Blast at the Beach: Which way did you walk?
The Guardian, Charlottetown, P.E.I., Canada
July 23, 2007
By this point, you’ve all most likely heard at least a few impressions of how things went down at Saturday’s Blast at the Beach at the CDPEC. Some have been positive, I’m sure, while many, I’ve been hearing, have been negative. But what I’d like to remind people in this intro to my recap of the 35,000-strong, 10-hour-long extravaganza, is that when you have an outdoor event of this magnitude, not everyone is going to have the same experience whatsoever.
A regular show at a typical small indoor concert venue with a few hundred people is one thing — wherein most everyone can take in a similar experience of the event. But a mega-concert, such as what took place on Saturday in Charlottetown, is another thing altogether: And thus, we all need to bear in mind that ol’ grain of salt advice when taking in anyone’s feedback.
(And now you all know what I’m going to say, of course: Have a salt shaker ready at hand as you read the rest of this column.)
It was 1:35 p.m., when the first distorted guitar chord echoed across the CDPEC and on into the surrounding Charlottetown area. And from that point onward the lower east end of the city would be enveloped in the sounds of rock, R and B, folk, pop, and more rock, rock, rock, for the rest of the day and night.
That first guitar chord was struck by none other than Charlottetown’s Brett Doyle, of home-front heroes Intoxicado — a band which, in rampaging onto the city’s original rock scene in just a matter of a few months, received over 12,000 votes in a local radio contest to garner a sweet Blast at the Beach opening slot.
The rain was indeed coming down in sheets at that point — and for the next couple of hours that followed — as folk rock artist Serena Ryder soothed those soaked souls with her tremendous voice, and another Canadian up-and-comer singer, Wil, gave it his all for a brief 20-minute set.
The hot looks, moves and sounds of Ciara then lit up the stage for 40 minutes of trying her best to wow all those who thought she was the one piece of the Blast puzzle that didn’t really fit.
As different colours of grey, red and brown mud began to cake further and further up crowd members’ feet, ankles and legs (and some their entire bodies and heads, of course), national rock standbys 54/40 then kicked out the hits, followed by Christa Borden and then much-anticipated classic rock gurus, Cheap Trick.
And it was in the early evening that I embarked on my personal wild-goose-chase quest to try to nab an interview with Steven Tyler. For after many e-mails and phone calls to concert organizers, nothing was panning out. So, I decided to try to get guerrilla style about it, and took matters into my own hands.
But, as you may have guessed, I quickly learned one very important detail that seemed to grow with intensity the further I prodded into it: No one gets near Aerosmith. And, what continuously reverberated as a chorus was this: “They are doing absolutely no interviews.”
So, despite successfully infiltrating the backstage area by befriending some really cool guys from Christa Borden’s band, as you are gathering, in all my “Crazy” work to get a Tyler interview, I only ended up being “J-J-J-Jaded.”
“Good evening, Charlottetown!” yelled Steve Tyler to his roaring crowd, finally getting what they were waiting for at about 9:30 p.m. “We heard there’s only 30,000 people on this island, but there’s 35,000 here tonight — what the f—’s goin’ on?” screeched the sadly misinformed, media-inaccessible, demon of screamin’.
And for the next hour and a half, Aerosmith really did rock out one hell of a show.
At a point about 40 feet from the stage, in a packed-in-tight sea of raging fans, I just had my world solidly rocked — to hits like Livin’ on the Edge, Sweet Emotion, and Cryin’.
And so you see — this was my experience. One huge rock show, in which I got up pretty close to see an amazing 37-year-old classic world-class band, with a regular-priced admission ticket, and enjoyed the rest of the acts throughout the wet day with my rain poncho and clothes that I didn’t care if they got destroyed by mud.
But, if you paid over $200 for a VIP ticket, hated the long waits for the food and drinks you paid for, had a crappy line of view for the show (why wasn’t the VIP section up near the front like everyone expected it would be?), weren’t exactly prepared for the rain, or had too much to drink to have a good time, like many of those around that day and night, then you would have quite the opposite experience.
I guess it all comes down to a few words inspired by these rockers of “Walk this Way”: It all depends on what way you walk, baby.
July 23, 2007
By this point, you’ve all most likely heard at least a few impressions of how things went down at Saturday’s Blast at the Beach at the CDPEC. Some have been positive, I’m sure, while many, I’ve been hearing, have been negative. But what I’d like to remind people in this intro to my recap of the 35,000-strong, 10-hour-long extravaganza, is that when you have an outdoor event of this magnitude, not everyone is going to have the same experience whatsoever.
A regular show at a typical small indoor concert venue with a few hundred people is one thing — wherein most everyone can take in a similar experience of the event. But a mega-concert, such as what took place on Saturday in Charlottetown, is another thing altogether: And thus, we all need to bear in mind that ol’ grain of salt advice when taking in anyone’s feedback.
(And now you all know what I’m going to say, of course: Have a salt shaker ready at hand as you read the rest of this column.)
It was 1:35 p.m., when the first distorted guitar chord echoed across the CDPEC and on into the surrounding Charlottetown area. And from that point onward the lower east end of the city would be enveloped in the sounds of rock, R and B, folk, pop, and more rock, rock, rock, for the rest of the day and night.
That first guitar chord was struck by none other than Charlottetown’s Brett Doyle, of home-front heroes Intoxicado — a band which, in rampaging onto the city’s original rock scene in just a matter of a few months, received over 12,000 votes in a local radio contest to garner a sweet Blast at the Beach opening slot.
The rain was indeed coming down in sheets at that point — and for the next couple of hours that followed — as folk rock artist Serena Ryder soothed those soaked souls with her tremendous voice, and another Canadian up-and-comer singer, Wil, gave it his all for a brief 20-minute set.
The hot looks, moves and sounds of Ciara then lit up the stage for 40 minutes of trying her best to wow all those who thought she was the one piece of the Blast puzzle that didn’t really fit.
As different colours of grey, red and brown mud began to cake further and further up crowd members’ feet, ankles and legs (and some their entire bodies and heads, of course), national rock standbys 54/40 then kicked out the hits, followed by Christa Borden and then much-anticipated classic rock gurus, Cheap Trick.
And it was in the early evening that I embarked on my personal wild-goose-chase quest to try to nab an interview with Steven Tyler. For after many e-mails and phone calls to concert organizers, nothing was panning out. So, I decided to try to get guerrilla style about it, and took matters into my own hands.
But, as you may have guessed, I quickly learned one very important detail that seemed to grow with intensity the further I prodded into it: No one gets near Aerosmith. And, what continuously reverberated as a chorus was this: “They are doing absolutely no interviews.”
So, despite successfully infiltrating the backstage area by befriending some really cool guys from Christa Borden’s band, as you are gathering, in all my “Crazy” work to get a Tyler interview, I only ended up being “J-J-J-Jaded.”
“Good evening, Charlottetown!” yelled Steve Tyler to his roaring crowd, finally getting what they were waiting for at about 9:30 p.m. “We heard there’s only 30,000 people on this island, but there’s 35,000 here tonight — what the f—’s goin’ on?” screeched the sadly misinformed, media-inaccessible, demon of screamin’.
And for the next hour and a half, Aerosmith really did rock out one hell of a show.
At a point about 40 feet from the stage, in a packed-in-tight sea of raging fans, I just had my world solidly rocked — to hits like Livin’ on the Edge, Sweet Emotion, and Cryin’.
And so you see — this was my experience. One huge rock show, in which I got up pretty close to see an amazing 37-year-old classic world-class band, with a regular-priced admission ticket, and enjoyed the rest of the acts throughout the wet day with my rain poncho and clothes that I didn’t care if they got destroyed by mud.
But, if you paid over $200 for a VIP ticket, hated the long waits for the food and drinks you paid for, had a crappy line of view for the show (why wasn’t the VIP section up near the front like everyone expected it would be?), weren’t exactly prepared for the rain, or had too much to drink to have a good time, like many of those around that day and night, then you would have quite the opposite experience.
I guess it all comes down to a few words inspired by these rockers of “Walk this Way”: It all depends on what way you walk, baby.
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