Take Your T-Shirts Off

What you wear, whether you want it to or not, speaks directly upon the type of person you are.

There's no gettin 'around it. So...

Stop wearing the t-shirts of the band whose concert you are currently attending.

Stop it. Just stop.

It's not cool and people who are cool are laughing at you.

If it's casual Friday and you break out your tye-dyed "The Parrot Has Landed" t-shirt from that totally awesome Buffet concert back in '82... fair enough. That's your choice.

It's not a choice I would make, but you're not me.

That concert tee is making a statement of who you are (or wish you still were). It's an heirloom, an artifact, a tiny piece of history.

But listen to me, if you are at a concession stand and you've just purchased a $45 cotton t-shirt, I want you to sling the shirt over your shoulder and go find your spot on the general admission lawn, okay? 'Cause I swear to God, if you put that shirt on, you've lost the battle and your troops will no longer trust you to lead them into war. You will forever be a marked man (or woman).

The problem seems to be that too many people see "concert gear" as some sort of uniform, the way sports fans buy hats and jerseys and hope their garb is so sweet that they might accidentally get called from the stands to enter the game. Professional sports teams wear uniforms and so, it seems - obtusely - in keeping with that spirit to buy incessant amounts of clothing with your team's emblem emblazoned on it.

Musicians don't wear uniforms... well, The Shirelles did. And so did the Dave Clarke 5 and Boyz II Men, but they shouldn't have.

These days, no one besides The Hives, wear uniforms and therefore, you shouldn't wear a damn uniform. Because when you wear the t-shirts that they are selling ten yards away at the concession stands, you are saying one of two things:

1) I'm clumsy, I spilled hotdog relish onto my pullover and I was forced to buy this shirt so as not to have relish on my front while I dance to the music.

2) I'm redundant and I don't care that I literally look like every third idiot with a joint in his (or her) hand.

So what's the big deal? It's easier to just wear the damn hat or shirt than it is to stuff it in your pocket or sling it over your shoulder all night, right? Yes, but you're forfeiting so much else. One guy wearing a Bon Jovi shirt is okay... he must really like Bon Jovi. But four thousand guys all standing in the same place wearing a Bon Jovi shirt? To me that's screaming, "Look at me! Look at me! I like Jon Bon Jovi. I'm a fan of his!"

You're at a Bon Jovi concert, pal. We were already aware of your Bon Jovi fandom simply by your presence here. Stop shouting. Put your collectible poster down, stop moussing your hair (it's 2006), remove your vintage eBay'ed Slippery When Wet parka and replace it with your New Jersey Devils hoodie. You'll be making a much louder statement that way.

The problem, I guess is with the sheer number of people wearing the same type of thing. Strangers coming out from far and wide wearing all the same ecoutrements without discussing it with one another first is unsettling. It's very Roswell.

Very David Koresh. Or worse:

It's like a rock 'n' roll Catholic school. And although that would easily be the most kickass of all Catholic schools and the principal would most certainly have to be Angus Young, it still creeps me out on a visceral level.

And before I climb down from this soapbox (or get shoved from it) allow me to also interject my belief that listening to the albums of the band you're going to see while driving to the show or tailgating before it, seems like a bad idea too.

Like mentioning out-loud that the pitcher has a no-hitter going into the ninth inning.

It's why opening acts never, never, ever play a cover version of a song from the band they are opening for. It seems to take a way a little from the performance that has yet to occur. It's just poor form. That's why the music being piped into the arenas, pavillions or clubs is never, never, ever the albums of any of the bands appearing on stage that night.*

I don't feel as strongly about the pre-concert music as I do about the t-shirts. But I'm serious about these t-shirts, people.
Don't be an idiot.

I'm serious.

I'm trying to help you out.

Just buy your shirts and wear them to work the next day. It's always fun to wear a shirt and have people go, "Whoa dude, The Allman Brothers! I saw them, like three years ago in Charlotte. I bought a t-shirt."

To which your reply is, "Yeah. That's kinda cool. But what's ultra cool is that I was there last night and this is the t-shirt from last night's concert!"

And in your head you will end your statement with, "so eat my shorts, sucker." But he is your co-worker and you have no call to treat him like that, so you leave the sucker part out of it. Instead you get to turn your back on your co-worker and have him find the exact show you were at on the inevitable list of venues and dates throughout the tour.

You'll say, "Go ahead man, look for the show I was at. It's listed on my back. It's under yesterday's date, 'cause that's when I went. I went yesterday."

He'll scan your back and then, "Aw man. The Allman's played at the Kotex Tampon Pavillion last night. Aw man, that place sucks. The acoustics are terrible and they don't let you freely smoke your weed. Bummer for you."

You're initial instincts will tell you to throw your iced-mocha-venti-Chi-half-caff'-Oreo-Blizzard-latte into his eyes, but you won't because, again, he is your co-worker and you have no call to treat him like that.

And also because you will get fired and then you will never be able to make the follow-up payments on that concert shirt you leased-to-own the night before.

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* I once saw a MatchBox 20/ Soul Asylum/ Semisonic ampitheater concert in Wisconsin and before the show began they were playing Zeppelin.
It's a sad thing when the piped in music playing while you're buying your collectible button set is the best music you'll hear all night.

No, I did not buy a Soul Asylum button set. I was simply illustrating a point.