All Bad Things Must Come to an End

I started this post after seeing Mötley back in October of 2014, but never finished it. I've seen them twice more since then, so this post is going to change a bit, but it feels important to write it as their tour draws to a close with the end of the year.

---

The title of this post is the tag line for "THE FINAL TOUR," Mötley Crüe's (for now at least) farewell trip around America. I'm pretty sure everybody who is friends with me on Facebook, if they didn't know before, certainly knew on Tuesday that I was going to see them. And not just anywhere, Madison Square Garden. An arena they haven't played in years, and a big part of why I had, until this point, never seen them perform in a state I live in. (St. Louis, Missouri, Birmingham, England, and Hartford, Connecticut.) I bought my ticket the day they went on sale back in early March. This day was over seven months coming.

They're touring with "special guest" Alice Cooper, and I had incredibly high expectations for an unprecedentedly theatrical night. I had heard nothing but good things about Alice Cooper's stage shows, and Mötley has always beeny favorite live performance.

After spending fifteen minutes finding the actual entrance to The Garden (I've only been there one before, six years ago, for the NYU president's welcome), I took a detour to the chase lounge. Apparently because I bank with chase that entitled me to free food and avoiding the general crowd entering the venue. No complaints.

I spent an awkward fifteen minutes in the lounge, not used to swanky surroundings and looking thoroughly out of place as the only person there by myself and the only person under thirty (though that's not too bad, compared to other shows).

So around 7:40 I headed to my seat on the main floor. I paid more for this ticket than I have ever paid for any ticket, almost more than seeing HEDWIG four times (though three of those add up to less than $80 together). Still, The Garden is big, and I was in the back half of the floor, near an aisle. The good thing was a lot of people (foolishly) seemed to not care about Alice Cooper so much, so I could see his set pretty well as several of the rows in front of me stayed nearly empty. 

It should be noted that though we had seats, people appropriately did not sit in them, because this was a rock concert and there is no sitting in rock concerts. Unless you're the drummer. So good job audience, for being involved, unlike the dumbasses at the Crüe/Kiss show two years ago. However, that meant that as the audience filled up, I couldn't see so well over the tall people standing in front of me, but at least I didn't have to sit and be well-behaved either. Being one seat off the aisle, I was able to carefully fade out into the aisle a little bit so I could see, since the person in the aisle seat remained absent for a long time.

The last of the pre-show music was The Sound of Music's "So Long, Farewell," and as the audience realized what was playing, everyone began to lose their shit, because we knew - this was it.

The show rocked, of course. Everybody screamed, everybody was there to have a good time because of the music instead of the drinks (again, unlike the stupid VIPs I was seated near durint The Tour 2012). Eventually, unfortunately, the owner of the aisle seat arrived, incredibly drunk, after trying to get past the ushers towards the front half of the floor. After the showed him his seat, he tried to hand me his beer to hold for him, because I had picked up his ticket when he dropped it. I refused his beer, so he set it on the floor and proceeded to climb onto his chair. I should mention this man was well over six feet tall and not exactly thin. It took several ushers and a couple security guards to get him back down.

At this point, the people in front of me asked if I wanted to join them, as there was an empty seat in their row. I was reluctant, as that empty seat meant it was a little easier for me to see, and if I moved up I'd be standing directly behind a very tall man, but the drunk guy next to me continued to have trouble standing in his spot so I soon changed my mind and was hauled over the chairs into the row in front of me like a drowning person being pulled onto the deck of a ship.

The rest of the concert proceeded without incident. I couldn't see as well, as expected, but I was no longer stressed about being stepped on or knocked over or hit on by an old drunk guy. Ultimately the better choice for enjoying the show. The last song was "Kickstart my Heart," as it has been for some time, and then the band left the stage. The audience went into an uproar. Mötley had not playedt their signature "Home Sweet Home," the ballad we all light up our lighters (or, more accurately at this point, our smartphone flashes) for - how dare they deprive us of that powerful moment?

But then we all started to realize. At the other end of Tommy's drum coaster, which warped along the ceiling to the middle of the floor of the arena, was a smaller stage. And that stage had a piano. The disco piano that Tommy plays at the start of "Home Sweet Home." So the audience begins to scream and shout, and I realize the band is going to come right by me, and I freak out, and then then, in the dark, led by flashlights, they do appear, heavily guarded, and take the smaller stage for one last encore. I have a video of that performance; it was incredible. An arena full of the starlight of thousands of camera phones. The song was accompanied on the big screens by a slideshow of the band's early days, a lot of black and white photos from before they had tattoos, and then vivid mid-80s shots of booze-soaked concerts and big hair. And when the song ended and they finally left the stage, they did walk right down my aisle, which the drunk man had vacated (or, more accurately, I think, been drug out of by security), so I was able to stand right by them in hopes of a high five. Tommy and Nikki were doing their best to make contact with the crowd but their security was unfortunately not really having it.

It was a night I will never forget, just like each of the other times I saw them.

Which happened to be twice more, after that "last time."

I saw them this past August, at Barclays Center in Brooklyn (where the Nets play) - I bought a ticket for $50 a few hours before the show, knowing it wouldn't be a good seat but just wanted to be in the arean and hear them live one more time. I had vague plans to go to London and see them there, but I didn't want to pin all my hopes on such an outlandish strategy.

My seat at Barclays was pretty high up and way off to the side, but I was plenty early so I moved over to the other end of my row and figured I'd move over if I had to. I never did have to, and ended up with a high, but decent side-view for the whole night. This time I was prepared for Alice, and sang along with more of his songs, and recorded his incredible "School's Out"/"Another Brick in the Wall" mashup, which I regretted not catching the last time.

The show hadn't changed much in a year, but I didn't need it to. Tommy still played his drum solo on his drum coaster (the "cruecifly") and at the end they went off and then played "Home Sweet Home" on the smaller stage. I screamed myself hoarse and stamped my feet and was sore for two days afterward, as it should be. (I was one of the only people standing in my section, but I have no regrets.)

And then, I got to see them one, actual, last time.

Wembley Arena in London. I was third row from the stage on the side, having bought my tickets to the sold-out show fairly last minute on stubhub. The great thing about seeing them in England though is that the average age of the crowd is so much younger and the enthusiasim is that much greater so that even on the side, everybody was up and having a good time. For the first time (not counting when I was made a free drink in Doc McGhee's tour bus in 2012) I had a drink at the show, because they're actually cheaper in England. 

Between Alice's set and Mötley's, I bonded with the guy sitting next to me - his lockscreen on his phone show a picture of him and a girl, and I said "Your girlfriend didn't come with you?" which started a whole conversation about how we're both the only people in our friend groups who like Mötley. This was his first time seeing them and I was all the more excited for him. I'm lucky to have seen them six times in four years.

"So  Long, Farewell" began, and the audience started going crazy. "They know!" I shouted, and my new friend (whose name I never learned) replied "Yeah they do." "It's time!" was the great chorus from the crowd, and out came the most notorious rock band on earth, playing London one last time. They started with "Girls, Girls, Girls," which has never been their first song when I've seen them. It's always been "Wild Side" or "Saints of Los Angeles" though I wasn't sure they'd play "Saints" at all in England since they always throw in their covers of "Primal Scream" and "Anarchy in the UK" for European audiences, which they did that night as well. The typical playlist remained, with Tommy's drum solo and Mick's guitar solo. Nikki didn't do a bass solo on this iteration of the tour, but that's not a big deal, really. He still came out and talked to the audience, had us "light this place up" with our phones, again creating that magical starlight effect. And again they played "Home Sweet Home" one more time. 

In the pause between the "end" of the show and the encore I was talking to the two guys on the other side of the aisle, as the audience started to figure out what was going to happen again, and the three of us sang along with "Home Sweet Home," arms around each other's shoulders, drinks in hand, as if we'd been going to the pub together for years. It was a nice way to end my time with Mötley, since, with the exception of my very first time with them, I've always gone by myself. So some community was a nice change in the end.

And that's my Mötley story: once in Missouri, once in Connecticut, twice in England, and twice in New York, in the span of four years at the end of their career as a band, finishing thirty-four (almost exactly thirty-five, actually) years after they started as a little club rock group in LA. They end on a sold-out tour around the world, that will finish on December 31st in LA, where Alice Cooper will "execute" them in style. I can't afford to be there for that one, but I can't wait to see the videos. I'm sure it will be a show like no one has ever seen before. 

My History With Hedwig

This is a letter to Michael Mayer, the director of Hedwig and the Angry Inch on Broadway. Hopefully it will be in his hands on Tuesday, opening night.

April 20, 2014

Dear Mr. Mayer,

My name is Lindsay Hope Simon. If you don't have time to read my novel below (though I hope you do), the moral of the story is HEDWIG is the most important show that's ever come into my life, which happened a decade ago, and thank you thank you thank you from the bottom of my soul for putting it on Broadway like this. I have never in my life looked forward to something more than I looked forward to this production of HEDWIG, and it fulfilled my every wish, hope, and expectation.

This story begins on August 7, 2004. And I beg you to stay with me, because where it ultimately leads is to sitting in row H of the Belasco Theatre on April 19, 2014.

2004: I see RENT for the first time, and my subsequent obsession with my first Broadway experience leads me to HEDWIG (because of JCM's nod to it in the film). I spend most of high school very confused about gender because of my love of Angel and Hedwig and my newfound desire to be a drag queen, which I tell no one about. That's something I've never quite resolved. ANYWAY.

2005: Falling in love with HEDWIG leads me to write a paper about Plato's Symposium as a sophomore in high school. My teachers aren't expecting that.

2007: Theatre, my love of RENT in particular, and my affinity for New York cause me to apply early decision to NYU. I never consider anywhere else, and get accepted and placed in Playwrights, at my own request.

Fall 2008: I arrive in New York just before the closing of RENT, in time to see it for a ninth and tenth time in its last week. Incoming Tisch kids are each given a ticket to Spring Awakening. I see it with a friend who knows someone in the cast; I end up backstage at a Broadway show within a week of living in New York. Around Halloween I go to a not-quite-authorized one-night performance of HEDWIG at the Highline Ballroom.

Spring 2010: Second semester of second year I direct a piece of HEDWIG for my directing class (the scene including Origin of Love). I desperately want to do the whole thing, but I still haven't managed it. Spring of 2010 is when rumors first start flying that JCM is bringing HEDWIG to Broadway. (I've been waiting for this production for four years.)

April 2010: I meet you at a moderated discussion with Bob Vorlicky at Tisch. CAP girls ask about Spring Awakening, PHTS kids ask obnoxious but intelligent questions about collaboration. I ask you after about working with Michael Krass. You diplomatically don't say much.

July 2010: I see American Idiot for the first time. I listen to the soundtrack nonstop for the next six months.

October 2010: I see American Idiot for the third time with a talkback when BJA is in it for the first time.

November 2010: I go to a panel that Kevin Adams is a part of. I make sure to ask him a question (because no one else is and I want him to see me) and I talk to him afterwards. We meet up once for dinner a couple weeks later and I ask a million lighting questions. I subsequently see everything he works on (having already seen Hair and Next to Normal).

January 2011: A friend and I spend 36 hours in Boston to see American Idiot twice, the eighth and ninth time I'm seeing the show.

April 2011: I write a paper for Bob's gay and lesbian theatre class (my third class with him) about Hedwig and authentic performance beyond gender and genre.

May 2012: You speak at Tisch salute. It's an incredible speech, an extremely satisfying blend of inspiring and being honest about the faults of the institution that we love and hate and the cruel mistress of a business we're trying to be a part of. I record the whole thing for Bob, by now a dear friend, who can’t make it.

June 2013: Announcement of HEDWIG coming to Broadway with NPH directed by you and lit by Kevin. I start freaking out immediately.

October 2013: I attend an early screening of Broadway Idiot. And remember my love for rock musicals and your and Kevin’s work.

February 2014: I start working for an amazing woman who is part of the production team for the tony awards and a sometimes Broadway producer. I make sure she knows I have never been so excited about a show as I am about HEDWIG.

April 2014: She has press seats to HEDWIG. She takes me.

That was about 24 hours ago. I still barely have words for my feelings about the production. The themes of this show, of love, why and how we love, that search for wholeness, have echoed through my life for the last decade since I first met HEDWIG in 2004. The idea of duality, but that somehow duality is not synonymous with binary, is one I can never escape. I have seen these themes arise in my life, in projects I've worked on, and in everything I'm inspired to create theatrically, including a magical-realism play I'm writing about Berlin in the 1970s.

I was nervous, because the combination of you plus Kevin plus Neil doing this show put my expectations higher than anything. It seemed impossible that you could live up to what I needed this show to be, based on my love of it and all three of your individual bodies of work. (I'd never seen Neil live before yesterday, since he hasn’t been on Broadway in the almost-ten years since I started seeing shows, but I've loved HIMYM from the beginning, and Dr. Horrible, and followed his LGBT advocacy.)

I left the theatre speechless in the best possible way. The show had all the heart that it should, and it takes a lot of heart for one person to fill up that big of a space. It didn't feel lost, or small, or like it was trying to be something it wasn't. I think it's delightfully updated for today. I think using the Hurt Locker and being able to throw a mention of 9/11 into the show is brilliant. 9/11 is, in many ways a contemporary parallel. "Where were you when?" I went to Berlin in 2011 and became obsessed with history that is still present. Hedwig's history is still present on her body, and she has to come to terms with that.

I read something amazing Neil said in the interview with Out magazine last month. He said that there was a moment in his mid-20s where he came to the conclusion that he would always be alone, but that it wasn't a sad realization, just a fact as far as he was concerned. And I realized I kind of feel the same way, and my love of Hedwig to an extent come out of the idea of how love is ancient and beyond our control and all we can do is love those who come into our path, whether they love us or not. We only control how we deal with not being loved. Love has to be selfless because it's bigger than the self, it's the bit of the universe in you reaching out to a bit of the universe in someone else. Hedwig understands that and eventually gets through the pain of it to a point of acceptance. Loving deeply means hurting deeply and then letting go.

About a month ago I saw a video for the show in which you called HEDWIG universal. And I think you're totally right though plenty of people (my boss included) would disagree. It brought tears to my eyes to hear you say that; it gave me faith that the show wasn't just going to be an NPH spectacle machine. Watching the show yesterday (it's taken me an entire day to find actual words to articulate myself instead of just flailing) I was reminded of everything I love about Hedwig, the combination of aggression and vulnerability, heart and strength. It's what I'm working on myself in a new piece I'm currently calling "Stardust and Iron," about what people are made of. This show is that - ancient and cosmic and strong. I managed to behave myself pretty well, I only let out one "oh yes" out loud when the back wall opened up into the wall of lights. Everything was so smart. The evolution of the set, the lights (duh), the modernization of the script for the time and location. Midnight Radio was perfect. I cried.

I've seen a lot of bad theatre lately. And ever since I started theatre school I've said there's something to be learned from bad theatre too. But I've been reaching a point of stagnation in my own work, and frustration with the bad work I've been seeing, so I cannot tell you how inspiring, energizing, refreshing, fulfilling, and rewarding it was to see this yesterday and feel like theatre can do important things and tell important stories and broadway can take risks and be loud and not fit neatly in a box.

So in the end all I can say is thank you. My story is my thank you, because I have to believe that what we all want most as artists is to touch the lives of others, and hopefully affirm a belief in something bigger than ourselves (whatever we call it). Art is bigger than us. This production didn't change my life. HEDWIG's presence has affected my life for the last decade. This incarnation wasn't going to change any of that. But it affirmed the beliefs and values I've cultivated as I've grown up, and that's something really valuable to a 24-year-old artist hoping that what she's doing matters, or will someday. So thank you. I could talk about this show forever. I'm sure Bob and I will talk after Tuesday. And I'll be back again soon.

Rage, love, glitter, and glam,
Lindsay Hope Simon