Does anyone remember what it was like to go to a rock concert when the only hurdle was coming up with $10 for the ticket? I do! And that’s why I’m pissed off. I can’t believe all of the pre-planning and hoop jumping you have to go through today just to see your favorite artist. You would think ordering tickets online would be simple. I beg to differ. How many times I’ve sat in front of my monitor, hands poised over the keyboard, staring at that slow, death march timer ticking away the last cell of my sanity. Then, at 10am frantically clicking on the Ticketmaster link only to be disappointed in the seats or, worse yet, the Sold Out message flashing across the screen. I long for the days when I worked at a rock radio station and I only had to wear tight jeans to get free tickets. While I’ve been relatively passive about today’s unfair ticket trade, I can no longer stay quiet. The last straw, for me, was the announcement of the Bruce Springsteen shows in New York. Trust me, it would be easier to get a roundtrip ticket to Mars than to see the Boss on Broadway.

Let’s start with something called Verified Fan. Now, Verified Fan is supposedly a way to ensure that you have a fair shot at getting tickets before all of the scalpers scarf them up and resell them on Stub Hub. All you need to do is go to the Verified Fan website and fill out an online form. They need your name, address and phone number, blood type, driving record, credit score, criminal record, infectious disease risks and SAT score. Once you send all of this information to the Verified Fan site they put your information into a big database (or hat) and randomly select people who can try to purchase a ticket. Two hours before tickets go on sale you will receive a text and a secret code to gain access to the Verified Fan website and try for tickets. For weeks I would get emails telling me that I was “Verified” and to stay close to my phone because that text could come at any time! Did I mention you have to register online a few weeks before the tickets go on sale? I didn’t? Here’s why.

Verified Fan wants to actually verify that you are, in fact, a fan. Their disclaimer says that they will check your social media accounts to see if you post anything about the artist and how much of his/her music you have downloaded. I’m glad I read that disclaimer because I immediately went to my Facebook page and started posting everything and anything I could about Bruce. I put up photos, quotes, funny memes, song lyrics, and pictures of his kids and then changed my name to BruceLover4Ever. I changed the names of my cats to Bruce and Little Steven (even though they’re both female) and put a headscarf on Zoe – I mean Little Steven.

                    

The scratches have almost healed. I even wore my old concert T-shirts just in case Verified Fan had installed cameras in my neighborhood. And then I waited. And waited. And waited. Needless to say, I never got a text, a secret code, or a ticket. So I checked out Stub Hub.

Stub Hub, for those of you who aren’t concert connoisseurs, is where people can resell (scalp) tickets for a higher price. In other words, it’s where suckers who didn’t get a text or a secret code or didn’t post enough Bruce love have a chance to get tickets. Stub Hub usually has really great seats available if you don’t mind taking out a second mortgage on your house or selling a kidney to pay for them. So, Stub Hub was my first stop for the Springsteen tickets. There were a lot of tickets available at an average price of just over $1,200 each. Now, if I’m going to pay over $1,200 to see Springsteen, he better write a song for me, call me on stage, sing it to me, take me home and then cook me breakfast in the morning! So, I gave up on Bruce and turned my attention to another band I love, The Killers.

I have been a longtime fan of The Killers ever since their first CD and I have faithfully attended all of their shows. I joined their fan club and became an official “Victim.” I have the shirt to prove it. The morning I opened my email to see a Preferred Fan – not to be confused with Verified Fan – message from The Victims Fan Club I was thrilled. Tickets were going on sale in two days. I had a secret code, which would enable me to get a VIP package that included early admittance, an official tour gift and a laminated lanyard that said “The Killers.” All of this concert goodness could be mine for the mere price of $260 for a GENERAL ADMISSION ticket. No reserved seats. Now, I love this band. I know all of their music, I’ve seen them many times, but believe me my mosh pit days are far behind me. Crowd surfing could now cost me a hip. I miss the easy days of my youth when all it took to get a concert ticket was skipping school and sitting in front of an empty arena at 5am.

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I was 13 when I went to my first concert and this was back in the days before MTV. Parents had no idea what went on in those theaters and arenas. At 13, however, my mother was worried when I wanted to see Alice Cooper. “He wears a dress, Joe,” I heard her say to my dad, “And eyeliner. I saw the album cover.” In a last ditch effort to convince my parents that Alice Cooper was not the devil, I had them stay up late one night to catch the band on a televised concert. My mother was outraged, but my father simply said, “He’s putting on a show. Let her go to the concert.” And that was that.

From then on I would devour the Entertainment section in the Sunday paper looking for concerts. Tickets were usually about $5 or $6 and you could purchase them at a local department store or they were “Mail Order Only” for really popular shows. All that was involved back then was sending a self-addressed stamped envelope to the arena with a money order and your written request. And, lo and behold, your tickets would arrive about a week later. If an abnormally large crowd were expected, tickets would go on sale at the box office. Those were the days when you had to get down to the arena by 5am to stand in line. This caused some problems for me at home because getting tickets would involve driving downtown with a friend who drove, brother of a friend, someone I casually knew through my cousin, or a complete stranger and then skipping school. Once the school office informed my parents of my frequent absences, my father took drastic measures. He forbade me from skipping school and then he decided that he would go and stand in line for me. “Joe, are you insane?” my mother asked. “You’ll be downtown with a bunch of drugged up hippies. Who knows what could happen to you!” My father just shrugged his shoulders and went about his business.

The first time my father went to stand in line for tickets was for The Allman Brothers. I only wish I could have seen him in his shirt and tie with his trademark felt fedora standing alongside all of those “drugged up hippies.” When my dad got home from work that night and gave me the tickets he had a lot of stories. Apparently, more than one person asked him if he was a nark. Another guy wanted to know where he got his hat, and my dad was most excited that one of the local radio stations handed out coffee and donuts to everyone in line. “It wasn’t so bad,” he said. Word quickly got around school that my dad was now the “ticket man.” Requests poured in from the art room to the biology labs for tickets. If only I had the foresight, I could have started the first High School Stub Hub scalping service.

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Today, if my father were still here, I don’t think even he could score tickets to see Bruce on Broadway. He certainly wouldn’t be paying for them! Are the artists any better now that you have to pay hundreds of dollars to see an over-the-top stage show where you’re blinded by strobe lights and deafened by pyrotechnics? There are so many dancers and musicians and ramps on stage that the main act is dwarfed by the spectacle. Are they that confident in their talent that they can demand you purchase tickets a year in advance? I don’t think so.

There was something intimate about a small theatre with a stripped-down stage and one spotlight shining down on David Bowie. With my $5 I was able to enter a world that was totally separate from home. I saw things on stage that, at the time, were simply amazing. Today, kids would laugh at how my friend, Linda, and I marveled at the fog machine while Led Zeppelin played Stairway to Heaven. Or how Freddie Mercury could twirl his white satin cape. I also remember the first time I saw Bruce Springsteen. I was working at that rock radio station and The River had just been released. A whole crew of us from the station went together and when we walked into the theater the program director looked at me and said, “This show will change your life.” He was right. Sure, I’d love to see the Broadway show, but if I don’t, I can still say that I’ve seen some of the best bands without sacrificing a kidney.

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