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(This column is dedicated to my friend Chris Kanyon, who passed away five years ago today. I miss his heart and soul. Peace forever with you my friend).
Here’s how huge my ego is---I’m telling the entire social media universe right now---that I CRY AT CONCERTS. Yeah, it’s a real, strange thing. Doesn’t matter who it is—RiRi, Neil Diamond The D . . . I sob at them all. Went to see Fleetwood Mac with my wife Amy last night---cried like an infant. Lost it all during Everywhere. Now, I know that’s my daughter Annie’s favorite “Mac” song, but freakin’ tears? Come on.
How did this start? I think I have a small idea. When I was sixteen, me and my friend Chykirda were just obsessed with KISS---it was an absolute sickness with us. Gene Simmons was our GOD . . . at that time. I remember back in I think 76’ or 77’, KISS was playing three straight nights at Madison Square Garden. It was the first opportunity that Chykirda and I would get to see our heroes. They were playing for three dates, and tickets literally went on sale like six months in advance. Brian (that’s Chykirda--takes less time to type) bought tickets to the first and third shows—and we were counting down the days---I even made a Rock-Roll Over calendar in which to do so.
So finally the day arrives, I can remember sitting in those sits like it was yesterday. After waiting in our seats for about an hour and a half, the lights in the Garden suddenly go dark. The people start freakin’ screaming—I swear I’m tearing up as I write this---what the !@#$% is wrong with me?!!! Now in almost total blackness, Chykirda screams at me, “Vin, F***IN, GENE!!! F***IN, GENE!” Through the blackness, Brian was able to make out the silhouette of the Demon himself, and once I could see him too—the both of us went nuts.
But, Cry? KISS isn’t the Beatles and I’m not a 16 year-old groupie. This is GENE SIMMONS, I’m a teenager---AND, WE’RE BOTH FREAKIN’ GUYS!!! From there---getting teared up at concerts has been a ritual. I teared up when I saw Angus, sobbed when I say Paul Simon, and absolutely rained tears when I saw THE Paul---that would be SIR PAUL MCCARTNEY!!! It’s freakin’ ridiculous---can’t help myself. BUT---here’s the part that really sucks. Since it’s so freakin’ embarrassing---you have to do everything within your power to no-sell it. You CAN NOT allow the person that you came with to see this. So, what do you do? You try to hold it in. Have you ever tried holding in tears---well, when you do, the whimper of a grade school girl--who just lost her first love---finds its way out. So forget that---whimpering is worse then crying.
The next dilemma. Your eyes are tearing up, and in attempting the no-sell---you CAN NOT wipe them. Have you ever tried NOT whipping your eyes when they’re tearing? It’s freakin’ impossible. Then comes the worst part---when the person your with turns to you and hesitantly asks, “are you crying”, which is exactly what Amy did last night at Fleetwood Mac. Now, you’re in no man’s land. You have to both deny and turn away at the same exact time. But then the question---why are you turning away if you’re not crying? It only makes sense to turn away . . . if you ARE CRYING!
What is wrong with me? I honestly don’t know. I’ve already bought tickets for Billy Joel in June, and I’m already starting to think about how to not get caught when my tear ducts explode with Only a Women to Me. Can you imagine? Does anybody else experience this? I’m talking guys. Anybody? Hands up. Nobody? Man, I’m telling you, if Journey ever reunited with Steve Perry for one last tour---I’d have to bring a bucket to the freakin’ concert!!!
Someone help me . . . PLEASE!!!
