silverchair
Festival Hall
by Andrew McUtchen

Fashions change and people are left behind. Two underage gigs in a week has well and truly indicated that my preconceived notions of gig ettiquette needs some serious reviewing. Just when I get the hang of throwing plastic watter bottles at Daniel Johns, I'm kindly advised (by a 12 year old aficionado) that you're supposed to just "throw recklessly and carelessly" in a teen rebellion statement way. My brilliantly executed overarm missile was hurled with such aplomb that I was sure I'd make the grade, but connecting with DJ's platinum blonde skull was met with unanimous disapproval. "Pour the water over your t-shirt FIRST," the green hair dyed girls explained with barely concealed exasperation. After seriously encroaching upon the unwritten dictum of behavioural standards, I was ostracised by pre-pubescent companions who staunchly ignored my passionate cries of "DAANNNNNNIEEEEL! I LOVE YOU DANIEL!!!!" The bones had been shaken. I was out. All the songs were played, something about suicide, (how far do you take an imitation?) that tomorrow song, teenage isolation incapsulated in a tune about leaving me out, and the sensational cover of 'Speechless' by Helmet. At last, I knew a song I could sing and scream! It was great, only it wasn't really Helmet. Once again, I was informed that, in fact, the song was Undecided by the chair. But ultimately (and fortunately), the music was inconsequential, fuck yeah, we were here to throw water bottles. To create a maelestrom of melancholy, a salvo of solidarity not even Daniels disapproval could stop us. How could he possibly "come down there and kick all of our arses?" He even threatened to "do what I did last time" and get his arse kicked by the audience if we didn't stop. Out spirits remained undaunted, and we kept on throwing, even when that other blonde guy from Everclear came out and sang Paranoid by some old band called Black Sabbath. But alas, by this time, the platoon of barely teenage girls contempt for me had reached unbearable levels and I had to go and sit by myself near the bar, left to lament the tragic death of my hipness.

THE END