The Rocks - The Shows

I've been fortunate to see some great shows at The Rocks, though not quite like the '64 Beatles show, or so I'm told (still looking forward to that reunion).  If you haven't been, do yourself a favor and see at least one concert there before you die.  It's a great atmosphere, quite laid back and I haven't heard of too many riots there.  Yet.

But first, I'd suggest come to Colorado a few days before and get acquainted with the thin air.  The trek up to the venue is a bit daunting.  I have felt sorry for some, ahem, larger concert-goers as they Bataan-march up a million feet just to get to the entrance.  Then maybe another mile to get to their seats.  Get that lady some oxygen.

This 9,500 capacity, open-air amphitheater is basically three-sided.  Slabs of red rock, around 30-40' high, are on either side of the seating and behind the stage is another slab, with a little man-made stone thrown in.  The rear is open-ended so, thus, it's shaped like a U.  Row 70 is the furthest and from there the stage is getting pretty tiny (at least for old men like me) and binoculars come in handy.  The sound is still distinct unless some wind gusts are swirling and then it can get weird.  There is a 10' open-space area in front of the stage with security to keep the masses at bay.  Not many brave idiots have made it on stage.  Yet.  Above and behind the stage is a crazy view of the Denver skyline and especially cool is when it's lightening and raining out there but hasn't hit you.  Yet.

I won't bore anybody about the history (which is kinda cool, just google it) but the first concert was in 1906 with a 25-piece brass band.  And practically every band on tour wants to play here.  They appreciate the sights and sounds just as much as the fans.  Here is a smattering of shows that had some Kodak moments, but unfortunately are captured only in the dark, dank recesses of my mind.

The Pretenders - '83
They had put out 'I' in '80, 'II' in '81 and were priming for 'Learning To Crawl' to come out later this year. They scorched earth.  Chrissie Hynde, new guitarist Robbie McIntosh and band were slamming hits like "Middle of the Road", "Back on the Chain Gang" and "My City Was Gone".  I didn't know how good they were and seeing them with some new members in '09 (though not at RR) I realize now that Hynde is still the real deal.  It rained.  Really hard.  I got soaked.  Used garbage bags.  And the band played on.

Stevie Ray Vaughn - '84 and '85
Every year at RR is the B.B. King Blues Festival.  These two were absolutely astounding.  SRV, no holds barred, was one of the most frightening, blistering, soulful white boys.  Ever.  He ruled the stage, but not in a cocky way, but in a true master's way.  I don't even remember anybody else playing because after seeing SRV, there was no one else.  I was lucky enough to see him one more time, in '89 (though not at RR), all clean and sober.  Touring with my favorite living guitarist, Jeff Beck.  He was better than ever.  SRV and JB dueling.  He made JB put his axe down and watch.  JB couldn't keep up.  I would go see SRV every year if he was still with us.  And a footnote.  The first show we saw, I had a friend, Newton, (total SRV nut) that had scalded his foot a couple of days before.  I mean, down to the bone scald.  He waited in 90 degree heat for three hours, in pain, to see Stevie.  And he had a smile on his face as we carried him to the car.  That's what Rock-n-Roll is all about.  RIP SRV.  We're still listening.

Frankie Goes To Hollywood - '84
Almost too embarrassed to admit to this one.  In my defense, I didn't want to go and didn't pay and wouldn't pay, except Kevin K. and Tracy K. wanted me to go.  Picture this:  lead singer (insert dingdong here) in pink bunny suit.  Yikes.  And "Relax" played twice. They ran out of songs.  Memorable leaving RR.  We were running down the steep sloped exit ramp, holding hands for some strange reason and took a shortcut and wiped out.  Red dirt covered us from head to foot.  And then driving (yikes) the wrong way out of the show.  I only hoped the hard ground would've jarred the memories of this terrible show out of me.

Scorpions - '84
One of my favorite metal bands, I didn't get to see much of this one.  I was with people that knew the owner of a limo service.  One stop picking poop-head here, one stop getting dingleberry here, then a couple of twits and got to the show to see one song before the encore.  Oh well, I felt like a band member.  And bonus: another freebie.

Blues Traveler - '90
In support of their excellent first LP, these guys tore it up.  John Popper on lead and solo harmonica was amazing.  And a light mist captured in the stage lights was way cool.  This 3 and a half hour show almost killed Steve R., but he survived as we all did.  Every 4th of July at RR, BT plays to sold out shows.  I haven't been, but they must be doing something right.

Red Hot Chili Peppers -'90
In the late '80's, rock for me was mundane and stagnant.  Until I heard two bands that made me say "What the shit is this shit?":  Jane's Addiction and RHCP.  Off-beat, off-kilter hard rock with bizzare vocals, these bands made me want to listen.  I saw RHCP four times in a span of two years and this night at RR they opened for, gag, Oingo Boingo.  They cruised through a short set (they usually played for a couple of hours) and had to be forced off the stage.  They were pissed.  We were pissed.  Singer Anthony Kiedis wouldn't give up the mike as a roadie tried to take it from him and the band kept trying to play.  Finally, Kiedis shouted some profanity and threw the mike, stand and all.  Shit started flying.  This is probably the closest to a riot at RR I had seen. Thirty seconds into Oingo Shitsco, we left.  As did most of the crowd.




Stone Temple Pilots - '92
Hard rock had been somewhat resurrected in this late 80's, early '90's period with Pearl Jam leading the way.  Their excellent LP, 'Ten' in '91, is still one of my favorite old-school-style rockers.  For critics (I'm not one of them), STP was a Pearl Jam wanna be.  These guys were harder, edgier and had a way better rock  vocalist in Scott Weiland.  We had heard only one of their songs on the radio.  And they were supposed to headline with The Butthole Surfers opening.  When the opener hit, I looked at Rick C. and said "Man, I didn't know Butthole sounded this good."  He didn't either.  For a few songs, we were flabbergasted (or just flabbered) as to how good BS sounded.  But it really was STP.  When we totally rocked our socks off, BS came on.  They sucked.  We left.
 
Insane Clown Posse - '99 
I have tried to scrub this one from my ledger.  It still hangs in my mind like a huge, green, piece  of phlegm.  I actually was paid to see this one, thanks Mike R.  Probably made Frankie Goes To Hollywood look like, well, Frank Sinatra.  The worstest, awfulest, foulest and most repugnant show I, excuse me, I have to go retch.

Rush - '08
I saw these cats in '76 for their '2112' tour in Minnysoda and they were the super-prog band.  And you know what?  They are still tight.  Still prog-out and for three hours, with three huge, high-def screens on each guy, it was amazing.  Ever since Dan W. (or was it Terry G.) and myself saw their first LP in '74, in Canada, this band has always had wonderful memories of fantastical lyrics, tasty guitar and probably one of the best drummers in the rock world.  You, Mike R., made up for the ICP trip (see above).  Thank you.

 

The Rocks

Before coming to Colorado in 1981, I hadn't the faintest idea of what a Red Rocks Amphitheater was.  That faint idea turned into a startling reality.  "You have to go to The Rocks.  It's the best", doth quote many excited individuals.  "The Rocks?  Whazzat?" I sheepishly asked, wondering if I sounded as naive as I really was.  "You never heard of Red Rocks?  It's only the best place on earth to see a concert."  Uh, never heard of it.  "It's awesome......"  And thus began group discussions and debates as to who saw what band when.  "I saw Santana play 'Black Magic Woman' for, it must've been an hour.  Ya, really".  "Aw, you're nuts.  I saw the same one.  In '79, right?"  "No I think maybe '75 or '76, I forget."  On and on and on.  These guys (you know how us guys can get excited about anything shiny, loud or fast) really put a hook in me.  "Hey guys, sounds cool.  Where is it?"

I then proceeded to set out one beautifully hot, sunny, dry summer day from Lakewood, a western 'burb of Denver, with just a t-shirt, sneakers and cut-offs.  My goal: Red Rocks.  My mode of transport: self-locomotion.  Little did I care how far it was, how badly prepared I was or what the hell I was thinking.  I just started walking.  And walking.  A half-mile later, I knew where I was (I did have some vague directions rolling around in my head) and where I wasn't.  I wasn't at The Rocks.  I paused at a sign proclaiming Morrison 10 mi.  Ah, Morrison, the small, touristy, hippie-dippie hamlet just outside of Red Rocks State Park.  It's adopted The Rocks (the venue) as their own, but in reality the City of Denver owns it (the venue).  Morrison owns the mystique, restaurants and shops that garner a lot of revenue from the concert-goers.  It's quaint until thousands of misfits descend upon it with a crazed collective consciousness looking for tickets, booze, drugs, women, men, directions, gas, food, cigs, water, water coolers, rain gear, missing girl/boyfriend, missing dog, missing ticket-booze-drugs...........  You get the idea. 

As if the musical gods handed me tickets to The Beatles reunion (John and George still alive), a van screeched to a screeching halt.  "Hey man.  Where you headed?"  A fellow with scraggly beard and shaggy hair was leaning out the window.  An old model VW vanagon had an acoustic guitar strapped to its front grill.  I smiled.  As so many happenstances happen that turn out to be bummers, a high percentage of them yields rewards.  The latter was my ticket.  Him and his buddy (also scraggly beard and shaggy hair but with a gold tooth that dazzled in the sun) were going to The Rocks to hang with the traveling community of Dead Heads.  And maybe score some tickets, booze, drugs, women, men, directions.......... this sounds familiar.  Goldy squinted at me from the passenger seat.  "You were gonna actually walk to The Rocks?  Man, that's heavy."  Uh, ya.  Years later, I think he actually meant "That's assinine."

Bouncing in the back of this weathered van, devoid of seats or interior, except for some musty-smelling camping gear, I watched as we wound our way towards our destination.  Majestic red spires jutting out of the ground as if dropped out of the heavens.  But with such precision and grace and glory as if to say "Here are your red rocks.  Now do something wonderful with them."  And what a wonder they are.

We didn't score any tickets, but I did get to meet Wavy Gravy, the iconic crazy from Woodstock.  I really don't know what he actually does but I did get to stare into his toothless maw.  "Welcome, welcome.  Effrybody ith welcome.  Want thum athid browneeth?"  As eight or ten or twelve (who was counting?) of us returned to Earth from the Heavens in the van, with somebody actually trying to play that guitar, the sunset behind The Rocks was a painting Dali wished he would have created.  Sounds of the Dead surrounded and embraced us as we crept back down the road that meant our time here was done.  For me, the time had only just begun.