July 20th, 2007 by makingpoetry
What’s up with Rock fans in Boston? Last weekend I went to hear one hell of a Classic Rock band, Shoot the Moon, but the size of the audience did not do them justice. Most of my old college friends are not into Rock, but the Bostonians who braved the heat and half-million crowd to see Aerosmith on the Esplanade last summer are fans of true Rock. They buy Steven Tyler’s gritty sound by the CD-ful, maybe go to Red Sox games and support the troops (despite having a serious problem with this war-waging in and of itself). Why aren’t you folks turning out to see younger rockers?! Classic Rock is seriously American. Is the problem that older Rock fans (Watch it, now!) don’t actually go to concerts, thinking there will be tons of “youngsters” there, and young people are closet Rock fans (It’s so violent, dude.); so nobody shows up? It’s live Rock!
Granted, I’m so into Steven Tyler that he’s in my memoir, and one of my favorite poems to read at open mikes is “Oxygen & Aerosmith”, which is lots of fun in combating stereotypes about how stuffy we Bostonians are–but still…. Yup, I think drugs are stupid, but Sex and Rock ‘n’ Roll still go together, and lead singer Sammy Miami is too sexy! There is a connection between musicians and poets that is organic and electric. In person, when the thump of amplified drums and guitars tuned into a certain wavelength, this poet was lifted, transported on a natural high. Sounds good, right?
There’s nothing like a clear, mellow-masculine voice and long, denim-patchworked legs that goes better with the jangle of a tambourine, shaped like a crescent moon. Maybe you can slap some sensuality into your humdrum weekend next time these guys are in town. It’d be a shame to lose them to New York! Get a temporary tattoo stamped onto your hand, and have a blast. Your endorphins will thank you!