The Grove Project

Stop The Music!

It was shortly after the Tift Merritt show at the newly renovated Greenfield Lake Amphitheater a few weeks ago when driving down Carolina Beach Road my wife, Tanya, spotted a curious announcement displayed upon the LED marquee in front of Legion Stadium which read “Steve Miller, October 26.”  We had heard some insider information about another major event coming to the area and quickly surmised that this was it.  Tanya called for tickets almost as soon as we got back home.  At the time of the advance purchase, she was informed that there would be reserved seating at a slightly higher ticket price but that the “general admission” ticket holders would have access to bleachers in addition to the requisite standing room. We opted out of the reserve seating and the tickets arrived in the mail a couple of weeks later.  We were surprised when, on the day of the show, we discovered that the Main stage was set up not at Legion Stadium proper but rather at the adjacent baseball field… home of the Wilmington Sharks.  Sound checks from earlier in the day could be heard throughout the Greenfield Lake area and perhaps beyond. As the crowd began to gather at the entrance gate, it was evident that there was intense enthusiasm and perhaps a clear signal that Wilmington is ready to become a significant entertainment hub.

One might expect that an inaugural show might have its share of problems.  In this regard we were not disappointed.  It all started with a miscommunication about the opening time.  The printed tickets indicated that the gate would open at 6:00pm.  However, there were indications from the local tabloids and other sources that the gate would open at five…followed by an unnamed opening act… followed by the headliner at seven.  Tailgaters were in full swing in the parking lot when we got there at five and it was clear that people had been cueing up even earlier.  By 5:30 it was clear that the rumors about an early start time were incorrect - further evidenced by the Interpol top cop who made repeated announcements about procedures from the mobile radio station PA …”when the gate opens, we’re going to make three lines to get you in faster.”  There was a huge security presence - perhaps even more so than at the Light House Beer Festival a couple of week-ends before – and none of them seemed happy to be there let alone have any clue as to what was going on. “Men, prepare to be patted down and women, have your bags open and ready to be searched for weapons and other contraband.” You would’ve thought these guys were practicing for urban warfare. The head guy reminded me a little of Barney Fife and I laughed aloud when the woman next to me indicated that her “contraband” would not be a problem unless the guard tried to search her bra.  This was obviously a seasoned concertgoer.

Since we were early, we were among the first to enter the ballpark.  We have visited the Sharks arena a number of times snacking on salty peanuts and cheap draft beer, showered by fly balls and end-of summer pyrotechnic displays.  I assumed that this experience would be a little different.  We entered the park and quickly scooped up enough brews to last us awhile.  Five bucks a pint seemed on par with other venues and the vendors got my endorsement for the icy coldness that makes American domestic beer eminently drinkable.  To the right of the gate and in front of the main stage was the reserved seating area – a vast sea of gray folding chairs, which, at this point were mostly empty.  Behind the seating was an even bigger open standing area temporarily paved with rolls of white foam turf protection and delineated by makeshift barriers draped in green canvas.  We were all in agreement that this was the general admission area, but the entire venue had been arranged distantly from the bleachers almost as if to discourage their use.  We asked an attendant which of the bleachers were open for business to which he indicated “any of them.”

We, along with a group of similarly thinking people walked over to the nicer bleachers behind home plate – the ones with the blue pseudo bucket seats.   It was a bit further away but it had a 180-degree view of the entire scene with the headline stage dead ahead.  We reveled in our good fortune.  That is, until we were approached by Gestapo with crossed arms and an ominous grin who proceeded to inform us that we could not sit in that section.  Tanya protested with evidence from the ticket salesperson that the bleachers would be available.  He indicated that the organizers had not rented the premium bleachers.  “What?” I asked.  “How do you rent the ball park and not the bleachers?”  I guessed from his posturing and dismissive attitude that he may have worked for the sports complex and certainly I had no capacity to challenge his authority on the issue.  I shouted a few choice expletives at him as we were evicted from our perch while he pointed us in the direction of the loneliness below, suggesting unapologetically that the inferior bleachers by the beer garden were available.  Meanwhile, personnel posted a sentry to guard the entrance to the premium bleachers…denying entry to everyone.

The first sign of real order occurred when the Daniel Parish Band mounted the beer garden stage and proceeded to arouse the spirits of the crowd with an eclectic mix of original folkish rock melodies, Johnny Cash covers and other upbeat tracks. We sat through the opening act looking through the chain-link fence as if the concert were being held on the exercise yard at Alcatraz…a mood further exacerbated by the head of the security force, who could have easily been a first cousin of Tony Soprano.  Yet and still, the crowds came in without anybody having a clue as to what to do or where to go.  Canned pints of Yeungling flowed effortlessly from the fingertips of the makeshift bartenders, which helped to ease the anxiety. It was around a quarter to 8 when The Steve Miller Band finally took the stage.  The long lines at the portajons quickly diminished as the dizzying wave of fans ran toward the stage, their pace in cadence with “Keep on rockin’ me baabee.”  Under the encouragement of some friends, we migrated to the reserved seating area; which by then was a sea of standing and happy spectators under a continuous cloud of aromatic air…the brazenly burning contents of contraband braziers.  The band sounded every bit as good as they did 30 years ago.  Hit after hit emanated from the stage.  I was a young kid in the 70s but I imagine that this scene exemplified everything that I missed out on.  Fifteen minutes or so into the show Steve shouted from the stage “Hold On!  Stop The Music!”  The band came to a screeching halt as Steve commenced to reprimand the security guards in front of the stage, kindly asking them to leave.  “We don’t need this posturing down here,” he said.  “I know it’s your first concert in this little baseball park, but I think we can handle it. Get out of here, get yourself a beer and relax…”  You could’ve heard a pin drop in the brief moment that followed but then, having realized the significance of what had just happened, the crowd erupted into a consenting roar of applause…a unified stand against The Man.  And then, as if nothing had happened, Steve resumed playing his full repertoire including a tribute cover to Bo Diddley and an ethereal rendition of Fly Like an Eagle.  It was nice to see a prominent figure take a stand against the paranoia, suspicion and fear that seem to dominate our way of life, even if it is just Steve Miller.  The last time I saw an entertainer take a stand in mid-riff was when John Prine stopped playing to chastise a rowdy fan for disrupting his show, but that event pales in comparison.   With this rather sublime “F-you,” Steve Miller demonstrated that an endorsement of personal accountability and trust sometimes negate the irrational compulsion toward brute force.  Despite the rocky start, his show turned out to be a stunning compliment to the James Taylor show held at the Greenfield Lake Amphitheater last week.  At the end of the day, our humble little baseball field proved completely worthy of nationally respected entertainers, and now, my finger is on the trigger to purchase advance tickets for the next act…whenever and whoever it might be.