Pop Culture Yay

Country music is more than sexy tractors, drunken rednecks, and cheating wives. Its about love. And this story is about unconditional love. Last evening, I fought my way through throngs of drunken cowboy hat wearing, mini skirt strutting high school females, and mullet-rocking slowtalking downhome brothers to see one of my top five favorites (Mickey Mouse Club’s The Party being number 1) musical groups, Rascal Flatts. I arrived by my lonesome to the amphitheater because I was going to meet my friends there. However, due to congested pick-up truck traffic, I had to wait about an hour and a half for them to arrive. To avoid looking like a total tool I decided to call people. No one was home. When I say no one, I mean that it got the point where I actually called my parents to fill the time. Here’s a sample:

me: hey mom.
mom: hi honey.
me: whatcha doing?
mom: I just got back from the store and I was talking to dad and then we are going to eat dinner.
me: and then what?
mom: I need to check my email.
me: Then what? are you going to watch tv?

Thankfully, my sister (you) later answered her phone so that we could discuss more important things, like Fall TV previews and Britney’s baby.

Moral of the story is that I was beyond excited when my friends got there and we could enter the concert. I was PUMPED. On a scale of “1 to Excitement” I was pretty much an 11.

The lights go down. Lights start flashing all around. Three silhouettes appear behind a screen.

(I can’t help but lean over to my friend and ask “Do you think they are going to fly out over the crowd on harnesses while singing Bye Bye Bye?”)

The screams of the crowd become intense. You hear the drums. Then the fiddles are on the beat like white on rice. You can almost FEEL the tight jeans and boots in your SOUL. The music starts and my friends and I sing like we’ve never ever sung before.

And then…talking.

I don’t mean your normal “Hey there Charlotte! How you doing??” I mean, TALKING. In the course of the first 30 minutes, we heard two songs. Now I love musicians who interact with the audience, but when you have 4 high-quality albums, your audience wants to hear them. At least I know the intoxicated, mid-driff showing, grandma beside me did.

At first it was cute. Aw, Rascal Flatts is making jokes.

But then they just kept going. If I wanted a comedy routine I would’ve spent that 40 bucks on a cable bill and watch Dane Cook’s Tourgasm on HBO.
Yet, like a mother who thinks her kids’ obnoxious antics are adorable, I laughed. I giggled through the cheap puns and attempted wit, even when people around me said otherwise.

But then there was the teasing. You DON’T start a cover of Jessie’s Girl unless you plan to finish that mess! That, of course, was after exhaustingly long musical interludes, showing off the drummers and fiddle player (who were quite talented). But where did Rascal Flatts go? What’s going on backstage? Did they need a break after 2 songs? Are they back there doing Sudokus? We thought that maybe all the chatter and band improv was to cover up some technical difficulties or wardrobe malfunctions. Yet, there was an feeling of rehearsal, like these jokes were practiced again and again, city after city.

They did gained back all my respect with a Hotel California cover. Luckily, that euphoric “Rascal Flatts meets the Eagles” feeling stayed with me through the next commentary portion and held me over until the finale and encore.

The second half of the show was stellar. Bless The Broken Road, What Hurts The Most, Here’s To You…they sounded great. But, I couldn’t help but think of that first 1.5 hours that could’ve been so much more.

Yet, I forgave Jim Halpert for asking out Katie. I didn’t disown Reese Witherspoon for “Just Like Heaven.” I will, again, shell out 40 dollars to see Rascal Flatts in concert. Because, that’s just what you do with unconditional love.

Posted on September 16th, 2006 by Melissa
Filed under: Uncategorized