the right side of the stage failed.  It appeared the sound crew had corrected then problem when the speakers went out for a second time and didn’t come back.  After a couple minutes without sound from one half of the stage, lead singer, Gavin Rossdale disappeared from the stage only to reappear moments later at the back of the crowd.  He hopped up on a small platform only a few feet away from where I was standing.  Equipped with a wireless hookup, Rossdale continued to play and sing directly to the crowd until the speaker problem was rectified.  It was a classy move and I’ll remember it always.

"Life’s most persistent and urgent question is, ‘What are you doing for others?’”
Martin Luther King, Jr.

Back in 1995, Molson Brewing Company held a concert in Tuktoyuktuk, Iceland called the Polar Beach Party.  The show feature a great lineup of bands and it sounded like it would be an amazing trip, but it wasn’t easy to get to the show and it just didn’t happen for me.  However, it registered in my mind so that years later when another beer company, Rolling Rock, decided to sponsor their own concert in Latrobe, PA I knew I wanted to go.  Better still, I knew someone who worked at a Rolling Rock distributor, so I asked her if she could get me tickets to the concert and in a few short days later I had them in my hand. This was yet another favor that I will probably remember for the rest of my life.

I certainly didn’t expect the Latrobe concert to compare with the concert that went off in Iceland, but it didn’t require time off from work and there were several major acts that I really liked, including the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Moby, Filter, and Our Lady Peace.  I had four tickets, so I invited my friends, Pat and Mike, and my sister Ellen.  We shopped around for the best (i.e., cheapest) way there and ended up ruling out plane, train, and bus, which really only left us with driving down ourselves.  We decided to rent a car we could all fit in comfortably and drive down together, but two days before the show, Ellen and Mike dropped out and all was lost.  I was disappointed to miss the show, but I managed to convince myself that it probably wasn’t going to be that good anyway.

I called Pat and broke the news to him: the show was off.  I was disappointed and a little angry, so I wasn’t thinking clearly until Pat asked if he could still have his ticket.  He said that he’d drive down in his car, and if I didn’t want to go, he’d still go it alone.  I was a little embarrassed that I hadn’t even considered any other possibility.  I allowed my disappointment over a little setback from what I considered the ideal situation to blind me from realizing there were other possibile scenarios.  I told Pat he could certainly have his ticket, but that I wasn’t going to let him drive 1100 miles round-trip alone.  I was going, too, and I wanted to help with the driving.  He was happy, I was happy, and now our trip was back on.

We packed up and left Friday after work and drove all night, through Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York, and Pennsylvania.  Pat drove the whole way down, but I stayed up all night and kept him company.  Even at night, but especially at sunrise, Pennsylvania was gorgeous, covered with lush, green woods, and long winding roads up, down, and even through mountains.  I remember one thing in particular Pat said, because I felt the same way. After remarking how beautiful Pennsylvania was, he said that he wouldn’t mind living there, but that he could never live too far from the ocean.  Neither of us surf, own boats, or fish much, and the last place you would find me would be frying myself on the beach, but there’s just something comforting about the ocean. To me, looking out over the water is like looking out into the stars.  It makes me feel tiny and yet connected to everything all at once.  There’s just something comforting about the ocean.  When I was first driving and wanted to explore the highways and back roads of Massachusetts and New Hampshire, I always knew I could just head east until I hit the ocean and then find my way home from there.

We arrived just outside of Latrobe at about 6am and stopped into an IHOP for what seemed like the best breakfast we had ever had.  The restaurant was pretty busy for that time of morning, but we were probably the only non-locals there. Most people were ordinary folk, probably with ordinary jobs, but to us it was like another world: a place where people raised livestock and grew food on land where we could only marginally grow grass.  It may seem like a silly thing to be in awe of a farmer, but that’s really the only way I can describe it.  I could just as easily dismiss it as the results of a long, sleep-deprived night, but that morning just felt special, so we treated it and everyone around us with a kind of reverence that continued for the rest of the weekend.  And, just by treating it special, we made it special.

We drove on to Latrobe and down to the fairgrounds to get a good look at the venue.  The Rolling Rock Town Fair is held on a massive fairgrounds with what appears to be a fully working farm.  There were throngs of people everywhere and we could see buses shuttling people to and from the satellite lots, so we double-backed and parked at one of the satellite lots, really just an open grassy field.  Pat and I hung out at the car for a few hours, took some pictures, drank some beers, and bought what has turned into a contest for the wildest tie-dye concert t-shirt.

At the show, the bands were fantastic and the crowd was wild.  The temperature began to rise, so the concert organizers set up pump trucks to spray the crowds with water.  Where there’s water and dirt, there’s mud, so before long we started seeing what can only be described as the “mud people:” men and women covered from head to toe in mud.  I’ve seen the mud people reemerge at several concerts since then, and I knew friends who were present both at Green Day’s free concert at the Hatch Shell in Boston and at Woodstock II. During both Green Day concerts, clumps of mud and ripped up turf were hurled at the band, but here in Latrobe the mud people weren’t out of control; they were just happy to be cool and covered in mud.  I guess you can even learn from a pig.

Another surreal moment occurred after the concert let out.  We headed to the nearest motel for some long needed sleep and on the drive out of Latrobe, we passed a farm where we witnessed the largest gathering of fireflies I could ever imagine.  They were glowing and blinking all around the car and out across the grassy hill in every direction as far as our weary eyes could see.  I had seen fireflies many times before and since this night, and I don’t think it was simply the sheer numbers of them glowing and dancing as the evening sun began to set that made it so memorable.  I think it was because I felt that this time they were blinking just for us.  They were blinking, “Thank you for coming.  Have a safe drive home.  Come again!”

We awoke early Sunday morning, checked out of the motel, and set out on the open road for the long drive back home, satisfied that the trip was well worth it.  We had spent our time well.  The drive home was just as long as the drive down, but we got to see more of Pennsylvania in the daylight than we could make out in the dark before the sun had come up.  It was just as beautiful as it was on the drive down.

We’ve gone to the Rolling Rock Town Fair several times since then, always driving down and always staying at the same hotel that gave us comfort on the first trip.  A couple times, I drove, and even one time, Ellen and Mike made the trip with us.  The show has grown in the years since the first Town Fair and Rolling Rock even moved to Heinz Field for a year, greatly underestimating the allure of the fairground venue, but none of the shows could possibly compare with my memories of the the first.  And to think, if Pat had been as defeated as I had been, I wouldn’t have ever even gone.

"Remember that your failures are the seeds of your most glorious successes. Be sad if you must, but don’t despair.”
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