By Adam Lovinus
By Lilledeshan Bose
By Gabriel San Roman
By Rachel Mattice
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Daniel Kohn
By Nate Jackson
By Mike Seeley
Yes, we insulted Dave Matthews in a sea of thousands of his fans. But we had no fear. They were a bunch of wussies. Even if one of them had bothered us, the others would have stopped him—or, more to the point, saved him.
Finally, even our fury wilted. We fled the amphitheater, not returning to our seats until we heard the chords of Neil Young's "Cortez the Killer." But we never made it—and we'll never be able to forgive Neil Young for the blasphemy he perpetrated that night. There he was, playing one his classics—trading verses—with Dave Matthews.
We weren't the only ones with strange looks on our faces, however. The guys in the Dave Matthews Band wear eternal looks of shame and regret—the kind you'd expect on the faces of guys who are fluffers for porn-flick stars. Obviously, they've got a steady gig, the pay is good, and they're good at it—but even if they like the job, it has to be embarrassing to tell people what they do.
It's worth pointing out that despite Dave Matthews' popularity, we're not alone in our dissent. One friend says he has a two-pronged plan of action whenever a Dave Matthews song comes on the radio. So far, he has only needed Step One: reflexively pushing the channel-changing button. But he knows that someday, he could miss the button. And then he would resort to Step Two: pulling his steering wheel hard to the left—and head-on into oncoming traffic.
It's a desperate measure, but these are desperate times.
Dave Matthews' latest CD—titled oh-so-appropriately Everyday—was produced by Glen Ballard, who has become the David Foster for a new generation of smarmy musicians. The only good thing that David Foster ever did was accidentally run over Ben Vereen. Maybe he could take a spin down to the Verizon Wireless Amphitheater on Thursday, May 16. It would make my friend feel better about what happened to his dog.The Dave Matthews Band performs at the Verizon Wireless Amphitheater, 8808 Irvine Center Dr., Irvine, (714) 740-2000. Thurs., May 16, 7 p.m. $35.50-$46.50. All ages.