Tags
Beale Street, concert, country music, Coyote Ugly, Elvis Presley, fan, Home of the Blues, Jessica Simpson, Memphis, random, Rascal Flatts, Tennessee
| If you’re stumbling upon this by pure chance, let me give you a little background on the situation. I– Megan Tweedy, keeper of Tweedy Blues– am a huge fan of the country supergroup known as Rascal Flatts. I’ve seen them in concert four times and have met them twice. Not that I’m bragging, mind you. So without further adieu I present you with… my non-punctual Rascal Flatts concert review for the night of March 5th, 2009, Memphis, Tennessee…
Concerts on Thursdays aren’t natural. Being from NE Arkansas I’m about two hours from the Home of the Blues, but we left out in what we thought was enough time to eat at the Olive Garden before going to the venue to pick up our passes, etc at five. What my parents did not take into consideration is that when it comes to a Rascal Flatts show– especially one where I have a meet and greet– there is no such thing as “enough time”. I will be the first to tell you that I am almost impossible to live with twenty-four hours prior to a concert. I spend the entire time leading up to that point in perfect peace, nonchalant and cool about the whole deal in general. Then it hits me that in a matter of hours I’ll be in the presence of the best band on the planet, and I go sort of haywire. So we’re on our way to Memphis and I’m stressing about the time, the temperature inside the vehicle, the state of my hair, and how all those things combined work to make me insane. Luckily for everyone involved, we weren’t really running behind schedule– or at least, not until we got stuck in traffic looking for the restaurant. I just want to pause the narrative here and say that FedEx has some freakin’ awesome planes in Memphis International Airport and they’re purple. Anyway, it was around four by the time we finally found the place. Not that it made a huge difference to me, since it’s “against my religion” to eat before shows.While my parents were enjoying their food I was executing a quick wardrobe change in Olive Garden’s bathroom. I did some of my makeup in the mirror over the sink and there was this lady who kept leaving the restroom and then coming back in like maybe I was a figment of her imagination or something. It was strange. Getting back to the venue was a lot easier than finding the restaurant, and we arrived a little after five. Yeah, we missed a street, but Dad’s quite the talent when it comes to U-turns (I won’t tell if you won’t ). The FedEx Forum is not my favorite venue, but it’s situated right beside Beale Street and I have to give it props for being lively. Parking was interesting, because before we even got close to the Forum a dude jumped off the curb and yelled, “Hey you Rascal Flatts people!” My neck, of course, snaps in his direction– but I just have to wonder how he knew. Do we look like RF people? And what do RF people look like? Anyway, he was an unofficial parking guy who apparently lives like 100 feet from the venue and lets concert-goers park in his driveway. If you can’t beat them, make money off of them, I guess. He was really nice, even though he jumped in the bed of our truck before we really knew what he was up to, which was a little scary. After we got our things together the guy whose driveway we were parked in introduced himself as Earl. Earl was very friendly and insisted upon escorting us to the front doors, despite the fact he wasn’t staff and really had no obligation to chauffeur us. Oh well, whatever floats his boat. I had a very minor scare at the box office, where they told me I had a meet and greet pass but no VIP tickets. I *ahem* reassured the lady that oh yes I did have VIPs and, noting the conviction with which I spoke to her, she shuffled off to another part of the building to… look for them? Anyway, she came back with my tickets in hand and everybody was happy. The seats were section 5E or something like that, which wasn’t as bad as I had prepared myself for. With that out of the way I turned my attention to my meet and greet instructions, which said to be at Section 111 at 7:15. Be there or be square (and screwed, because we’ve all heard the I-missed-my-meet-and-greet horror stories). Brought up in the concert world by the golden rule of expect the unexpected, we began looking around for a venue employee that could tell me where/what Section 111 was and anything else of importance they knew. After finding out from a very nice employee that we were supposed to assemble at 6:45 outside the top door leading into the venue we felt a little freer to explore our surroundings. Beale Street is bustling and beautiful, from the lights to the sounds to the cobblestones under foot. I snapped a few quick pictures before realizing the rechargeable batteries I bought on the way (five minute sprint through Wal-Mart; Guinness Book of World Records, anyone?) came only HALFWAY charged despite what the package said. Mildly horrified, I turned off my camera and didn’t see one more thing that warranted a picture. In fact, I don’t think even a genuine Elvis sighting could have gotten me to turn that thing on and waste the battery life I was saving for the Flatts. We made the short walk back to the entrances at about six and proceeded to stand around the top door as we had been instructed. A handful of people with radio passes lined up behind us, but for the most part the meet and greet crowd was shaping up to be sparse. A little closer to seven a guy came out and asked for the people who had passes to meet Jessica. No one even flinched and the poor guy was starting to look confused. He began walking back and forth outside the entrances looking for Jessica Simpson people, and when he didn’t find any he disappeared back into the venue. We were commenting on the strangeness of all this when the guy reappeared, this time toting a bull horn. Needless to say, he found his Jessica Simpson fans… It was great to see Shandra! I believe she still secretly claims my parents as her own after our pit pass swap in Little Rock. Security let the meet and greet people in about fifteen minutes before seven and told us to wait off to one side for someone to come and get us. Well, to my knowledge no one ever came– we just decided to take ourselves on down to Section 111. There was quite the crowd by now and we moved fast, dodging beer vendors right and left. At backstage entrance 111 there was a handful of venue staff working security and checking passes, something I wasn’t sweating at all. The infamous Flatt Dog sticker was in place on the pocket of my jeans and I had my confirmation email in hand just in case– not being allowed in was really the least of my concerns. Little did I know that it was about to be brought to the front of my mind. One second everything’s going great– tra-la-la, the whole bit– and the next some guy is telling me that I don’t have a meet and greet pass, LEAVE NOW. My reaction: security dude say WHAT?! That is the last thing you say to a Rascal Flatts fan who got her pass fair and square, is it not? Well, let me just tell you I gave the guy a bit of a shock when I started yelling at him… Dude: Sorry, miss, but you don’t have a M&G pass. Yeah. At that point he called for backup, which came in the form of another guard, this time a female. She proceeded to tell me that she understood my situation completely but that I DID NOT HAVE A MEET AND GREET PASS. Yes, I was indignant. Yes, it’s a good thing someone was there to restrain me. After them threatening to throw us out, we gave up and walked back up the stairs to the seating section where we could gather plans for a retaliation. I was, of course, past my initial fury and had resigned to crying. It was like being tossed from a fifteen-story rooftop. Fan’s worst nightmare. My mom asked me what we could do, and I told her our best bet would be finding someone who was an actual employee of the Flatts, not the venue. That’s when she points at this guy wearing a different-colored pass and says, “What about him?” I swear, the angels started singing. Or maybe it was my “These Days” ringtone– who really knows. I sniffed back tears and sashayed over to the man in question, who was deeply engrossed in conversation with some people wearing radio passes he was apparently friends with. I resisted tugging on the sleeve of his leather jacket, rather waiting politely until he noticed me. He met me with a friendly expression and I asked him the million-dollar (wait, more like the priceless-meet-and-greet-with-RF) question– “Do you work for the Flatts?” At my query a leisurely smile spread over his face and I knew that I was in business. “I guess you could say that,” he replied modestly, and I proceeded to explain to him the details of my predicament. He told me that he knew I had the right kind of pass, then said, “You just wait a minute. I’ll get it taken care of, hon.” The next thing I knew, the very same security guard that I had it out with came over to me hat in hand, showing me a staff flyer that listed all the different kinds of meet and greet passes that were acceptable. Someone had hilighted the fan club one in yellow. He told me in a too-chipper-please-don’t-cry voice that, “See? You DO have a meet and greet pass!!” Yeah, no kidding, pal. Anyway, everything was straightened out and I was back on track. I regret not catching the name of the man who helped me, but I have a feeling that he’s been around on the boards before. If so, and if you read this, allow me to thank you, sir. You know how much the Flatts mean to us fans and you saved this particular one a lot of heartache that night. Waiting. Oh gosh, did we ever wait. It seemed like ages before they finally took as backstage, and even longer before the boys actually showed up. It was a big meet and greet party– I’d say almost double what it was at my last show– and Nash ended up splitting us into two groups. Let me just stop here and say that I am an official Nash fan girl. I have been ever since he joined the team. He is so sweet, actually talking to people instead of at them as is usually the case. I love him. End of story. Well, not really. So we’re standing in line, craning our necks to see through the double doors where the first group is waiting. Nothing much interesting is happening at all. Then, without any warning at all, Allison DeMarcus walks through said double doors and starts talking to a small group of people. Allow me to describe her outfit– entirely black, sequined top, knee-high leather boots, huge Chanel hoop earrings and a Chanel bracelet to match. She looks just as amazing in person as she does when you see her anchoring on CMT, and oh how she shines! The people she was talking to seemed to be family, as one of the ladies brought up something that happened backstage at the Miss Tennessee pageant and there was much hugging taking place. She must have stayed out in that hall with us for twenty or more minutes, though she never mingled with the waiting fans. There was much talk of getting pictures with her, but no one was brave enough to act on it. You always know when the boys arrive, ALWAYS, because there is much compulsive screaming and the air fairly snaps with a tangible, electric excitement. Gary jogged in, then Joe Don, and lastly Jay. Allison disappeared mysteriously, then Mr. Nash with the flash proceeded to do what he does best, and thus my second meet and greet began. I was seven or so people from the end of the line, and when you look at the crowd in front of you it seems like you’ve got plenty of time before you’re put in the hot spot yourself. Au contraire– there is no line in the world that moves faster than an RF meet and greet line. I really enjoyed watching everyone else go through, and it seemed like there was more fan-smooching going on than usual. I didn’t think too much of it until one of Nash’s flunkies cut the line off about four in front of me and began laying down the law about NO MORE KISSES. He explained that they were trying their best to keep the guys well during flu season and us fans seeking lip-action weren’t really helping matters. That explained why Gary had been sticking his nose in the back of girls’ heads all night when they asked him to kiss them for the pictures. There was much vocalizing of disappointment from our side but no real objections/screaming/begging– nobody wants sick Flatts. Oh crudddd, that line is getting kind of short. When I was about two people away from the big moment, the same Flatt flunkie who gave us the kissing lecture stuck out his hand and offered to hold the envelope I was carrying. My initial reaction was, “Get your own envelope, buddy.” It was a letter for Joe Don containing some Picher talk, etc. Realizing what it was he waved his hand dismissively, “Oh, is it a note for one of them? Sorry about that– I just thought it was your tickets or something. Notes are perfectly fine!” I said something to him, then one of his little Flatt-staff-member buddies came up and joined the conversation. “Is that a note?” he asked his pal, and I was beginning to wonder what the big deal was. “Wait, don’t you remember the new policy? We now have to screen all notes,” said Flatt flunkie #2 in a deadpan voice. Flunkie #1: Oh YEAH. Now I remember. Hand it over, missy… Anyway, they were hilarious and did a lot towards loosening me up. It’s a good thing, too, because suddenly Gary was fixing me with a highly expectant gaze and I was unwelding my feet from the floor so that I could step into the imaginary circle of Flattness. You guys know what I mean– you can only get so close before you’re swept into their gravitational field and your head starts spinning like a top. It’s a place where compass needles don’t point North and fan girls lose their finer abilities to articulate thoughts into words. I had been wondering if they’d remember me from my last meet and greet, and Gary wasted no time in putting my speculations to rest. “Good to see you back!” he said exuberantly, and I thanked him as I stumbled into a weird hug that started off kind of lopsided but straightened out in the end. As I pulled away from him I brushed my hand across his chest, “Dude, you sparkle!” I was, of course, referring to the rhinestones on the shirt he was wearing. That made him laugh and he explained, “That’s so Jay and Joe Don won’t lose me in the dark.” Mystery solved, all you RF fans who have been puzzling long hours over Gary’s glitter addiction. Then comes the part where sirens start wailing and red lights go off inside Joe Don girls’ heads. We shake, we smoke, and sparks begin to fly. I swear, the man is like a total eclipse wrapped in a tidal wave– there is no way you can focus on anything else when he’s anywhere in your line of vision. I turn away from Gary and there he is, standing and waiting for me with his arms outstretched and a ridiculous sort of moony grin on his face. What am I supposed to do? Let him stand there like a scarecrow? Of course I hugged him, and it was a nice hug. After a moment or two he held me out by the shoulders to look at me, still grinning, and said, “Baby girl?” I was thrilled to a point paralysis that he actually remembered the moniker he bestowed upon me at our last meeting, where I’d been the terrified epitome of doe-eyed. I babbled something about missing him and not having seen him in a year and four days. There was much awwing and an “I missed you, too!” but then what does he say? “You’ve gotten taller!” I was slightly taken aback by this, but managed to tell him it was probably just the heels. At this point I sort of stuck my letter out in his general direction, him taking it from me and studying the front of it with intense interest. “For me?!” he asked in a dramatic, high-pitched voice that garnered a somewhat shocked look from Jay. He then proceeded to hold the letter over his heart with both hands and sway back and forth like a lovestruck 8th grade boy, much to my amusement/flattery. I told him it was about Picher, which added to his ecstasy, and he said, “Thank you so much, baby. I can’t wait to read it.” Then, as an extension of his happiness, he caught me another hug– which is why I’m angled so strangely in my picture. Nash snapped the pic as soon as Joe Don let me go, him thanking me again through his teeth as he smiled for the camera. I’m not real sure what his deal was that night, but he was in quite the excitable/affectionate mood and gave me a third hug before handing me over to Jay. I was thinking I could get used to this treatment when he pointed at his jaw for me to kiss him. Shazzam, Joe Don! We said our goodbyes and then I sheepishly approached Jay, asking him for a hug. “’Course you can, baby,” was his agreeable answer, and I swear, you can feel a Jay hug for five minutes after it actually happens. They’re slow and verrrry sweet. He “thanked me for coming out, sweetie, and enjoy the show”– then I got my autographed card and walked out. I wouldn’t swear by it– because I was obviously Flatt-blind at the time– but there were two little girls handing out the cardstock and the one who gave me mine looked a lot like Brittany. The entire backstage area was crawling with family members, so it wouldn’t be surprising. I made it to my seat (scaring my mom half to death in the process) just as the lights when out and footsteps began echoing throughout the venue for the intro to Jessica’s “These Boots Are Made For Walking”. She was wearing black pleated shorts and a gold jacket over a white top. Let me just say that fat was the last thing that crossed my mind as she took the stage, but hey, I’m not a tabloid news reporter so what do I know? Her shoes were amazing!! She only messed up one song, and overall I think she did nicely. She didn’t convert me into a lifelong fan or anything, but she sang her heart out and that definitely counts for something. And what the heck is in that thermos?! Intermission was… long. I told my mom about having seen Allison backstage and was in the process of confessing to her that I had fallen madly in love with Nash when I actually see him standing on Jay’s side of the stage. AHHH! So there was much stuttering and hitting her on the arm to get her to look at him, and then I decided that I was going to get my second chance to talk to him right then and there. Well, it didn’t turn out exactly like I wanted it to, because apparently just like where there’s smoke there’s fire, where there’s Nash there’s Rascal Flatts. Just as I’m getting up to go talk to the dude, the lights go out. I’ll just say it was a mixture of delight and dismay. Got to love the “All Summer Long” intro! You halfway expect clips of Jay on a jet ski to flash over the screens or something. The big bang is really satisfying, especially after having listened to my brother brag about the amazing pyrotechnics on ACDC’s Black Ice Tour for the past two months. Hearing HCG live was positively unforgettable, and Jay’s skit was classic ["little tight things"]. Joe Don broke out the acoustic, going solo for “I’m Moving On”– I couldn’t help but remember when he did the same thing in Tulsa just a little after the Picher tornado. Gary and Jay were both a little hung up on biscuits and gravy — I hope they got to satisfy their cravings after the show. Gary pulled a little girl up on stage for “My Wish” just like always, and a random guy sitting next to me got so excited about it that he started hitting me in the arm and trying to tell me something above the noise. All I made out was daughter, so I automatically thought it was his kid up there or something. I didn’t realize it was Brittany until Gary introduced her. So that’s why that guy was all in a lather! Haha. The freeze during BTH is priceless! =D Anyhow, our seats were close to the stage but near the center so we pretty much got zero attention. Ah well, life goes on. The confetti is enough to smother a person! I now have some in a plastic baggie on my dresser– you know how it is. I was very sorry to see them go but managed not to cry this time. Go me. Next up? Little Rock a la Unstoppable Tour would be nice. <33
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