It’s always a good idea to look beyond the headline. Just yesterday, I was glancing through the BBC website when I came upon an interesting headline. “We could have had Beyonce,” said rugby union supremo Bonus Bill Sweeney, referring to his inability to secure her services at Twickenham. Really, I thought? Who would she replace? The pride of Knowle West, Bristol’s Ellis ‘Gengey’ Genge? I am sure it would have been an interesting selection, perhaps seeing Ms Knowles ply her trade as a loose head prop, but I can’t help thinking she might have struggled in the Six Nations, except maybe against Wales. But no. Bill wants her to sing a few songs at Twickers and the killjoy local council won’t let him. Boo hoo.
Obviously, it’s all about the money, money, money. Twickenham, it seems, is only used for rugby union on a handful of days every year. In order to fund his extortionate salary and to top up his bonus pot – sorry, to fill the Rugby Football Union (RFU) coffers – some more gigs would we most welcome.
I start from a position of hating large gigs. I have been to a grand total of three stadium shows in my life, the first of which was called Midsummer Music at Wembley Stadium in 1975, which featured The Beach Boys, The Eagles, Joe Walsh, Chaka Khan Chaka Khan Chaka Khan, Stackridge and, unfortunately because he was crap, Elton John. We were around 120 yards from the elevated stage in the pre big screen days and while The Beach Boys were fantastic in the evening sun, the highlight of my day was standing next to a beautiful young lady who wore a skimpy pair of pants and nothing else. Good vibrations were, at least in my case, everywhere.
Many years later, I attended two more stadium shows, both of which were Take That and both of which were at Cardiff’s Millennium Stadium or whatever it’s called this week. I enjoyed both shows to the extent I could enjoy any shows at a stadium, although they were a little disconcerting given that almost all the toilets, including most of the men’s toilets, were for the use of women. This, sadly, did not prevent a considerable number of women utilising the gents urinals which was not a pretty sight and did, I’m afraid, cause a brief element of stage fright in my case.
Add to the mix, gigantic clues for overpriced food, drink and merch tat and the gigantic queues for the last trains, I later came to the conclusion I would rather not have gone at all. The second stadium gig I went to in Cardiff was, I think, in 2011. I have not wanted to go to a stadium gig since.
I appreciate that some acts are simply so popular they can’t realistically play more intimate gigs at places like The Fleece in Bristol. So I guess they have to play somewhere but I do not want to be there. Even if a reformed R.E.M played Wembley, alongside The Doobie Brothers, Paul McCartney and John Fogerty, I would think twice before trying, and likely failing, to buy a ticket. If I go to a sports stadium, I want to see sport.
I will tolerate the odd arena show. In 2016, I went to Birmingham’s NEC to see Bad Company (what a setlist) and just last month I saw Toto at the same venue. In July, I’m seeing the Doobies in Brum again. I’ll put up with an arena for bucket list shows. Stadium shows are for me just like festivals. I don’t want to stand up all the way through a show and I need to know where my nearest bathroom is. The very best acts can just about manage to make an arena personal. I know people say that superstars like Bruce ‘The Boss’ Springsteen can make stadium shows personal, but despite him being on a small bucket list (as in small bucket, not small list), I really can’t be arsed to shell out for an extortionate dynamically priced ticket to watch the old boy perform via a big screen. Sorry, Bruce. It is not to be. Paul McCartney played the Cheese and Grain in Frome. Can’t you play the Fleece in Bristol?
Let’s hope Bonus Bill gets his Beyonce gig at The Home of Rugby. She’s bound to be a better watch and listen than the turgid sport on display and a welcome change to the posh boys in the crowd singing their favourite slaver song.
