Fanboy Moments
BÖC’s symbol, the symbol of Cronus
At the Super Bowl party I attended yesterday the question came up about the greatest concerts we’d ever gone to. That’s a tough one. I’ve been to many. But it got me thinking about my best concert experience. And for me it was the first time I got to see Blue Öyster Cult.
First, some context. I’ve been listening to BÖC since Agents of Fortune came out, which was 1976, thanks largely to my brother, who bought the album. Mike and I both really got into the band’s entire catalog. We threw BÖC references into our roleplaying games the way some people throw in Lovecraft references.
“Threw.” Whom do I kid? I still do. I just don’t call attention to them and I don’t do it every game.
Anyway, fast forward to 1989. I was a nineteen-year-old college student. BÖC was touring for Imaginos, and they played at a club down the street from my Oakland apartment. The club was The Omni, which was one of the major Bay Area hard rock clubs in those days. But still, it was a club. Not a big venue like the Cow Palace, much less a stadium. (It wasn’t the smallest venue I’ve seen them play, but that’s another story.)
Obviously I bought my ticket at the earliest opportunity. I showed up early on the night (no, I was not the first in line). I only really remember a couple of things from the early part of the evening:
1) I left my place in line to run across the street and help a couple of guys push-start a stalled car. I was the only one who went to help. That still amazes me. Everyone else just watched. But at least no one questioned my reclaiming my spot.
2) There were two or three opening acts, local metal bands. No one worth remembering. I recall one of them made a point of saying “This is a song about vampires,” before starting into a song called “The Vampire Attacks.” It was as bad as you might be thinking.* I remember that another band lifted two of its main rhythm figures from Iron Maiden.
But then the lights went down for BÖC and none of the rest mattered.
The single biggest band in a life filled with music hit the stage, a stage I was pressed against. That’s right, I was at the front of the crowd. I had gone up from the moment the doors opened and I hadn’t budged. Not for a drink. Not for the bathroom. Nothing was more important than being right at the front for this.
They gave an amazing performance. For more than four hours they played, not just all the hits but the more obscure songs that only the more devoted fans would know. And I was right there at the front, singing my heart out with every line.
Sound like a big fanboy experience? Yes. But in fanboy terms you haven’t heard the highlight yet.
You see, lead guitarist Donald “Buck Dharma” Roeser could hear me. I know this because every so often he would look up at me, then smile and give me a nod. All through the concert. Me singing along, him looking up at me, getting more impressed as the show went on.
After the last encore, the band came up to slap hands with those near the front, but Buck grabbed my hand and shook it.
How freaking cool was that for a nineteen-year-old me? I still remember the handshake.
Then the house lights came up and the crowd began to thin. While I recovered my voice and my hearing (I wore earplugs, but it was loud), a roadie came out and started gathering up cables. He couldn’t believe some of the songs they’d dusted off to play for us. He told us that we’d just gotten the best show of the tour.
I already knew.
*Especially compared with, say, “I Love the Night”, which BÖC played later, along with “Nosferatu”.
