Benny Profane
Well-known member
- Joined
- Jul 25, 2020
Well,
Leans back in rocking chair, lites pipe. Gather around, youngsters.
It was 1973. I was a stoned hippie wannabee at Rutgers, wasting my time and my father's money, although school was cheap back then. I had a decent concert habit, developed since I was bussing into the Fillmore a lot in high school to see three band/7 dollar shows from my home in almost central Jersey. Quadraphania was just released a month or two before, and the Who was touring to support it. That's what bands did, money losing tours to sell records. (The Stones were quite broke during the Gimmee Shelter tour, and skipped on a lot of bills) My buddy was a total Who fanatic, eh, me not so much, but loved Live at Leeds. I was more a Hendrix fan. Only time I ever heard the Who was my ear to the door at a Fillmore side exit in 69 when they were playing Tommy, or, a lot of it. But, hey, Rock and Roll, dudes, sure, let's get tickets!
Now, ticket buying was a brutal affair in those days. There was no internet or 1-800 whatever. It was, ticket windows open 9am on a certain day, first come, first serve, not a whole lot of a limit. Darwinian. So, we drive down to Philly and arrive 10pm the night before tickets go on sale, and there were maybe a few hundred there already, and it grew overnight. Of course we didnt sleep.
Dawn breaks and the inevitable rush to form a line happens. It starts to get ugly around 8, as testosterone and drugs and sleep deprivation take hold (alcohol was not a factor back then. Hardly anybody drank) Its shoulder to shoulder agression. I'm close to a window, but, suddenly, a few mounted Philly cops arrive right in front of me, and stick a horse's ass right in my face, and that horse is nervous. I have maybe fifty Strong yute behind me pushing me into horse's ass. Please don't kick, please dont kick, please dont kick. And dont take a dump.
Suddenly, the cops leave, and I hit the window. 60th row, main floor. But, didn't matter. At least we were on the floor. As soon as those first chords of Can't Explain blasted a few months later ( they always opened with that) it was a wave of back rows swallowing the VIPs up front, most of whom were escaping back to the rear, because they didnt realize what they got themselves into. I'll never forget the fear on some of their faces. Made it to standing on what was probably a twentieth row seat, shoulder to shoulder again, for two hours of bombastic noise. Keith was still in form. I realized fifteen minutes in that they were all playing off of him. What a monster of a drum set. Townsend and Daltrey were doing their clown act well, and Entwhistle was solid. It was well worth risking physical injury for. But, we all saw the downside of all that on the same tour, or, was it a year later, when those kids were crushed to death in Cincinatti rushing to general admission front rows. The industry changed overnight after that.
Leans back in rocking chair, lites pipe. Gather around, youngsters.
It was 1973. I was a stoned hippie wannabee at Rutgers, wasting my time and my father's money, although school was cheap back then. I had a decent concert habit, developed since I was bussing into the Fillmore a lot in high school to see three band/7 dollar shows from my home in almost central Jersey. Quadraphania was just released a month or two before, and the Who was touring to support it. That's what bands did, money losing tours to sell records. (The Stones were quite broke during the Gimmee Shelter tour, and skipped on a lot of bills) My buddy was a total Who fanatic, eh, me not so much, but loved Live at Leeds. I was more a Hendrix fan. Only time I ever heard the Who was my ear to the door at a Fillmore side exit in 69 when they were playing Tommy, or, a lot of it. But, hey, Rock and Roll, dudes, sure, let's get tickets!
Now, ticket buying was a brutal affair in those days. There was no internet or 1-800 whatever. It was, ticket windows open 9am on a certain day, first come, first serve, not a whole lot of a limit. Darwinian. So, we drive down to Philly and arrive 10pm the night before tickets go on sale, and there were maybe a few hundred there already, and it grew overnight. Of course we didnt sleep.
Dawn breaks and the inevitable rush to form a line happens. It starts to get ugly around 8, as testosterone and drugs and sleep deprivation take hold (alcohol was not a factor back then. Hardly anybody drank) Its shoulder to shoulder agression. I'm close to a window, but, suddenly, a few mounted Philly cops arrive right in front of me, and stick a horse's ass right in my face, and that horse is nervous. I have maybe fifty Strong yute behind me pushing me into horse's ass. Please don't kick, please dont kick, please dont kick. And dont take a dump.
Suddenly, the cops leave, and I hit the window. 60th row, main floor. But, didn't matter. At least we were on the floor. As soon as those first chords of Can't Explain blasted a few months later ( they always opened with that) it was a wave of back rows swallowing the VIPs up front, most of whom were escaping back to the rear, because they didnt realize what they got themselves into. I'll never forget the fear on some of their faces. Made it to standing on what was probably a twentieth row seat, shoulder to shoulder again, for two hours of bombastic noise. Keith was still in form. I realized fifteen minutes in that they were all playing off of him. What a monster of a drum set. Townsend and Daltrey were doing their clown act well, and Entwhistle was solid. It was well worth risking physical injury for. But, we all saw the downside of all that on the same tour, or, was it a year later, when those kids were crushed to death in Cincinatti rushing to general admission front rows. The industry changed overnight after that.
