For being someone with an album collection nearing the 7,000 mark, it seems rather odd that my favorite band would have stayed consistent for almost twelve years. Yet those who meet me learn first and foremost that I’m more than just a tad music obsessed and that this centers primarily on one band: Dream Theater. Or, as I typically need to append that statement: “No, you haven’t heard of them.” Certainly this is no minor appreciation of the band as I went so far as to get their logo tattooed on my back. While I may not be the über-geek living my life on their forums and memorizing idiotic trivia, I still remain a long-time, older-school fan, devoted to the point of having difficulty remaining objective toward their work.
I did not see them live for the first time until 1999 as for most of the previous years I was either too young, had too crappy of a car to make the soujourn to more populated areas, or simply knew nobody else with a taste for the band and didn’t want to make those trips alone. Since then, I have managed to get out and about for five shows — typically with my friend Tanya who hopped along the first time I went to see them, without having really heard the band at all, after which she became a ravenous fan. Also at that show was Geoff, a Chicagoan friend who had just discovered the band recently. Our DT cherries were sufficiently popped that we have all gone back for more.
Sunday evening in Madison, Wisconsin, I planned to break in another Dream Theater virgin: my best friend, Sarah. She had only heard them in passing as her tastes remain decidedly mainstream — her album collection consists of Shania Twain, Sheryl Crow, Selena, and Poison, among varied others. Dream Theater, for those unacquainted, is a progressive metal band, something simplified along the lines to say if Rush turned it up to 11. They’re known for their instrumental skills as the majority of the band members went to various music schools, yet also known for doing such things as playing the entirety of Metallica’s Master of Puppets album at special shows. This, simply, is not anywhere near her typical cup of tea.
Yet Sarah thought, “hey, something to do, sounds like fun” and hopped aboard the train for a night of fun and excitement in Madtown. I have to give her major props for this, as Sarah is typically the type of girl who won’t try any sort of new food (I remember coaching her to try a strawberry) and spent her last two concerts watching the Beach Boys and Chubby Checker. We listened to the latest DT disc, Train of Thought as a backdrop in the car on the long-thanks-to-detours drive up through the land of cheese, and there was rarely any remarks made about the music whatsoever. But I did have one ace up my sleeve: Jordan Rudess, keyboard wizard extraordinare. Sarah has played piano for a good chunk of her life, and I told her point-blank that she would need to prepare for a lifetime of feeling inadequate after this show.
We met with friends (Tanya once again, who since that first show together has always been my DT partner) and traveled to the Barrymore Theater bright and early for hopes of a good view in the world of general admission. We stopped to get chinese food, we stopped to get liquid refreshment, and nearly 3 hours later were allowed into the venue. We weren’t first in line by any stretch and we weren’t tackling anyone for good seats, yet still came up in the fifth row. The Barrymore is a small theater, supposed capacity over 900 but doesn’t look to fit more than 500, which people slowly filled to the brim. I nabbed a new t-shirt, not because of a discounted price to say the least, but instead because it was sparkly and I must own anything that sparkles. And then commenced more waiting before Beatallica hit the stage around 8pm.
Before progressing further — if anyone has not heard of Beatallica, please do so. Just as the name suggests, they’re a silly band which takes Beatles songs and recreates them in the style of Metallica, complete with a dead-on parody of James Hetfield and some of the silliest lyrics ever. Opening for Dream Theater with something of this sort is not the easiest of tasks. The geeks of the universe have flocked to watch guitarist John Petrucci’s fingers fly 600 miles per hour across his fretboard or to check out drummer Mike Portnoy hammering on his 800 piece drum kit, not some guys in wigs messing around. At least the crowd was sated when Portnoy barnstormed the stage in a Gene Simmons mask and kicked the drummer off of his set for “…And Justice For All My Loving.”
As for the show we came to see (and without delving into nothing more than a set list), two hours came and went in the blink of an eye. In between rocking out like a maniac as one would tend to do in the presence of their favorite band, I kept a sideways eye on Sarah. Sure enough, I had pointed her in the direction of Rudess and her attention remained rapt upon him, his crazy bald head and spinning Kurzweil setup. Meanwhile, I was happy as happy could be with a great view, finally getting to see “Peruvian Skies” live, three songs from the album on which I discovered them, Images and Words, vocalist James LaBrie in top form and hitting notes he didn’t even attempt that the last show we saw, Petrucci’s fingers flying and making it look far to easy, Portnoy being a goofball as usual, and even bassist John Myung being dead front of the stage instead of hiding in the back. For my fifth show, I definitely couldn’t have been happier.
But Sarah… as the show ended and we met back up at the car, the girl remained quiet as a mouse. For the entire drive, nothing. I was somewhat worried that she didn’t enjoy herself, as sometimes it’s not necessarily easy to get into two hours of songs you don’t recognize at all. Finally, back at Tanya’s before heading back to town, I asked what she thought.
She started out slowly. “It was good,” she said. Well, that didn’t sound too good. But Sarah is a slow-burner type. “I couldn’t take my eyes off of that guy,” she continued. “I didn’t even know why other people were cheering sometimes, I was thinking to myself, ‘But the keyboard guy didn’t do anything, why are they cheering?'” I giggled a bit. Then she stared me down and said, “That song. The one about the spirit carrying on. I WANT THAT SONG.” I nodded. “And that other song. The one about being who you are, “As I Am” or whatever. I WANT THAT SONG TOO.” I got a huge grin on my face. “I didn’t say I want those songs either. I NEED them.”
I smiled huger than huge. Another one bites the dust; Dream Theater corruption complete.
While I’m beyond thrilled that I have now dragged my best friend into the Dream Theater dungeon and can share one more joy of my life with her, the fact remains that I’m still dating a boy who claims not to be able to stand Dream Theater in the least. As incompatible as that may seem, I just need to look to Tanya and Sarah. He will come around. I have tried telling him time and time again that Dream Theater is not exactly a common palate type of band, but seeing them live creates converts in higher numbers than a truckload of Mormon missionaries. He will become a drooling music dork. It’s only a matter of time. Until then, he’ll just have to put up with me playing them incessantly anyway.
To those who understand, I extend my hand.
–gloomchen
