When you haven't seen Hansonflesh for like a decade, you tend to get a little desperate. I wanted to go to the LifeBeat show. If it happened on a weekend, I probably would have gone. But flying across the country for a Thursday night show when your boring grownup self lacks both vacation time and cash? Not a great idea. So I did the next best thing. I recruited a friend to go for me. To act as my eyes, quoth the blind teenie. Megan was my roommate at Emerson College, poor girl. She became a fan because she didn't have a choice.
For LifeBeat, I sent her a Hanson Concert Care Package and a page of concert-going instructions that scared the living crap out of her. I included tips on what to remember, including significant wardrobe and mood observations, how to dodge and/or utilize security, and how to successfully sneak a camera in to a no-cameras show. She was so afraid of missing something that she brought a notepad (see below). ("I was afraid I would forget some scintillating detail. Three different girls asked me if I was press.") I am amazed she's still my friend.
She wrote this review at 2:30 in the morning after the show. And went to work the next day. Please send her your love. She deserves every ounce of mine. Because she’s relatively new to Hansondom, and unfamiliar with the demented group of people who call themselves "Hanson fans," the review begged for some internal comment. A key:
Normal black type: Megan
[Bracketed, italicized type in red]: Laura
Left work at 5:30 to get to the Henry Ford Theatre by 7:00. I got there ten until seven and walked past this humongous line of (mostly) girls. I have never seen so much lip gloss in my life. Or boobie shirts. [I should have warned you. Hanson fans have serious clothing issues. They don’t wear enough of them. They never have.]
The Like played first. Group of three (YOUNG!) girls. They were good. The lead singer had a very husky alterna-voice. Of course, people were being obnoxious and yelling HANSON.
The lead singer was joking around: "Come on guys, we're girls. What with the short skirts and long hair and high heels...wait, we do kind of sound like Hanson." which was met with gasps/horror. The Like's bass player was kind of shocked/amused at her lead singer's joke.
These fucking tepid emcees came on in-between sets. I don't know. It's a shit job to keep you ravenous lot at bay, so I can't blame them for being too awful.
Then came the Special Goodness, who were just ESPECIALLY LOUD.
At this point I was sitting in the corner, having migrated from mid-swoon pit, thinking "Good God, why do they taunt us like this? Is Hanson just back there laughing at us? Will they ever go on?" [Now you understand firsthand how Hanson likes to mess with us in twisted, evil ways. Those last two sentences summarize our general feelings about the last three years.]
- [What is a swoon pit? I have never heard that term in my whole life. Mosh
pit, yes. Swoon pit, no.]
- Dude. I have seen a mosh pit, and that was no mosh pit. That was a bunch of
girly screaming, fawning and arm waving. Swooning. Thus, the swoon pit.
Before Bleu came on, Zack [Blasphemy! You’ll learn. Don’t worry.] joined the emcees in their alcove—there was a main stage and then two small alcoves carved into stage right and stage left. Everyone screamed. I was taken aback. I mean, Oh. My. Freakin. God. Talk about gorgeous. Now, I don't really go in for the slobbering. It's kind of tacky. But when I saw him, all I could think was "Boy, did the pretty fairy mug you?" [Yes.] Damn, he has turned into quite the strapping young lad!
I knew Zac was some fine man meat, but it was different in person. It just was. He looked better than his photographs. Although Taylor and Ike are both very much stick o’ hot buttered hunkiness, he looked the most—this is going to sound retarded—manly of the three. [Pound for pound, Zac has always been the man in Hanson. Even when he was an eleven-year-old pip-squeak, you got the impression that he could take either of his brothers without too much hassle or consideration.]
Finally. Hanson played. I moved to the swoon pit. I’m sorry. It's hilarious to see people "dance" in the swoon pit. The kind of gyrations and writhing, with the older folk throwing in the dance-like-Stevie-Nicks gypsy stuff. A few girls tried to get on their friends’ shoulders before discovering they were too damn big.
Ike: A suit. Suit jacket, white shirt, tie, yellowish pants.
Zac: Air Force jacket. Ramones Black tee. Khakis.
Taylor: White tee with red suspenders, studded black belt and jeans. His guitar strap was red/white down-home style and made him look all hee-haw. [Yeah, but did you see his shoes? Poor Taylor. He always strikes out on the shoes.]
Megan Thomas Bradner was born and raised in Anchorage, Alaska. She traveled across the country to attend Emerson college in Boston, MA where she majored in something that will qualify her to work at the local CostCo (if she is lucky). She lived with a crazy Hanson fiend for two years and was brainwa... educated in Hansonmania. This is why she knows the name of their dead dog but not important math-type things. She currently lives in ungodly warm and sunny Los Angeles/hell where she works at an entertainment marketing company. She likes pretzels with cheese and writing on her arms with markers. [She loves Hanson.]