The Dharma Bum

For Those About to Rock, I Salute You: by Jaysen Buterin

"YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"-Some guy behind me at the Def Leppard concert.

There is an event that is of such a magnitude that it can unify every type of person. An event that is tantamount to international egalitarianism. An event that can solve all the world's problems, supercede race--religion--politics--everything. An event that can unify every man, woman and child regardless of age, occupation, or anything else. No, I'm not talking about a peaceful march, or a UN rally, or some great charity event. I'm talking about something much greater than that.....the arena rock concert.

Yes, boys and girls, arena rock is alive and well, and that is a beautiful thing. Let me be the first to admit...my name is Jaysen, and I was at the Def Leppard show. I really didn't attend out of a deep burning desire to rock out to Def Leppard; I had simply made the mistake of telling a dear friend, and a zealous fan of the band, about the show. He and his wife were going to be in Cape from Indiana the week before the show. So in true good friend fashion, I told him about the upcoming concert, and his timing, followed by the laugh of Nelson from the Simpson's. Three days later I get the e-mail from him notifying me of the delay of their vacation just for the concert. Me and my big mouth.

The only immediate redemption I could find was that Joan Jett & The Blackhearts were the opening act. I instantly transgressed back to 1982, being six years old, and screaming along to "I Love Rock & Roll" in my mama's maroon Duster. I mean, what better reason to attend this dulcetic performance than to live out the pre-pubescent rock and roll fantasies of a kid who grew up in the 80's. I had been waiting for this for some time. I just didn't know if I could spike my hair, tight-roll my jeans and get all nice and punk rocked out just for the show, I mean, I have an image to maintain. Sorry, I couldn't help myself, and no the image isn't to look like Jesus (if you know me, then you know what I'm talking about -- but that's the subject of another diatribe).

For those of you who have never been to an arena rock concert, you have simply never lived. I don't really know why, but lately I've developed an

immensely odd propensity for 80's heavy metal. I apologise, I just can't explain it. So while I have a rather eclectic CD collection at my flat, in the car (the mom-wagon) it is arena rock most of the time (much to the chagrin of the occasional passenger I tend to have). Don't ask me how I can go from Otis Redding or Al Green, U2 or Ani Difranco to throatily

accompanying Bon Jovi or Axl Rose on their intellectually stimulating lyrics. Like I said, there's no rational explanation for it, it's just fun.

But back to the arena rock show. That iconoclastic vestibule of big bar-mall hair, a sea of black (and often too tight) clothes, and the periodic drunken rallying cry of "WOOOO-HOOOO" when anybody gets on the stage. Even if it's just a roadie who doesn't even do anything, give him a "WOOO-HOOO;" you'll feel better. If you're not a fan of Def Leppard (bear with me, I know it's an implausible idea, but just give me a second), I don't think there's any event that brings humanity closer together than hundreds of people chanting in unison that most uplifting of mantras, those five words that have changed the course of human history, "Pour some sugar on me."

All in all, the evening was a smashing good time, but then again, what arena rock show isn't? Although I was actually surprised to not see any fisticuffs engaged in. I mean, I saw more fights at Lilith Fair over which flavour of Mocchaccino is better for the earth, and at the Def Leppard show, there was nothing. I actually thought that one Def Leppard song wasn't bad. You know, that one, where they sing about love, or women, or love of women, or something like that. It may have been the one that has the word "ROCK" in it somewhere, I can't remember. And Joan Jett was, simply put, all about punk rock. My inner child from 1982 was very happy.

While peacekeeping gatherings may strive for that universal harmony, they have nothing on the arena rock concert. So a possible solution could be:

Starvation--have a rock concert and get a free "WAHOO" and "YEAHHHHH" to your favourite ballad with a food donation.

War and revolution--you take any two sides who are opposing or violently fighting against each other, sit them both down, and make listen to Poison or Journey, and I guarantee you they'll beg to stop fighting.

The international symbol for peace could be the sign of rock and roll--the index and pinky finger extended in civility for humanity. Well, until Quiet Riot and Skid Row become the ambassadors of Good Will, Axl Rose becomes Poet Laureate of the US, and big bar-mall hair, stone washed denim jackets, and lawnmower attacked slashed jeans that are tight rolled at the ends have made a comeback, I'll be waiting. So, as the sun sets in the west, I bid you a fond farewell, both hands raised against the setting heliosphere giving you the rock and roll salute. And remember, that while the Blackhearts may have changed, the

Joan remains the same.

This column is dedicated to DJ Josh Lee. I salute you.