The Cult of the DegHeads

For most attendees,  the concert experience is only a few hours long. They drive to the venue maybe an hour or two early, get in line, go inside, watch the show, maybe buy a t-shirt or a bumper sticker at the merch table, then go home.

Not us.

The group of friends I mentioned in my last blog post start our concert experience months in advance of the show. We start saving money way ahead of time, sometimes as early as the first paycheck we get after the last tour ends. Because for us, the concert experience isn't only a few hours long. It goes on for days, sometimes even weeks. And, usually, it is all for one band: a Japanese metal quintet known as Dir En Grey.

 The band's name alone is striking enough. Upon first hearing or reading it, most people ask: "what does that mean?"  When this question is put to the band members- vocalist Kyo, guitarists Kaoru and Die, bassist Toshiya, and drummer Shinya- they all have the same response: it doesn't mean anything. The name is simply three words that the five of them thought sounded really cool together. Whatever it means, it doesn't leave your head easily once you've heard it.

Nor does their music. It's exceptional; metal played with skill and creativity, passion, and vision.  Really, there are no words to describe Dir en grey's music. It sounds simultaneously like nothing and everything else out there right now. One simply has to hear it for oneself in order to understand. It's astounding. It is, after all, what brought me together with the people I now consider my closest friends.

But I digress. This is about the concert experience, or rather, the tour experience, for almost none of us go to only one concert (like the potato chip ad: you can't eat just one). The first show where the "camping out" aspect usually becomes a big deal is New York city. People are at the venue lining up for the show sometimes as many as four days in advance. We are among them. We bring blankets and pillows, and backpacks full of clothes and toiletries. We have coolers and bags full of food. One or two people will rent cheap hotel rooms during our "band camp" experience, and will let friends use the showers.

The buddy system was never put to better use: everyone has everyone else looking out for them. We play games and tell stories and draw pictures on pizza boxes to pass the time and stay entertained while we wait. And the majority of us do wait, sleeping there on the sidewalks, for days until the doors open and we go in to see the show. Sure enough, we're all in that front row on the rail every time.

But there's more. So much more to our night than just seeing the show. Firstly, most of us invest a little more in the price of the tickets (okay, so $100 extra is more than just "a little more") for the VIP experience. What this allows, for those willing to pay the extra amount when buying their tickets (which are limited in number to about 50 per show), is bypassing the rest of the line and being granted entrance about one hour before the show. The VIP ticket holders are escorted to a room where the band members are waiting. With the help of a translator (for the band members speak little to no English), the band members have a short Q&A session with the crowd. Some bring gifts for their favorite band member, and are allowed to give them to him. Photos with the band can be taken, and many autographs are signed.

It has become unnecessary to camp out in front of the venues for those of us who buy the VIP tickets, but we do it anyway. It's not even just part of the fun of seeing a Dir En Grey concert; it's part of the culture.

After the VIP experience comes the show, which I'm not even going to begin to describe here because this post is already much longer than I intended. I'll get into the performance on my next entry, I promise. But it happens, and it's remarkable. And after it's over, sure, we usually buy out t-shirts and bumper stickers. But we rarely go home. We either jump in our cars or head to the bus station or airport- whatever mode of transportation is most convenient and economical for the distance we have to travel- and set off for the next venue. And we do all of this all over again, and again for the next show... and again, and again, until we run out of money or the tour ends. Then, and only then, do we go home.

Next time your favorite artist announces a tour, if you're up for it, take some friends along on a road trip like this. If nothing else, it'll give you a story to tell the grandchildren about "the good old days".