This is going to be a bitchy, curmudgeonly and slightly fascist post. I try to limit these peevish posts, as I hate reading them, but you’ve got to indulge me every once in a while. After all, the last time I posted to the pet peeves category was July.
Tonight at the Orpheum, I watched REM. We had great seats in the third row of the dress circle. About two-thirds of the way through the main set, two women in their mid-thirties stood up in the front row of the dress circle (I note that because their view was pretty excellent whether they stood up or not). They proceeded to stand and dance through the rest of the main set and the encore.
It’s ancillary to my point, but they danced with an awfulness too profound to describe. They jittered and shook to a beat only they could hear. The groove may have been in their hearts, but it got lost on the way to their hips. To put it bluntly, their Caucasianness was beyond certain. I also couldn’t stifle my laughter when, during a ballad, one of them produced a lighter and waved it briefly.
So, ladies, if we’re at the Commodore or some other unseated venue, I obviously have no problem with you moshing, gyrating and otherwise shaking what God gave ya. But we’re in a theatre. With seats. And there’s lots of people sitting behind you. While you’re enjoying your right to see the concert the way you want, you’re infringing on my right to see the concert the way I want.
That isn’t fair.
I didn’t go to the effort and expense of procuring good tickets to stare at your backside. I’ll even give you the encore–it’s expected to stand then, generally. But for the main set, be considerate of those around you, and sit the hell down.