There are benefits to going to a concert, of course. Like, there are the obvious things. The surge in energy in the room right before the performer comes out is always fun. It will never not be cool to start a show by shutting off all the lights.
The moment when whatever song it is that everyone's been waiting for first comes exploding out of the speakers is an especially poignant experience too. Or there's even the shared misery of watching someone you'd anticipated to be a solid performer falter onstage; in and of itself, that's not necessarily a good time, but the communal commiserating that takes place afterwards as you walk towards your car always makes for an interesting few minutes.
There are the little things too, the things you never would've known had you not been there. For example, I went to DMX's show the last time he was in Houston. There was a portion of the show where he threw something into the crowd.
That he threw something wasn't spectacular, but that he threw it with the athletic tenacity of a 9-year-old girl is something I'll likely never forget.
But there are the bad things to, like the parking or the $23 beers or the few seconds that you have to absorb the bathroom attendant's glare as you leave without giving him a tip. Seriously, that is beyond brutal. I've avoided using the restroom entirely at venues that I know have attendants. What a weasel.
Which is why you shouldn't feel so bad that you couldn't attend the first proper Geto Boys concert in about 400 years, instead having to settle for watching a recording of the stream that ran on YouTube this weekend. (Clearly, this is all just an attempt to rationalize missing the show. Fuck.)
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This past Saturday, the boys who are geto played the Gathering of the Juggalos, an event held in Illinois that, far as I can tell, is this great big festival where everyone tries to give everyone else tuberculosis (or something).
That video up there is of their whole show. Watch it. Rap along as they run through a litany of hits. Marvel at Scarface and Bushwick wearing clown paint. And shake your fist at Jesus for not allowing this all to take place within a reasonable distance of Houston.