Meatspace

My buddy Jerry and I hung out backstage with Meat Loaf after last night's show at Times Square's Palace Theatre. He's a very nice guy, charming in person, but almost three hours of one crashing, overwrought Jim Steinman ballad/epic after another was not my cup of tea. That didn't stop the sold-out venue (average age around 60) from going apeshit, most notably the entire front row, comprised of 20 flannel-clad, mulleted, gym teacher-esque stone butch dykes in their late 50's who watched 80% of the show on their 2" digicam LCDs, as they each slavishly recorded every moment (when they weren't head-banging and throwing up devil horns). Who knew? Easily the most bizarre disconnect between image and behavior I've seen this year.

Like everybody else, I bought Bat Out Of Hell thirty years ago, I think it was required by law. And it was sweet to have the show kick off with Paradise By The Dashboard Light, complete with a taped Phil Rizzuto. But despite a 25 piece band backing him, including a 16 girl string section, the show quickly blurred into one long series of eternal indulgent guitar riffs and explosive crescendos that abruptly dropped into whispers, as the Steinman oeuvre demands. From our "music biz" section on the lip of the mezzanine, I could see several oversized-type lyrics sheets taped to the floor near the footlights, which didn't stop Meat from forgetting the words to Objects In The Rear View Mirror. An interesting night, but not one I'm likely to repeat. And tickets on the main floor started at $250, FYI. I can't imagine what all those daggers paid to be in the front row, but it looked like they had the time of their lives. Me, not so such.