Pretty self explanatory. I can't even make up the kind of things going on in this picture. If the camera had ventured a little further to the right, you would have seen me and my dad. I'm pretty sure the lady caught mid-sip on her beer was just letting her 12-year-old daughter play with the can, meanwhile her husband(?) had his arms outstretched for most of the show probably convinced the entire Guster show was just a really long version of "Freebird". Welcome to Alabama, Guster.
Most of the lovely citizens you see in the front row most likely had their lawn chairs parked there since noon...and they were so drunk by the time Guster played at 6pm half of them probably thought it was Lynard Skynard playing and were wondering when "Sweet Home Alabama" would start. I'm pretty sure Guster got a pretty big kick out of this whole redneck situation, however. They commented on their twitter (see...having twitter can come in handy!) that the lyrics to "Freebird" were taped down on the stage...no lie. But I think if me or my dad had mentioned to any of these loyal Skynard fans that half the band (including the lead singer/frontman/songwriter) was wiped out in a plane crash in the 70s one of them would probably have taken out their gun and shot us. And yes, I am making the sweeping generalization that 1 in 3 of these people probably carried a gun into City Stages. Don't get me wrong, Lynard Skynard is pretty rockin'. But come on. It's pretty comical that an eco-friendly, philanthropic, well-known liberal band like Guster happens to be the openers for Skynard; about as redneck as it gets (and if you don't believe me, see above picture). God Bless America.
Back to Guster: check this out. It kind of fills in the blank on my lack of explanation for changing the name of my blog. Come Downstairs and Say Hello.
And yes, they did play this at the show Sunday night! Dad and I tried (and failed) to take a picture of me in the front row with Guster behind me...but I got some shots of just Guster.
Summing things up, I'm pretty happy about the fact that this show was priceless in so many ways: great music, but mostly you just couldn't beat that atmosphere. And I never want to try to.
Ah, this post takes me back to my days of haunting City Stages every summer. I can never decide if my best moment was dodging the pepper spray that someone thought it would be a good idea to deploy in the mosh pit portion of the Violent Femmes show, or getting cigarette(?) burns on my arms from some random person in the crowd at Rusted Root.
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