🎸 Whatever Happened to Old-School Concerts?
I’m not talking about today’s overpriced, overproduced pop spectacles.
I’m talking about real concerts.
Old-school arena rock.
Legends on stage.
The smell of vinyl, sweat, and burnt Bic lighters in the air.
My first concert? That would’ve been Ted Nugent in 1977. Or at least, I remember the idea of it more than the exact details.
I was 14 or 15—just a scrawny kid with a whole lot of anticipation and not much life experience. The show was at Robert’s Stadium in Evansville, Indiana.
We drove up Division Street—before the Lloyd Expressway even existed—and the moment you got close, you knew something was happening. T-shirt vendors on the sidewalks. Smoke rising from behind parked vans. People laughing, shouting, gathering. It was a damn festival before you even walked in.
Inside? It was electric.
Robert’s Stadium could hold about 12,000 people. That night, there were probably 8,000 to 10,000 of us packed in. You got through security—such as it was back then—and made your way down into the seats.
Frisbees flying overhead. Beach balls bouncing through the air. A smoky haze hanging just beneath the lights. Strangers high-fiving you just because you were there.
And then out came Uncle Ted, the Motor City Madman himself.
Loud. Raw. Wild.
He didn’t just walk out. He erupted.
I listened to Double Live Gonzo so many times that next year that I wore out the tape. Still think it’s the greatest live album ever made.
Tickets back then?
Seven bucks.
A t-shirt?
Maybe ten.
Twenty dollars and you were walking out with memories that would burn themselves into your brain for the rest of your life. (Back then $20 was a small fortune for a kid like me!)
Today? You’re paying hundreds to see bands half as talented. Digital wristbands. Assigned seats. Cell phone pouches and overpriced parking. It’s just not the same.
But I was lucky. I saw the real shows.
The real legends.
The real energy.
I even have a t-shirt that says:
“I may be old, but at least I saw all the good bands.”
And damn right—I did.
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