I took my daughter to her first real “Rock” concert this past weekend.  Well, maybe not exactly “rock”, more like Indie-pop/Dunkin Donuts Jingle/Disney TV Show Theme Band…concert…thing.  I wouldn’t call They Might Be Giants a “rock” band either.  But I’ve enjoyed their interesting a quirky music since my high school years.  They have since branched out into the extremely lucrative field of Kids Music.  They actually won a Grammy for some of their projects that I have been playing for my daughter the past couple of years.  To me there are two kinds of kids music: the kind that creatively keeps a child’s attention while not completely forgetting that there is most likely an adult listening too.  The other kind is so relentlessly irritating it could (and may have) crack the most hardened Al-Queda operative to give up his mother.  I’m talking about Barney, The Wiggles, Doodle-Bops, and other tools of Satan.

TMBG is in the former category.  As stated in an earlier blog, I get psyched when my daughter and I share a fondness for a band.  So naturally, I had to take her to see these kiddie rock legends at The Berklee Performance Center.  Standing in line to get in I noticed that I was part of a club I always loathed to be a member.  “The Hipster Dad Club”.  You know them by their uniform, Cargo shorts(to carry wet naps, juice-boxes, teddy-grams), Converse Chuck Taylor High Tops, Hip t-shirt, goatee, and an extra 60-80lb’s around the waist and ass.  While my daughter was getting psyched for the show singing “I Am Not Your Broom” the hipster dads were vying to see who could show off the coolest old school t-shirt that they actually got at the show back in the day.  I, unfortunately, had a plain black polo.  Should’ve dragged out the Ol’ Napalm Death shirt with the headless crucifix and mushroom cloud on the front.  I watched one guy try to keep his daughters from having a meltdown by bribing them with some gum and a little goofy dance while wearing a Yes t-shirt.  It was another moment that reminded me how much I don’t “Rock” anymore.  The first time I realized the “Rock” had left was when I bought a leaf blower.  I was actually trying to flash the tattoos on my arm while wiping my daughters post-sneeze booger mess on her face.

The show was great and TMBG didn’t play down to the kids.  There were big foam #1 fingers given out and loud confetti explosions.  As well as all there kiddie hits.  My daughter was dancing in the isle the whole time.  Jumping up and down and screaming like a raging monkey.  Again, as in an earlier blog, I thought back to all the shows I went berzerk at.  My first crowd surfing experience at a Circle Jerks show, my first stage dive into a 24/7-Spyz crowd.  The time I got thrown out of Filter for fighting, or that Ramones show in Williamstown where my buddy got jumped by some townies and we ended up running for our lives only to be picked up by the cops for being a public nuisance.  At that point the band said something to the effect of, “Alright kids, this what happens at a big rock show, everybody rush the stage!”  It was like a bunch of crazy midgets storming a stage full of Berklee nerds.  My daughter was right up front and center, arms in the air, screaming and flailing.  She then tried to climb onto the stage, but was too short to get her little legs up.  I was off to the side watching as she kept jumping up and pressing her little red sparkly shoes against the front of the stage, wooping and wailing, until a security guard walked over and tapped her on the shoulder.  He gave her the no-no finger wave and left.  She looked at me with both hands over her mouth, all wide eyed at the trouble she escaped, then continued her Tasmanian devil like dance.  And I thought to myself….oh shit…