On a brutally humid Sunday afternoon in July, I headed down to Chicago's Grant Park for the Country Music Festival, featuring Framingham, Massachusetts' own Jo Dee Messina. I didn't go to see her specifically — the Taste of Chicago was the real attraction for me — but since I'd found a friend willing to brave the huge, gluttonous crowds for a few tiny tastes of honey barbecue chicken tenders, I was willing to endure anything in turn.
Whatever the reason, Elise and I found ourselves in the middle of a substantial audience on the lawn, watching thousands of people swaying and singing along to the upbeat country rock ditties of Ms. Messina. Despite my initial misgivings about attending this show (something along the lines of "no fucking way"), I was trying to keep an open mind. After all, the weekend before she had accompanied me to a concert just as far outside her comfort zone. Though a Dead Prez performance is likely to have a jarring impact on anyone, it was even more of a shock for Elise, given her usual preference for country, vocal jazz, and show tunes.
Obviously, the live musical stylings of an über-political hip-hop group and a cheerful, Grammy-endorsed country artist are going to differ considerably. But I found that these two concert experiences, when bookended, explained a lot of the difference between us as fans and the nature of live performance. Perhaps most importantly, I learned that just because you're a middle-aged woman, it doesn't mean you can't have enormous biceps.
"Put your fist in the air for black power," implored Dead Prez's M-1, his own clenched hand serving as a guide for the rest of us. "Even if you're white, put 'em up!" Though the Intonation Music Festival (the host of this particular concert) boasted a diverse lineup, the crowd was still basically the same as it had been during last year's Pitchfork-curated event: mostly scruffy white kids in ironic t-shirts. And just as this audience had chanted "Wu-Tang" and thrust W's toward the stage during Ghostface's performance the day before, so did they now toss their fists to the sky with exuberance.
Not everyone, of course... and certainly not me. I'm rarely an active participant at concerts, preferring instead to engage with the performer at my own pace. You might say this reduces my ability to gauge the quality of the show, but I guess a few ill-advised mosh pits scared me off for good (though I will still skank with the best of 'em if given the chance). Sure, I'll sing along to songs I know, maybe even give an involuntary yelp when I hear the first few notes of my favorites, but if there were hundreds of me at a concert, well, it wouldn't be much fun.
This was something Elise noticed early on. "You're not much of a cheerer, are you?" she asked. Meanwhile, she watched all the political rhetoric onstage with a mixture of curiosity and delight. She certainly didn't respond to M-1's call for everyone to shout "reparations", but she seemed very intrigued by the appearance of Fred Hampton, Jr., son of the former Black Panther leader whose name is set to be immortalized, legally or not, on a street sign on the West Side later this summer.
"I'm glad I got to see that," she confided at the end of the show. At first I felt proud to have exposed her to this new experience, but then I wondered why I was not nearly as glad as she. Sure, it was a good show; both members of Dead Prez turned in impressive, blistering political raps, including a memorable takeoff of Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall" (hey, G-Dub, leave our kids alone). But while I recognized it as a pretty good show, my ability to revel in the moment was painfully limited; I was more concerned with how Elise reacted to the music than with my own gratification. I imagine much of the crowd felt a similar reaction. When music thrives on its ability to make people think (I'm not just talking about politics here, but just challenging music in general), it's more likely that fans will overthink and miss the point. Sometimes a concert is simply something to enjoy.
This theory was tested the next weekend when Messina took the stage at the Country Music Festival. From the beginning, it was clear that Messina's idea of putting on a good show was far different from that of Dead Prez (and rightly so). Concerned less with message and more with maintaining the right level of energy during her set, Messina whisked through what seemed like rehearsed introductions to her hit songs and belted out the lyrics to the crowd. This was a crowd that was far more willing to accept and embrace what she was saying, and it wasn't just because she was saying "nice" things, or because she wasn't directly challenging fans' racial views. This crowd of thousands just came ready to have a good time, instead of viewing the proceedings with a critical eye.
So when Messina asked for some audience participation before launching into "Bye Baby", it was no surprise she was rewarded kindly. "Girls," she said, "I want you to think of all the guys who've ever promised to call, and didn't, those who've cheated, those who've hurt you, and say, bye-bye, baby, bye-bye!" Though the guys didn't quite get the same preferential treatment, it was all taken with a smile.
In this environment, I was on the same sort of unfamiliar ground that Elise had covered a week before. But though I never really listened to this music (save for a few trips in Elise's Jetta) and had never been to a show, I still felt confident that I knew what it was about. There would be no "I'm just happy to experience this" moments for me. Basically, I assumed that I had a handle on this whole country music thing because, well, it was simple. But halfway into the show, I understood that maybe I didn't give simplicity enough credit.
"This is happy music," I noted to a clearly happy Elise. After a while of stubbornly remaining planted on the lawn, I finally stood up to take in the view on the enormous projection screen with her. "Is that what you don't like about it?" she asked. I think I said yes, but I know that's not true. I like plenty of happy songs, and I don't automatically consider all overtly positive music to be somehow less artistically valid. But the easy give-and-take occurring before my eyes seemed, well, too easy. There wasn't much to think about. As Messina flashed her amazingly toned body up and down the stage, strutting in time to the music and even doing a little of her own percussion at one point, I realized that most people didn't care.
Don't get me wrong. No matter how much I realize, you're never really going to get me to like "I'm Alright", or the Derek Jeter fist pump that punctuated each of Messina's songs. But seeing all those people letting themselves go was in such stark contrast to what I've become accustomed to at "underground" shows, that it has made me reconsider what I want to get out of a live music experience. I shouldn't consider what I want to get at all, but rather just accept what is given to me and be happy with it.
Even better if it comes with a side of chicken.
