Behold, the Sweet and Sour 16:
That is how we do.
Winners were determined via a single factor: of the competing performances, which would I--meaning me now, in 2017--most want to be in the audience for. Which gig had the greatest potential to make me feel love, hate ,confusion, giddiness, sexual arousal, and the hunger for popcorn.
Let's look at the "teams."
ROLLING STONES/PRINCE
What Happened: Prince was on the verge, while the Stones were losing the urge. Hardly anyone seemed to realize that, though. The Stones were touring behind their 18th LP, Tattoo You, which featured the big ol' hit "Start Me Up." Sure the record wasn't on the artistic level of the one immediately preceding it--the stupendously groovin' Emotional Rescue--but compared to the eight that followed? Abbey Road status.
Prince was about to release album four, Controversy. This record would mark a creative breakthrough for the Minnesota viking, as he mixed in politics with polyamory. Prince wasn't just aiming to make listeners feel; he wanted them to think.
A month before embarking on his own headlining tour, Prince agreed to open up two shows for the Stones at L.A.'s Memorial Coliseum. The first took place on October 9, 1981. Mr. Nelson and his band found themselves under attack almost immediately. Not only did the group have no major hits to their name, that weirdo out front was wearing bikini briefs and a trench coat. Lusty boos clogged the atmosphere. Food and footwear were hurled towards the stage.
After 25 minutes, Prince left that stage. Then he boarded a plane and left the state, back to the land of lotsa lakes. Management cajoled him back in time for the second show, two days later. That set was seen through to completion, although the reaction was no warmer. (Backstage, Prince allegedly called the crowd "tasteless in music and mentally retarded.")
Why I'd Want To Be There: Hindsight is 20/20, and that's what creates the dilemma in almost every one of these matches. The Stones were not slouch status yet-they were pumping out sets thirty songs strong, still a force on the charts as well as the stage. And Prince wasn't yet Prince, but the guy still had four records of generally high quality to cull from. Who cares how he dressed or if he had a possibly fatal aversion to spelling out certain short words? The Stones audience for those two nights represent the ultimate in "I want to stand here amongst these tens of thousands of shitheads and feel so smug my nose might start bleeding."
Best, here's a quote from Keith Richards shortly after the incident: "Prince has to find out what it means to be a prince."
That's what his parents named him, ya dick!
FRANK ZAPPA/DION
What Happened: For two months in 1974, the man behind "Runaround Sue" opened for Baltimore's finest. I was able to confirm eleven shows, though likely there were more.
Frank Zappa with a gold album is like me losing 100 pounds. No one can quite believe it happened, yet it happened, and it was overdue like a pregnant woman in her thirteenth month. Dude was a genius. A genius is someone who is not only highly intelligent but enormously creative, allowing them to use their intelligence in ways that the average "well-read" person cannot. That is why Zappa's biggest radio hits are "Don't Eat the Yellow Snow" and "Valley Girl." That is why he asked Dion out on tour.
Zappa fans gave the mononymous doo-wopper a generally tepid reaction. Given that the guy's heyday on all checkable calendars had long passed, it could have been worse.
Why I'd Want To Be There: Just to see Frank, really. And to keep fingers crossed I'd be part of a crowd reacting to the man who took the "harm" out of "harmony" in the only acceptable way: polite silence.
ALANIS MORISSETTE/RADIOHEAD
What Happened: Isn't it ironic? Yes, a fearless English rock band opening thirteen shows for a Canadian child actress-turned-Gen X spokeswoman is actually ironic.
Projectiles? Put-downs? Crowds longing for well-processed angst proved too antsy for such boldness.
Why I'd Want To Be There: Time is the drug. Taylor Swift and Miley Cyrus have me recalling "Hand Over Feet" with fondness. Add in the marble cave sonics of one of the most hysterically over-scrutinized bands of my lifetime, on the cusp of recording their emblematic album, and just give me a seat in the back of the venue.
(The one song--besides "Creep"--that got any positive response from Alanis fans was "Lift." This convinced the band to leave it off their forthcoming third album, lest they have another "hit." I can get why Kid Rock lambastes Radiohead for their pretensions. I just don't get why he's so ride or die bitch for the Confederate flag given he's from fucking Detroit.)
YES/BLACK SABBATH
What Happened: The tour for The Yes Album lasted a full year--July of 1970 to July of 1971. That final month saw Black Sabbath welcome audiences for a total of three shows; the very same month they unleashed their third wreck-hard, Masters Of Reality. Punter appraisal was, apparently, pretty positive. 'Cause who boos Black Sabbath?
Why I'd Want To Be There: Yes were just coming into their own. Fragile wouldn't be released until four months after this tour's conclusion. That's the album with "Long Distance Runaround" and "Roundabout," super-awesome songs that classic rock radio cannot ruin. Sabbath, on the other paw, were operating at peak planet-devouring. I want to watch goblins pick through a weeded garden of rusted hammers. I want to stand imperfectly still as those very hammers carom off my body like a crackhead in a bounce house.
The headliners must have seemed post-coital.
PUBLIC ENEMY/SONIC YOUTH
What Happened: New York's finest shared the stage at Chicago's Aragon Ballroom, on the last Saturday of 1990: Public Enemy, one of the most brilliant and confrontational groups in the history of hip hop music, and Sonic Youth, the Beatles of indie rock. It should have been Concert of the Year.
It was not. By all accounts the gig was sadly average, thanks in substantial part to the venue's notoriously poor acoustics. Once the house lights came up, though, and the five thousand attendees began filing out, extraordinary things began to happen. A small group of anti-war/anti-authority protesters were demonstrating near the Aragon. The cops arrived. And kept on. Waves of cops. Brutality ensued. (While accounts recommend neither side for medals, it must be noted that only one side had guns.) Luckily, no one was killed.
Why I'd Want To Be There: On its face, PE/SY is a daring pairing. Given that Chuck D cameoed on an SY song earlier in the year, though, you could hardly call it "unexpected." Also both groups recorded their most iconic full-lengths in the very same place--Greene Street Recording in Manhattan.
Weak sound notwithstanding, SY played "Cinderella's Big Score" that night, a tune I never saw live. Not to mention bookending the set with "White Kross" and "Inhuman." What they say about pizza and sex applies to Sonic Youth concerts also.
There's no guarantee that foreknowledge would have spared me from being caught up in post-show violence. I just wonder what everyone would make of the rectangle in my hand.
THE MOODY BLUES/STEVIE RAY VAUGHAN & DOUBLE TROUBLE
What Happened: At some point, the nights were no longer of white satin. It's arguable this bill should have been flipped. Even though the Blues were on album #12 and SRV on #1, one record was clearly superior to the other. These things have little to do with quality, though, which is how the phenomenally gifted blues guitarist ended up opening 28 dates in late '83 for a bunch of enervated cosplayers.
Why I'd Want To Be There: This is a lot like the Yes/Black Sabbath set-up. Great style clash, legends on either side of the coin.
TOTO/THE RAMONES
What Happened: Better yet, in Louisiana. In January. The quintessential American punk rock band, the NYC rock band, one of the most massively influential gangs ever to make a racket, the Ramones sold more shirts than albums. Four of which were in record stores by the time a group of glorified session guys decided to grab some glory.
Per tour manager Monte A. Melnick, the paying customers "didn't have the time or energy to boo." This account tells a different story.
Why I'd Want To Be There: Sometimes, I just need to be angry. The Ramones opening for Toto. In no galaxy will that fail to piss me off. (Also, I'd find out who's telling the truth--the manager or the spectator.)
THE WHO/THE B-52'S
What Happened: Only once, on 11/27/82 at Orlando's Tangerine Bowl. Once was probably enough. Joan Jett was the meat in the sandwich, but neither opener went over well. Goddamn why do audience members try to harm performers as a way of expressing their animosity?
Why I'd Want To Be There: Yeah, this 'un's a sandwich with two different varieties of bread. I'd love to have been there, just to show those fools how to do all sixteen dances. Drunk and happy and dressed in Red Galaxy leggings. I'd also like to make fun of all the Who fans who thought this was actually their "farewell tour."
THE MONKEES/THE JIMI HENDRIX EXPERIENCE
What Happened: Summer of '67. Monkeemania is at its quantifiable peak. They beat out Get Smart for the Outstanding Comedy Series Emmy. Their third LP (and creative reclamation) Headquarters was second only to Sgt. Pepper's on the Billboard albums chart. Eager to gain cred as something other than a bunch of bubblegum vendors, they handpicked vituperative guitar virtuoso Jimi Hendrix as a "support act" after witnessing his fiery turn at that year's Monterey Pop Festival.
I'm a Monkees fan, as well as an Experience fan. Let us be romaine: the Monkees were tentative hand-holding and shy glances. Jimi and the guys were a two-handed slap to the bare, unsuspecting ass. The crowds, overwhelmingly young and female, revolted accordingly. Jimi left the tour of his own accord after only seven performances. A month later, Are You Experienced? came out, and it's just now hit me, 1967 is probably the greatest year in music history.
*checks Wiki*
Yeah, it was.
Why I'd Want To Be There: Ladies and gents, the shining example of a musical mismatch. The moment that Micky Dolenz said, "The weird-looking black guy who humps his guitar before he burns it would be perfect," and no one stepped in to point out how insane an idea that was, history was made. I wish I could go back and attend all seven shows. I'll have to squirm my way through "Your Auntie Grizelda" and the oh-so anticipated solo turns for each individual member, but other than those rare missteps, this is actually one of the better hit-to-miss ratios here.
BLACK SABBATH/THE RAMONES
What Happened: Punk vs. Metal! Meta Knight vs. Yoshimitsu! Weed vs. Cocaine! For their final tour with Ozzy--well, until '97--the Birmingham boys were promoting one of their more calamitous records, Never Say Die! The Ramones were pegged to warm up the crowd for four shows in the last months of 1978. Went over as well as a Pinto on the Autobahn.
Why I'd Want To Be There: Sabbath. Ramones. David S. Pumpkins on you hoes.
VAN HALEN/KOOL & THE GANG
What Happened: The most recent example in this bracket is also one of the longest and most successful: 48 performances during VH's 2012 reunion tour with David Lee Roth. The more I thought on it, the more sense got made. Both groups were far past their commercial peaks, yet neither had lost their ability to knock out the hits to frothing thousands. Both were party bands at heart and oh oh, serendipity! The first show VH played after announcing their reunion was an intimate gig at NYC's Cafe Wha?, a li'l place owned by DLR's family--and the same venue were, in 1964, Kool & the Gang played their first-ever concert.
The sweet celebratory vibes were irresistible. Only the lamest of wads didn't have fun.
Why I'd Want To Be There: Goddamn those hits. "Jungle Boogie" to "Get Down On It." "Unchained" to "Panama." Move, groove, nothin' to prove. Titties jiggle and booties shake. I need to bear direct witness to David Lee "The" Roth, frontman par excellence. Yeah, so that's Eddie's son on the bass, and I doubt he's using an instrument shaped like a liquor bottle but hey--no such thing as the "perfect situation" exists.
NEIL YOUNG & CRAZY HORSE/SONIC YOUTH
What Happened: A year after The Greatest Concert That Wasn't, SY were pegged to accompany the Horse for 49 shows over the first four months of '91. Rock critics splooged in euphoria…while the Neil faithful shriveled up in disgust. His road crew hated on the Youth as well, depriving them of much-needed volume and oh my God, is that a chick in the band?
Why I'd Want To Be There: Distorto Mondo. Louder than love, stronger than dirt. Sonic Youth's last album at this time was their so-called "sellout" (meaning it contained more than two songs that wouldn't make a virgin listener start acting like a member of Rick Mears' pit crew) so it must have somewhat exhilarating to be hated, so virulently and consistently.
THE WHO/THE CLASH
What Happened: I return to the "farewell tour" of 1982, which saw the Clash hang around for a handful of shows, including one at Shea Stadium which years later found its way onto CD. The Casbah was rocked, rhetorical questions were asked ad nauseum, and it was not a put on. Many Clash nuts headed for the exits before the headliners sauntered onto the stage.
Why I'd Want To Be There: Think optics, not sonics. Once-vital to now-vital. The love of money to love and money. A shadow compared to a fleshed-out body.
RUSH/MELVINS
What Happened: Rush fans amaze me. Who's the best band? Rush. Who's the best bassist? Geddy Lee. Best guitarist? That would be Alex Lifeson. Best drummer? Anyone who doesn't say Neil Peart is a commie rap fan. These are the same people who bought Counterparts in 1994, listened to it, and took it seriously.
Rush fans don't surprise me, though. They were less than enthusiastic for Melvins over the four shows the bands played together in Feb. 1994? The hell, you say.
Why I'd Want To Be There: Melvins, at their best, are an hour-long prone-bone session with a deceptively athletic plumber. One of their greatest songs is about a crime-solving goat! And Rush has more than several songs I like in spite of their fanbase, in addition to enough chaff to allow me to skidaddle off to the ladies room with no fear.
SUN RA/DEVO
What Happened: Halloween, 1975. Cleveland. A nearby river is on fire. Probably. At the WHK Auditorium, local radio station WMMS-FM is holding a private party, invitation-only. Sun Ra, the Noah of the Arkestra, Saturn's outermost ring, will be entertaining the lazily-costumed audience, who are also high as giraffe pussy by the time the first act takes the stage.
Devo were hired for the party as a joke, and approximately no one in attendance saw (or heard) the humor. The spuds were raw. Started out talking shit on a prominent local DJ, then performed seven songs that, track title for track title, might be my favorite concert setlist ever. Live debut of "Jocko Homo," incidentally. And it went on for half an hour.
Why I'd Want To Be There: Any serious Devo fan would carjack Marty McFly to be in the WHK that night. Wasted radio schmos throwing full cans of beer at the legends-to-be, in rare quartet mode (back before they dropped a Mothersbaugh and gained a Casale). The Mongoloid Years features fifteen especially chaotic minutes from the performance, and that's cool. Some numbnuts finally leapt onstage, grabbed the mic, and began insulting them. That, friends, is the kind of blinding rage that must be seen. I so wish I'd been there, in a Wonder Woman costume, on the arm of some schlub doing some connected relative of mine a solid. Eyes unblinking, mouth drying, as a verbal tiff between bassist Jerry Casale and a promoter nearly goes physical.
A couple sources I saw claimed the deranged end of Devo's set precluded Sun Ra from unleashing jazzy bop that evening. Jerry Casale and Mark Mothersbaugh both have said in subsequent interviews that Sun Ra did in fact play that night, to an audience of ten.
CANDLEBOX/FLAMING LIPS
What Happened: Label mates hit the road in late 1994 for 62 shows. The 'Box were riding the high of fooling a couple million people, while the Lips were six albums deep, playing their butts off before a less-than timeless band for a less-than riveted fanbase. "She Don't Use Jelly" had not yet hit, so they were basically trying to show the execs at WB they were worth the promo.
Why I'd Want To Be There: Incredulous. That's the only word I can think of to describe this travesty. The stepchildren of the Seattle scene and the bashful, drywall-eating kid with the indecipherable accent, together on one bill. I've never "riffed" a concert, since I think people who pay to watch other people play music should, y'know, shut up and watch other people play music, but the band responsible for "You" and "Far Behind" don't deserve my respect. Or even my B+ riffing game, really.
As you can see in the bracket, I'd spend my one temporal coin on either of the Stones/Prince gigs. The need to feel superior to so many people at one time bests even my desire to watch some inebriated radio executive in a Dracula costume tell the members of Devo how much dick they suck.
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