For the holiday weekend we traved to the Poconos for a concert at Montage Mountain Ski Resort.
Poison was headlining with Cinderella, Winger, and Faster Pussycat opening.
Wow, what a show. A great crowd and a fun night. Cinderella rocked, it was great seeing them after such a long time. Poison’s been coming around the last few years and they always put on a great show. Winger and Faster Pussycat were impressive as well.
You know what music is missing these days? Bands that inspire loyalty. Or is it marketing? It seems to me that most music I hear these days is disposable. Precious few bands make me want to buy their album, simply because I loved their last one, and then determine how well the band did at living up to my expectations. I now need to sample it first no matter what. Gone is that experience of buying an album the first day it hits shelves, anxiously waiting for what a band has created this time around. Being a fan of a band was kinda like being a programming language geek who swore by his favorite language and has to download the latest releases before the bug fixes come out.
Now I really, really need to be sold before I part with my cash.
Anyway, it was great to finally hear live a song that back then comforted me, House of Pain by Faster Pussycat:
A little past suppertime
I’m still out on the porch step sitting on my behind,
Waiting for you.
Wondering if everything is alright.
Momma said, “Come in boy, don’t waste your time.” I said, “I’ve got time.
Well, he’ll be here soon.”
Five years old and talking to myself.
Where were you? Where’d you go?
Daddy, can’t you tell?
I’m not trying to fake it
And I ain’t the one to blame.
There’s no one home
In my house of pain.
I didn’t write these pages
And my script’s been rearranged.
No, there’s no one home
In my house of pain
Wasn’t I worth the time?
A boy needs a daddy like a dance to mime and all the time
I looked up to you.
I paced my room a million times.
And all I ever got was on big line, the same old lie.
How could you?
Well, I was eighteen and still talking to myself.
Where were you? Where’d you go?
Daddy can’t you tell?
I’m not trying to fake it
And I ain’t the one to blame.
There’s no one home
In my house of pain
I didn’t write these pages
And my script’s been rearranged.
No, there’s no one home
In my house of pain