THE KIDS AREN'T ALRIGHT
Sunday 25th January 2009
Hammersmith Apollo, London
Over months passed I have been lucky enough to witness the pop party travelling circus that is the New Kids On The Block reformation tour, not once, but twice! Yes, I be one of the privelidged few. The first time was at an in-store for the music chain I worked for on Oxford Street, the second being at their not-so-sold-out show at The Apollo (bearing in mind they did play the O2 Arena the night before).
Let's face it - the kids are old. Every now and then you catch a glimpse of their former glory - Joey's big blue eyes, Jordan's brunette blow wave - but apart from that they're just five mature-aged crooners going through the motions both physically and vocally.
None of this was a suprise to me, as I see boy band comeback's through cynical eyes. Don't get me wrong - I loved NKOTB as a child and even recall having a Jordan night shirt - but I'd like to think my musical tastes have graduated somewhat, and I find it hard not to laugh when they pull out the old 'doing it for the fans not the money' routine. But the thing that suprised me most about this tour was not the still over-priced but somewhat tackier 'bedazzled' merchandise, nor the exhuberant ticket price, the flourescent stage set up or their hideous cover of The Stones' 'Start Me Up'. No, all these things paled in comparison to the aging, screaming mass that was their audience.
At Oxford Street I saw mature working women and mothers alike camp outside the store for over 2 days on the hard pavement in the freezing weather just to catch a glimpse of The Kids - some carrying with them their very own kids! Once inside, said babies were tossed aside and CD browsers were crushed, all in a vain attempt to get to the front and then scream solidly for 3 hours prior to their appearance. The spectacular fashion in which they were greeted once they took to the stage (late) was nothing short of Beatlemania - minus the musical talent of course. The store had to be closed due to overcrowding in the end whilst everyone got their autographs and pictures taken with the fab five.
The scenes at Hammersmith Apollo were similar if not worse. The massive line of one-gig-a-year mothers and wall-to-wall females (I didn't see one male - not a one) stood in the rain - some for over 8 hours - screaming, crying, re-doing their dampened hair and make up and giving the evil eye to the 200+ women who paid over £300 for a ticket that included a meet-and-greet with The Kids before the show. I later discovered, to my horror, these women belonged to a group that were following The Kids to every show around the UK on their very own tour bus, staying in the same hotels, and even running competition's such as 'Guess the NKOTB room number' for prizes and such...?!?!?!
And as The Kids eventually graced the stage house staff and security feared for their lives. Hair was pulled, tears flowed and the balcony shook concerningly as screaming hysterically became the order of the day and The Kids rolled through classics such as 'Step By Step', 'The Right Stuff', 'Hang Tough' and various new tunes I don't know the names of.
Screaming? Crying?? £300 tickets??? I feel I may have missed the boat on this one, as being a 29 year old female and former fan myself I can think of a thousand things I'd rather do with my money and two thousand places I'd rather be. I suppose you could say these women are a testament to that little part of us that never grew up. The part that loves jumping on the bed, watching cartoons, spending £500 in one night and coming home with a bad case of tinitus and a new t-shirt to wear down the local.
In saying all this I must admit to feeling a twinge of excitement, a rush even, as I got to meet The Kids very briefly. As they ran briefly through the rain and up the backstage stairwell from main stage to the balcony (to perform the aforementioned in-the-crowd cover of The Stones' 'Start Me Up') I had the illustrious duty of mopping the stairs dry whilst they sang, as one of them had slipped over backstage earlier and they didn't want a repeat of that on their swift return back to the stage.
They said 'Hi!'. I said 'Hi! Please don't fall or I'll get the sack!'; standing there, mop in hand - not unlike Baby carrying the watermelon in Dirty Dancing - thinking how close I'd just come to the 5 boys I'd drooled over constantly for many of my teenage years, and realising everyone gets old one day.
But not all of us chose to do it with dignity.
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