10/23/2017
The Observatory North Park – SD, CA
Show: George Clinton & Parliament Funkadelic
I’m not saying I want my money back, but if I had known that
George Clinton would be inviting his family and friends to host their own headbangers
ball and do zero justice to both metal and original funk music, I would have attended
a Kid Rock concert. With the exception of a few classic gems: We want the Funk,
Super Freak and Flashlight; I was left scratching my fucking head – had I
entered through the wrong doors? Everyone seemed to dressed the part but the
music was all fucking wrong. Where the hell was the funk?
George is old as dirt and it’s hard for that fool to be fully
mobile. I think Keith Richards is only capable because he’s fueled on residual
heroin and Smart Water. Smoking weed and pulling so much pussy must have slowed
the brother down; he sits on a sad little stool for parts of the show. I get it
though, if I were rich as sin I’d sit wherever the fuck I wanted whenever the
hell I felt like it too. I’d just order people around, fan myself with money
and buy two of everything.
I had such hopes for this show. We got to the show on time
[because I wasn’t the only anal retentive one in attendance that evening] and
even had some time to click some lovely evening skyscape photos. We chitchatted
in line and once we had been properly searched and groped, were allowed inside.
The smell of marijuana already hung heavy in the air – good times. It would
only be another 1.5 hours before the band arrived…an hour late. I hate
tardiness. Rich bastards. I get it, you’re rich as sin and get to do whatever
the fuck you want; but seriously SHOW THE FUCK UP ON TIME, WE ARE YOUR FANS AND
PAID TO SEE YOUR OLD WRINKLED AND SWEATY ASS. I’m not bitter. Did I mention
that there was next to nil funk to be had? So glad I didn’t throw my panties on
stage.
The majority of the show George spent either seated, or in
short spurts of frantic energy which were actually quite impressive. There were
the few songs that I mentioned above that I was grateful for, the rest seemed
to be rap songs and some metal at the end that his nephew or grandson or maybe
even his son sang. The mics were turned way up each time one of the men took it,
but I noticed it was hard to hear when George was on. If the ladies were
singing, for-fucking-get-about-it. I think they actually turned their mics off.
I’m sure there will be an uprising soon. The ladies did a duet mid-way through
the evening; of course they did…everyone got their 10 mins of fame. Some got 30.
Some should have given their 30 mins to George so that he could have sang some
old skool jams. I digress.
The real highlight of my evening was when the dance floor
opened up and I could see “Him.” All the music stopped and all the lights
pointed directly at this skinny white dude on the floor about 8 feet in front
of me. I crawled through the bars that separated us because I had to touch him;
I just had to. This skinny little boy had the most fabulous white fur [fake of
course, so everyone put down your buckets of pigs’ blood] and I was gonna touch
it. I did it! I came up behind him and ran my hands down the length of his
back. It was kinda creepy. It was even creepier that he didn’t flinch and didn’t
seem to mind at all. He turned around and looked at the guy next to me with a
smile. They looked at each other puzzled for a moment before I raised my hand
and smiled. Guilty.
I continued to dance by myself in the little space that had
opened on the floor next to the crushed beer cans. It felt normal. I felt
normal twirling and sweating with empty cans of beers at my feet. It was
probably the most recognizable feeling I had at that concert. The company was
good and I didn’t get roofied, although I would have accepted the challenge and
probably welcomed the distraction. I’m pretty sure I saw Fred Flintstone and
Kenny Rodgers – maybe I did get drugged. That’s what the “service fee” must be.
It’s an experience I’m glad to say that I had, but not one
that I’ll ever repeat again. Wait 2 hours to watch a band get pissed off at us
for not “making noise” when clearly we aren’t feeling it. Play for your
audience, not for yourselves. It was sad and great at the same time and I got
to pet a furry white boy; he’s lucky I didn’t jack him for his coat, I think we
were about the same size.
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