The conversation usually starts late at night, you and your new college friends in someone’s dorm room with a 12-pack, dishing about the lives you lived before they knew you. An old song comes on, and someone says, “This was the first rock concert I ever saw.” This claim is usually met with a “They suck!,” followed by a “Hey, I was 12, I didn’t know any better!” From there, the conversation turns into a can-you-top-this game of who saw the most “embarrassing” band as their first concert. Twenty years later, of course, the shame turns back into pride, as you realize the band was better than you once gave them credit for, but you wouldn’t have convinced the 18-year-old version of yourself of that at the time. Being cool is hard, you know.
And so, over the course of nearly a hundred emails, the Bullz-Eye staff racked their booze-addled brains to recall the first time they heard the roar of the crowd as the lights went down, and the magic that followed. This is our chronological history of the staff’s first shows. Not surprisingly, most of us were baptized by arena rock fire, but as it turned out, one of us was fortunate enough to see the birth of one of the greatest bands of all time…
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
West Palm Beach FL
It isn’t often that one witnesses history, but yours truly had just such an opportunity one special evening back in 1976. The environs were somewhat innocuous, a shithole of a club in West Palm Beach, the name of which I’ve long since forgotten. No matter; it was the music that impressed, not the surroundings. The band that performed that night was the newly rechristened Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, and the gig marked the band’s official unveiling. At the time, Petty was a recent Gainesville transplant, not quite on the cusp of stardom, having recently left his earlier band Mudcrutch and signed to Leon Russell’s Shelter Records.
I was there as the Florida promotion rep for ABC Records, Shelter’s parent company. Promo copies of the band’s eponymous debut album had recently been released, but like most of those in attendance that evening, I had no idea what to expect. All I knew was that my bosses were big on this band and had urged me to be there in support.
My personal introduction to Petty came courtesy of his imposing English manager, Tony Dimitrades. Petty himself was short and wiry, his face framed by his trademark blond locks, and while he appeared the most reserved member of the group, he clearly possessed a star’s charisma. The other musicians – then-drummer Stan Lynch in particular – were amiable and outgoing, especially when it came to sharing their stash in the dark corners of the parking lot after the show. Despite the fact that this was their performing debut, the group was tightly wound and well-rehearsed, rookie status notwithstanding. The set list consisted of the first album in its entirely, highlighting a riveting version of “Breakdown,” a haunting delivery of the dreamy ballad “Luna,” and a kick-ass take on the soon-to-be classic “American Girl.”
Everyone had reason to feel encouraged afterwards as we walked back to their makeshift dressing room, a tiny room furnished with tables, chairs and an ancient-looking refrigerator. Unfortunately, once we arrived backstage, the good vibes suddenly dissipated. Scrawled on the refrigerator was a surprisingly crude rebuke: “Heartbreakers suck!”
As it turned out, this unjustified insult proved only a momentary bump on a road that quickly brought them to superstardom. Consequently, it was an auspicious evening for two reasons: the debut of one of America’s most enduring ensembles – and probably the last time they’d be panned under such improbable circumstances.
– Lee Zimmerman
July 16, 1979
Richfield Coliseum, Richfield OH
Having recently become a loyal member of the Kiss Army in 1977 at age eight, I was eager to see the band when I heard they would be at the Richfield Coliseum just outside Cleveland in January 1978. But the show fell on the date of my older brother's birthday, so no dice. I was crushed. But my dad made it up to me when the band returned to the same venue in July of 1979 by securing fourth row tickets for me and a pair of friends (he chose to watch from up above.)
Little did we know just how lucky we really were; this would be the last tour with all four original members until 1996. It was a life-changing experience of epic proportions. Kiss in the '70s weren't just a rock band – they were more like superheroes. With the costumes, the alter egos, the comic books and toys, the "Kiss Meets the Phantom of the Park" movie, everything was "Larger than Life" (a studio track on Kiss Alive II.) Some in the press criticized the band’s new Dynasty album for going disco, but the band could do no wrong in my star-struck eyes.
The sell-out crowd went wild for every song and all four members of the band were mesmerizing. Gene Simmons, “The Demon,” wore boots that looked like they were related to Godzilla. He spat fire, he spat blood, he had a bass that looked like an axe, and he flew up to the top of the stage to sing “God of Thunder.” It was epic. But “Space” Ace Frehley was my favorite member, for he purported to actually be from another planet. His Gibson Les Paul emitted smoke during his guitar solo, during which he later hung another guitar on a string and shot laser blasts out of his first guitar that blew it up! When he sang lead on “Shock Me” and “Rocket Ride,” it was rock n’ roll heaven.
Drummer Peter “The Cat” Criss had his moment in the sun as well, singing tunes like “Hard Luck Woman” and “Beth,” for which the crowd went bonkers. One of the cool things about the band was how each member got a chance to shine, a concept that remains a rarity in rock. As with any great showmen, the band knew how to deliver a big finish. Paul “Starchild” Stanley whipped the crowd into a frenzy during the band’s anthemic “Rock and Roll All Nite,” with confetti showering us in the front rows at the end, as if we’d won the national championship. It felt like we had. – Greg M. Schwartz
The Outlaws (w/ special guests New England)
Merrimack College, N. Andover, MA
I had seen local/regional bands play at my high school auditorium before (my high school used to host concerts in their auditorium in the ‘70s, how cool was that…a practice that ended by the time I got there), but this was my first “out of town” show, so to speak. I wasn’t a huge fan or anything, but was staying at a summer camp buddy’s house that weekend, and this was the event. His mother probably dropped us off at the show. I remember the crowd (small as it probably was, it was big to me), the whole ambiance of music/stage/lights/cheering masses, some strange-smelling smoke wafting through the air, and the couple of hits I actually knew “There Goes Another Love Song” and of course “Green Grass and High Tides.” Whatevs on the opening band, New England…though being from Massachusetts I knew of these guys. In fact, they were one of the bands I had seen play at my high school.
The other memory I have of this show is on the way out, this kid, my age or thereabouts, was leaning with his head up against the outer glass walls of the concert hall, vomiting profusely against the glass as it ran down the surface and pooled on the floor at his feet. Impressive! What must have been his friends – as well as various adult authority figures – were milling about, but my buddy and I were on our way out so we didn’t see what became of the barfing boy. Years later, as a freshman in college, when a few of my chums and I were trading “first concert” stories, I related this gem, and one of my new friends said, “That puking kid was my best friend ______, I was right there next to him!” Needless to say, we became the best of friends, and remain close to this day. Small world. – Una Persson
Alice Cooper (w/ special guest Billy Squier)
August 13, 1980
It was a cloudy and rainy day and the crowd had lined up outside the staging area to see Alice in the early afternoon for a 7:30 show. Alice’s bus located, near the line, was running the entire time and almost asphyxiated the crowd as they waited to get in to the stage area. Finally, the gate was open for the general admission seating at approximately 6:30. The crowd was cranky and damp, wanting their Cooper fix.
Billy Squier and his band took the stage, and the crowd was none too impressed. Plastic bottles, food and various articles were hurled at the stage until the guitarist flipped everyone the bird and returned one of the many “Fuck You”’s with a “Fuck you, too.” Then more items were hurled at the stage, even during their rendition of “The Stroke.” They truncated their set and left.
Finally, Alice and his band took the stage and ripped off a 90-minute set heavy on material from the Flush the Fashion record. The new wave-influenced material included “Model Citizen,” a cover of Sean Bonniwell’s “Talk Talk,” “Pain” and the single that reached #40 on the pop charts, “Clones (We’re All).” Coop busted out some classics at the time like, “I’m Eighteen,” and “Under My Wheels.” Alice slowed things down a bit and showed off his underrated singing voice for “Only Women Bleed” and “I Never Cry.” The big white snake made an appearance on stage, rapping around the skinny rock icon as he sang, but the guillotine had been retired (at that time.) The show was lean but entertaining and made for a great first concert experience. The place went crazy during the encore of “School’s Out” and with that, the show was over. – R. David Smola
Daryl Hall & John Oates
February 22, 1983
Fort Wayne Coliseum, Ft. Wayne IN
While I'd been to some Christian rock gigs indoors and out, this was the first time I'd seen a group that, you know, actually had hits on the chart. The Philly soul duo were making history, about to steamroll the Everly Brothers as the best-selling rock duet of all time. Hall & Oates performed a fast-paced, high-energy, well-polished set of Top 40 hit after hit after hit, such as "Private Eyes," "Maneater," and "You Make My Dreams." The band took occasional breaks to feature stuff like Hall crooning to the gals (the end of "Wait for Me" featured a terribly boring, drawn-out Hall falsetto vocal improv that, on the live version of the song appearing on Rock & Soul, Pt. 1, is mercifully slashed after about 10 seconds of Hall's warbling), as well as showcases for Oates, saxman Charlie De Chant's considerable chops, and of course guitar hero G.E. Smith, who previously had been married to Gilda Radner and later achieved solo fame as the smiling leader of the Saturday Night Live band.
On the whole, it was everything in a concert a Midwestern eighth grade boy – and his first cousin Rachel, who scammed Uncle Fred and Aunt June into taking us – could ask for. It took some years for me to realize that when it came to soul, Otis and Aretha and Ray Charles and Stevie Wonder and Al Green and Marvin Gaye were the real deal, while Hall & Oates were just kinda aspiring to ape the greats. That night, they were best band in the world. They knocked my socks off, turning a minor-league hockey arena into the hub of the rock n’ roll universe. – Mojo Flucke, PhD
Adam Ant (w/ special guests INXS)
April 24, 1983
Veterans Memorial, Columbus OH
Nobody cool ever came to Columbus. Mind you, my definition of “cool” at the time meant UK New Wave acts that were lucky to have their albums released in the States, never mind financial support to play cow towns like Columbus was at the time. Nope, it was hard rock and nothing but hard rock for the Columbus concertgoer, as our next storyteller will attest.
Then came the stunning announcement that Adam Ant, fresh off the success of Top 15 single and MTV smash “Goody Two Shoes,” was coming to town. Did someone make a mistake? Did they mean to book a show in Columbus, Georgia, and wound up with us instead? We weren’t sure, and we didn’t care. Heck, we didn’t even mind that our seats were three rows from the back of the upper deck of the theater. We were there, damn it, and as far as we knew, Adam Ant was putting on the most awesome show in history.
The show itself is a bit fuzzy, as you might imagine; he played about half of Friend or Foe, his most recent album, and a good chunk of Kings of the Wild Frontier (including an extended version of “Physical (You’re So)” that saw Adam climbing both speaker stacks), but the part that amuses me now is the way he introduced guitarist Marco Pirroni. Four or five songs into the set, Marco had not appeared, so Adam and his bandmates rapped some classic Adam Ant gibberish (see: “Vive Le Rock” and “Apollo 9”) as if it were some magical Marco apparating charm, and presto, Marco hit the stage…by walking through the curtain in the back. The crowd, of course, went nuts at the sight of him, but I have since realized that that might be the most anti-climactic introduction of all time.
Adding an extra layer of cool to the show was having MTV buzz band INXS as the opening act. They played most of Shabooh Shoobah and a couple tunes from the import-only Underneath the Colours, and Michael Hutchence, knowing that the majority of the people there weren’t familiar with them, still worked the crowd until by set’s end, he owned them all. Sigh. – David Medsker
Def Leppard (w/ special guests Krokus)
July 6, 1983
Ohio Center, Columbus OH
Def Lep had just taken America by storm earlier in the year by releasing Pyromania, the album that propelled them to mega-heights with the Rolling Stones, AC/DC, and Van Halen. They began the Pyromania tour as an opening act for Billy Squier, but that didn't last. Once "Photograph" took over the FM radio and MTV airwaves, and every zit-faced kid in America could recite the intro to “Rock of Ages,” their days as an opener were over. Fondest memories were a two-armed Rick Allen absolutely shredding the drum kit (at the ripe old age of 19), the Union Jack tank top that Joe Elliott donned that night (which I bought at the souvenir stand afterwards), and more than anything, the sheer volume those five lads produced. It was a defining moment in 15-year-old's life, and the start of a concert career that is still going strong at 40! – Red Rocker
Van Halen (w/ special guests Autograph)
February 15, 1984
Hampton Coliseum, Hampton VA
Although it's a little embarrassing for someone who ended up as a music critic to admit, when I went to my first concert at the age of 14, I had only just started to care about music. Between my parents, I grew up on a diet of Neil Diamond, Anne Murray, and Barry Manilow (my mother), and Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, and – oddly enough – Al Jolson (my father). Not exactly the most hard rockin' fare, I think you'd agree. But between watching MTV for the first time – if you're wondering, the first video I ever saw was the Human League's "(Keep Feeling) Fascination" – and having a neighbor give me a copy of the Beatles' 20 Greatest Hits, I was finally starting to discover what music had to offer.
As a new addition to the legion of newsboys for the Virginian-Pilot and Ledger Star, I was the proud possessor of a handy-dandy little thing known as the Carrier Card. It provided me with many benefits, but surely the greatest was being able to flash it outside certain concert venues and, if the show wasn't sold out, get in at no charge. When Van Halen came around on their 1984 tour, the only song I knew by them was their then-current single, "Jump," but when I found out that a bunch of other paperboys were going, I figured, "Hey, why not?" So I went.
The event was so overwhelming that I don't remember too many specific details about the show itself, except that there was a lot of denim, a ton of smoke, and that the whole place smelled like Otto's jacket. But I do have one concrete memory of the evening, and that was when Diamond Dave announced that, right before going on stage that night, they'd gotten a call from Casey Kasem to tell them that "Jump" had gone to #1. The place erupted in screams, the song started, and the second those synths kicked in, I was screaming right along with them.
There would be other concerts of this ilk in subsequent months – AC/DC on the Fly on the Wall tour (where I smoked my first cigarette), Rush on the Grace Under Pressure tour, and most thrilling of all for a young geek, "Weird Al" Yankovic on the Dare to Be Stupid tour – but none would hold the same romanticism as the night I ran with the devil with Eddie, Alex, Michael, and the one and only David Lee Roth. How else to explain why I kept buying Dave's albums all the way through A Little Ain't Enough? – Will Harris
America w/ Three Dog Night
Warwick Musical Theatre, Warwick, RI
My aunt had won a pair of tickets in a radio contest and couldn't go, so she offered them to my parents. My father wasn't particularly keen on going (it wasn't often that we could drag my father to a concert), and thus America and Three Dog Night was my first live concert experience out of the womb. Prior to this, I allegedly witnessed a Harry Chapin concert, but I have no first-hand memory of that.
The Warwick Musical Theatre, or "the tent" as it was affectionately known (there's now a Lowe's on the site where it used to stand) was one of those "in-the-round" venues with a rotating stage. So everyone had a chance to see their favorite stars' butts as well as their faces. I don't actually remember much of the show itself, or what the guys looked like at the time. I do remember that Three Dog Night played first, and that my mother told me about the time she saw them in the early '70s with a friend of hers. They supposedly shouted "Sock it to me!" when they saw Danny Hutton, and then found themselves with an invitation to his hotel room that they promptly declined like the clean and pure girls that they were. This time, the band didn't stick around after the show. America, however, did, and kindly gave us autographs. I also remember not knowing much of Three Dog Night's songs, other than "Celebrate" and "An Old Fashioned Love Song." They were loud, too. But America was easier on my eight-year-old ears, and I was happy to hear "The Border" that night, and of course, "A Horse with No Name." – Michael Fortes
May 14, 1986
The Warfield, San Francisco, CA
If I recall, this was right around the time "Walk Like an Egyptian" was racing up the charts, and after "Manic Monday" had come and gone – so the Bangles were a pretty big deal. I wasn't a big fan, but as an 11-year-old Top 40 fanatic, I also wasn't about to pass up a pair of free tickets to see my first live show.
I wish I could say the gig was memorable, but all I remember is a whole bunch of noise. I later went back to the Warfield to catch other acts and the sound was better, so either the person behind the boards fell asleep that night or it was just my young, impressionable ears reacting violently to all the volume.
The one thing I do clearly remember is that Prince made a surprise appearance during the show. I guess this must have been during his big crush on Susanna Hoffs, although I didn't know about it at the time – or that he'd written "Manic Monday." Ah, the days before the Internet. You rotten kids don't know how easy you have it. – Jeff Giles
May 27, 1989
Sullivan Arena, Anchorage, AK
As a 17-year-old tending the bread stick counter at Little Caesar’s, I had the ultimate hook-ups (five breadsticks for customer, one for me; repeat…). However, on the night of May 27, my luck was about to move up a notch. My sketchy, mush-faced manager – I’ll call him Rick, because that’s his name – approached me in an excited fashion mentioning he had an extra ticket to that night’s Metallica show at the Sullivan Arena downtown. Now, in those days, no one came to Alaska (despite the national importance of our close proximity to Russia – thank you, Mrs. Palin), so accepting this ticket to the month’s hottest event was a no-brainer. After gleefully lying to my parents about “forced-overtime” that night, Rick and I hopped into his truck with some buddy of his and headed to the show.
I missed the opening act, as I had yet to educate myself in quality music and had never heard of the Cult, but as soon as the lights dimmed and the opening riff of “Blackened” ripped through the coliseum, the crowd erupted. Or so I heard. I unfortunately was sitting in the parking lot in a rusty Geo as Rick and his buddy snorted coke off a little gold mirror. At that age, I thought I was rebellious if I ate some raw cookie dough, so you can imagine my horror at the current scenario. After rejecting their attempts to join in the party, we finally made it inside. As the concert was in full mode by that point in time, we couldn’t find our seats amongst the violently flailing audience and settled for watching from one of the walkways. Being the (coked-up) music connoisseur he was, Rick was not satisfied with our view and told me he was going to get us a spot in the pit two levels below. Before I had time to protest, he walked down the steps in front of us and began talking to a security guard. Rick was never an eloquent or persuasive speaker, however, and after a few failed words, he moved to Plan B – knife attack. With the band playing “Harvester of Sorrow” in the background, Rick pulled out his weapon and attempted to carve his way to a better seat. Even on coke, however, a bloated well-fed Rick was no match for an armed, well-trained security guard and his quickly arriving reinforcements. In the meantime I did my best impression of the apostle Peter and denied any knowledge of this guy. Rick’s thrashing lump of a body was carried off to the bowels of the arena as I stood in horror on the walkway. Oh, shit.
As if this wasn’t enough excitement, Metallica ran off the stage mid-show after James Hetfield pointed frantically above at an out-of-control flaming prop from one of the massive “scales of justice” statues book-ending the stage (which served as a foreshadowing of sorts for Hetfield’s pyrotechnic mishap three years later in Montreal). After the band re-took the stage, a noticeably sobered and roughed-up Rick appeared again having snuck in through a side entrance. We both decided it would be best to head home at that point and avoid any more potential misadventures/jail time. And while future concerts allowed more opportunities to experience some amazing music, none matched this show’s level of hardcore rock, hardcore drugs, and hardcore weapons in the Last Frontier. – Brian Smith
The Replacements (w/ special guests Paw)
May 14, 1991
The Bijou Theater, Knoxville, TN
I had only been a recent convert to the music of the ‘Mats thanks to a bandmate who was really into them, but when said friend saw that they were coming to Knoxville, I was the guy he immediately called. Needless to say we were both jazzed, and I couldn’t have imagined a better way to cap off my senior year of high school. It had only taken me a few short weeks to pick up all the band’s releases since my friend had first made me a Replacements mix tape of tunes he thought I’d enjoy, so I knew all the songs back to front and was ready to groove. This was during the band’s tour for All Shook Down and we had heard plenty of tales about how Westerberg and Co. weren’t playing tracks pre-Let It Be, as well as a bunch of other unsubstantiated rumors, so we were definitely curious as to what kind of show we’d be getting.
My friend had scored us front row seats, dead center. Before the show we had seen Tommy Stinson take a walk with some sort of security guy down the street a short ways as well as Slim Dunlap standing in the Bijou’s lobby for a bit. We were both too chickenshit to say anything to either one of them. Soon enough, it was show time. Opening band Paw was fucking terrible. The lead guitarist made a bunch of stupid faces as he played and I recall only enjoying one song during the whole set (whatever the hell that was). The whole audience was pretty bored during the whole spectacle and I got the sense that Paw knew this as well.
About 40 minutes later, the Replacements ambled out onstage and the crowd went absolutely apeshit. Westerberg ripped into “I Will Dare” and for the next couple of hours the ‘Mats played just about everything – including songs from Hootenanny, which was always my fave album of theirs, so I was more than thrilled. Paul forgot some lyrics at times, and threw a couple new things out, as did Tommy (his songs would become part of his Bash and Pop stuff). All I know is it remains one of the best shows I’ve ever seen, period. Afterwards, my buddy and I went to the 24-hour Krystal on the strip and talked about everything we had just witnessed over and over while our ears rang so loudly we could hardly hear for the next couple of days. It was well worth it, though, and it was certainly great to see the Replacements before they decided to call it a day and leave everyone guessing afterward. – Jason Thompson
AC/DC (w/ special guests L.A. Guns)
July 14, 1991
Old Orchard Beach Sea Pac, Old Orchard Beach, ME
Being a parent in these modern times must be difficult. Not only because the world is a scary place but because as a parent today, I'd imagine your parenting skills are constantly judged by other parents. It's safe to say that parental skills surrounding my first concert experience would fail fucking miserably by today's standards. Hell, even with ticket in hand, I can't think of a venue in the United States today that would allow a minor to be unaccompanied at an AC/DC concert.
Looking back on this experience now, this concert was probably the closest thing to the Rolling Stones at Altamont that ever happened on the east coast. As we strolled down the long-ass dirt road to the entrance, we were surrounded by the meanest batch of bikers ever to assemble in Vacationland. The security guards were visibly scared shitless and as soon as it got dark and L.A. Guns left the stage, the security guards magically vanished and the leather-clad masses in the shit seats – where we were sitting – stormed to the front and scaled down a 12 foot concrete wall. After scaling the wall, they proceeded to beat their way to the front of the stage. The only reason a few Harley Soldiers remained behind was because they were too buggered to follow their brethren. I swear, next to me that night I saw a dude and his girl smoke an entire joint in two hits, chug a warm beer, puke and then make out with each other. All within the span of three minutes. If that isn't rock n roll... wow. Rock and roll is gross, but I'm sure they lived happily ever after.
The best part of the night, however, didn't come until we caught the news the next morning. In typical AC/DC fashion, they closed the show with "For Those About to Rock, We Salute You" and it was an outdoor venue so they wheeled out the enormous signature cannons. Well, apparently no one alerted the locals that this was going to happen, and as soon as this song was halfway through and the cannons started firing, the locals flipped the fuck out and flooded the switchboards of the police department because they thought they were about to be vaporized by the Apocalypse. My cousin and I literally couldn't hear anything for two days, so we couldn't even talk about the concert on the way home. Oh yeah, we walked back to where we were staying, only this time the bikers were frighteningly drunk. This was the last concert to be hosted in Old Orchard Beach for a number of years due to the noise complaints, but it was an experience that made me who I am today. – Josh Preston
September 10, 1994
Blossom Music Center, Cuyahoga Falls, OH
Green Day was just about the hottest thing going during my senior year of high school, so when presented with the opportunity to catch Billy Joe and the boys at Blossom Music Center, a huge open-air venue located in the rolling hills of Cuyahoga Falls, I couldn’t say “yes” fast enough. Dookie, the band’s major-label debut, had been released earlier that year and gained instant notoriety in the halls of Brunswick High (and, no doubt, schools all over the country) not only for the blistering punk tunes it contained, but also for the cover illustration that showed people, dogs, insects and robots flinging poo at one another and otherwise rioting in the streets. Little did I know that my first concert experience would be a case of life imitating art.
As others on this list have professed, I don’t remember much about the actual music that night, though it’s safe to say that I enjoyed every last rebellious note that I heard from my spot on the Blossom lawn. I was with a large group of friends that evening, and we were all sprawled out across a few blankets. I had been flirting with one of the girls in our group for months but had never summoned the courage to make any sort of actual move on her. I remember talking to her that night as the band ripped through one Dookie favorite after another, the teen-filled crowd screaming, thrashing and moshing along on the lawn and in the pavilion below. Then I noticed a small clump of grass go flying over my head toward the throng of people farther down the hill. I turned to see where the grass had come from and soon the sky was filled with flying sod. Grass fight! Being just another awkward teen who thought the best way to impress a girl was to follow the herd, I started tearing up the Blossom turf with the rest of my group and chucking it to parts unknown. The most vivid image from that night was watching, seemingly in slo-mo, as a massive chunk of sod crashed down on an older woman (in hindsight, she was probably in her mid-20s) directly in front of us, landing squarely on top of her head like a green toupee, showering her face and shoulders with dirt. It was as if the bombardier pooch from the Dookie cover had dropped the grass from overhead. I felt bad for her, since she was just an innocent bystander enjoying the music moments earlier, but that didn’t stop me from laughing my insensitive ass off.As for the girl, I didn’t make a move that night, or any other night for that matter. I don’t remember her name anymore, but I do remember that she was one of what seemed to be thousands of girls who provided free advertising for the opening act, Moist. The band handed out stickers with their name on it, and before Green Day even took the stage, many (most?) of the girls in attendance had applied the “MOIST” stickers to their crotches. I couldn’t tell you any of the songs Moist played that night, but I’ll never forget their name. – Jamey Codding