General Admission: I Can No Longer Stand For It
When I purchased a seat inside the new Capitol Theatre, I had to accept that I’ve officially morphed into that lady I’d encountered in Iowa City more than 20 years ago.
Last week, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that The Head and the Heart, a Seattle band I’ve loved for years, is coming to Davenport. I’d somehow missed this news, despite the fact that I’m a live-music enthusiast who always has her eyes and ears open for good news about shows —and despite the fact that I’ve been spending an inordinate amount of time on Facebook lately.
I’ve been following posts in a group called “The QC Movement Against Corruption,” and scouring local news for any and all Davenport-related headlines, since Memorial Day weekend. when the partial collapse of an apartment building killed three people—and revealed what has felt like an increasingly shocking scandal unfolding in real time, exposing layer upon layer of incompetent (at best) or corrupt actions by the landlord and city officials. (Including but not limited to the push to demolish the rest of the building when still-unaccounted-for residents were known by family members to be inside—one of whom came to her window and was rescued by firefighters as people watched below.)
In different times, this upcoming show would’ve been a much more attention-getting announcement, because it’s one of the first to be announced by the Capitol Theatre, a once-grand venue that has been “rigorously, lovingly renovated to its former glory” as part of a $24 million restoration. Just about anything being brought back to life in an American downtown, let alone one that will add to its arts/culture/entertainment scene, is cause for celebration. But especially so amidst some of the depressing realities in Davenport, (architecturally and otherwise).
So when a friend brought a Facebook post about the TH&TH show to my attention, I let out a little yelp of surprise, and immediately clicked on the link to purchase tickets. When I saw a slider that gave me the opportunity to drag from lowest to highest price, I was even more pleased: Options! (Translation: I’ll be keeping my cursor on the left end!)
But when I tapped on the low end, the seating chart revealed that my price point would land me in General Admission, while sliding it farther to the right would provide options at a (literally) higher tier: in other words, a balcony with actual places to sit.
This shouldn’t have come as a surprise since, after all, it’s a theater. But typically when I see live music in the Quad Cities, I’m used to the standing-only setup at the Racoon Motel Davenport or The Rust Belt. I’m no stranger to being jostled, sweaty, and smooshed as I’ve suffered for the sake of rock n’ roll.
(I’ve long endured being the five-foot-three rock fan: one who gets there early and makes her way to a great spot during the opener, only to have Abe Lincoln arrive and park himself in front of her just as the headliner gets into their set.)
So when I saw where the more expensive tickets at the Capitol would get me, I immediately moved the slider toward the middle-price zone and got out my credit card. And in doing so, I had to accept that I’ve officially morphed into that lady: a specific lady I’d once encountered in Iowa City more than 20 years ago.
It was the fall of 2001, and my then-boyfriend and I had made the trip from Galesburg (Illinois, where we lived) to see Lucinda Williams, one of the many badass female musicians I idolized, at the Iowa Memorial Union on the University of Iowa campus. This was not long after I’d finished college, when I’d started spending time with this guy and his posse of fellow rock die-hards (and musicians in their own right).
He and I (and sometimes the whole posse) made regular treks to the Metro in Chicago and other clubs. We prided ourselves on our musical hipness—and on the fact that not only did we see cool shows, but we liked to get right up front and maybe even interact with some of the rock gods or goddesses we worshiped. So what if some beer got splattered, (either on me as the victim or by me as the perpetrator), in the process? Discomfort wasn’t even a consideration; what was top of mind before a show was do I have enough smokes and where can I stash them if I don’t want to lug my purse. Once, at Gabe’s (not too far from the UI campus), we’d survived a particularly rowdy Guided by Voices show where I’d literally lost my shirt. (It was the long-sleeve one I’d worn over a t-shirt, but still.)
So when we were standing in line for Lucinda, we couldn’t help but exchange a glance and snicker when a woman behind us, who must’ve just picked up her tickets at Will Call, gasped: “Wait, general admission? Does that mean …standing?”
The disappointment and frustration in her voice signalled a level of “old” and “uncool” so deep, I half expected to look over my shoulder and discover her to be wearing socks with Birkenstocks and toting knitting needles in an NPR handbag, (the latter of which I’d now find cool). Her male counterpart then seemed to seek help, or maybe solidarity, from others in line. “Do you guys know… are there any seats inside?”
We thought their pathetic inexperience was so funny that we’d later enjoy reenacting it as a little skit. In our version, the guy would be almost blubbering: “But…but…we thought there’d be seats!”
Last week when I bumped the slider over to the balcony level pricing, (to the tune of more than $60, even though I can’t really afford it), that early-twenties version of me snickered at midlife me. (I don’t knit, though, so at least there's that.)
But I still find joy and magic in seeing my favorite bands and artists live, even if I now prefer to sit in the balcony (and breathe comfortably — not to mention avoid Bud Light baths) if the option exists.
And now there’s a new (old) venue downtown, one that has been cared for and restored. I feel lucky that Davenport is just hip enough to be able to bring bands like The Head and the Heart to town. I’ll be glad to see them play in a place that’ll be gleaming rather than crumbling. I’m 99 percent sure I won’t lose my shirt.
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Love this!
I saw Deadmau5 in the opening show at the factory. I was on the balcony and when he came on, I went to stand up, but no one behind me did. I literally danced in my seat at a EDM show because all the old farts like me wanted to sit and watch the show.