The Sweet Anticipation and the Disappointing Reality
My First Concert: The Cars 1979
Father, Fresca and Candy-O
I love the Cars. Their first and second albums (they lost me after Candy-O) are among the finest of the late ’70s era.
In 1979 I was 11 and at that time radio was king. It was the only way to hear new music. There were no progressive or alternative radio stations near me. However, during the right weather conditions and time of day, I could sometimes get a staticky signal from from WMMR in Philadelphia, a station that played the best and most exciting rock that existed as far as I was concerned. Their DJs didn’t engage in high octane, morning drive banter and instead talked to their audience in a regular tone of voice, rare in those days.
My mother’s record collection included The Kingston Trio, soundtracks to Oliver, The Sound of Music, The King and I and other similar titles I found supremely boring. My father rarely listened to music and when he did he listened only to Korean folk music, featuring women singing in a soprano accompanied by twanging gayugums.
One day “Good Times Roll” by the Cars came on, and from the very first notes I was hooked. It felt like a door had opened. It was music like I had never heard before and I listened intently.
When they were on the radio within earshot of my mother, she expressed horror and she informed me that I did not, in fact, like “that kind of music.” So it was a real coup when I was able to talk my father into taking me to one of their concerts.
I had the privilege of seeing them during their prime, during the Candy-O tour. I was in love with the then current single, “Let’s Go” (still am) and had saved up enough money to buy it. I played it nonstop in my bedroom, outside of earshot of my mother. It felt like a small act of rebellion.
While in line at the Philadelphia Spectrum, I was so young and my father appeared so old that several other concert-goers asked us if we were there to see the show, although I’m not sure why else we would have been there.
Neither of us had attended a rock concert before (I’m not counting the Osmonds’ show we had previously seen at a state fair) and he brought a 6-pack of Fresca, expecting us to be able to chug the disgustingly saccharine soda while we kicked back and enjoyed the show.
When informed by the guy taking tickets at the door that it was against the rules, my father argued for what felt like 15 minutes, although it was probably more like 1, until they finally said they would hold it for him and give it back after the show. This didn’t end up happening, of course, but that didn’t deter him from chastising them for reneging on their promise. I can only imagine their amusement.
I don’t recall the opening act, if there was one, but when The Cars took the stage the entire venue filled with the unmistakable, strong odor of marijuana. I didn’t know what the smell was, but looking back I’m surprised that there was so much of it, as I don’t think of the Cars as a stoner band. I would expect that more at a Led Zeppelin or Grateful Dead show. Speed or cocaine seems more appropriate for a Cars show, but who am I to judge?
Admittedly, the Philadelphia Spectrum was known for having bad sound and I’m sure that contributed to my experience, but I was bored. The band looked and sounded like they didn’t want to be there. They played for only about an hour. They barely spoke to the audience and the performances seemed lifeless. They weren’t playing well, perhaps they were having an off night, but I preferred the records.
It wasn’t until later that I learned that some other concert-goers had had a similar experience (sans father and Fresca). There is an interview on their excellent Musikladen DVD in which all of the members reunited, including Ben Orr, who was very ill at the time, during which Elliot Easton and Ric Ocasek addressed their reputation as a less than stellar live band.
They said something to the effect that they didn’t want to engage in anything Pavlovian in eliciting audience response. I get that, but there’s a difference between ignoring an audience and playing a show as if no one were there vs. perhaps talking or sharing stories. There is a way to engage the audience without doing the Spinal Tap sort of “Are you ready to rock?”
After that I concluded that concerts weren’t for me. I didn’t go to another show until 2 years later when I saw Joey Molland’s incarnation of Badfinger, a truly compelling concert. So I changed my mind and have attended many concerts since. But I will always remember my first time with excitement and gratefulness to my father. It was way better than the state fair.
This story is based on experiences I previously wrote about in the Steve Hoffman forum in 2017.
