Welcome to day three – caught up on some rest – today’s nugget from the personal archives (which is a modest not obsessive collection) is the 4/19/84 show. I remember arriving late and getting a parking spot right up front at the Civic Center in Philadelphia as a rejected miracle seeker gave up his early spot. We literally parked the “vista cruiser” right next to the venue, “oh there it is!”
We promptly hustled in with the rest of the stragglers. Even more intimate than the spectrum we had impressive seats stage left up about 12 rows. But our intrepid leader was blasted on a huge bag of columbian marching powder and lead us down a wrong corridor into the bowels of the auditorium where there wasn’t a soul.
With a hundred years of white durable lead paint and a psychiatric styled linoleum floor it was adorned by spirit withering florescent lights and we wondered if we would end up mole people never again seeing the light of day. We laughed maniacally as we pitifully tried to open doors that were sealed shut with gobs of freshly coated paint sealing the gaps as if years of zombies worked mindlessly painting away. Somehow we are underneath the band as Phil drives the bass line into Bertha. Being less demented then the elders of the tribe I reversed course, climbed stairs two at a time and found our way back to humanity. With ushers not bothering we climbed over endless stair dwellers, boosted squatters and found our seats. We were now on top of the band shoulder to shoulder with our brethren in a rowdy, delighted rambunctious east coast crowd. They gave us plenty of room. It was a ridiculous and absurd adventure to and from the show but that’s why we go and years latter this show still sounds pretty damn good. Clean not sloppy energetic and sung well. When the boys were on they were on.