I Went to the Ween Show and All I Got Was This Lousy Overwhelming Sense of Gratitude
By Pete Adams
Upon stepping into the under-loaded press pit merely 6 minutes before Dean and Gene took the stage, I knew that this concert was going to be interesting. Intermitted vape clouds and whiffs of weed filled the air, which is nothing out of the ordinary, but the electricity in the room was something that I hadn’t previously thought was possible coming from a room packed with sweaty 45-year-olds.
Predictably, the lights went down over the Met and the crowd went absolutely apeshit over these aging bastards. They hadn’t even stepped onto the stage yet and people were hollering song requests, tossing beers straight up into the air, and taking heroic rips from their imported THC cartridges with reckless abandon. As soon as the boys took their places, it was over for me. Standing in between the barrier and the stage, I managed to snap a couple dozen pictures of the first three songs, only losing a moderately large patch of my hair to the blindly grasping hand of some eyebrow-pierced white crust punk with dreadlocks. I whipped my head around to scream at this inconsiderate fool and looked right into the leaking eyes of someone who was moved to tears while witnessing Dean and Gene perform their moderately successful song “Bananas and Blow. ” I wrote the assault off as an innocent convulsion and was rudely ushered out of the barrier area by a security guard who was “just doing his job.”
During the walk back to my seat (across the whole venue), I had the opportunity to reflect on the first 20 minutes of the show. Ween opened with “Mutilated Lips,” then went straight into “Bananas and Blow” and then transitioned that into “Happy Colored Marbles.” I audibly chuckled to myself because those three songs were ones that I REALLY wanted to hear, and I didn’t even recognize how lucky I was to physically look up to these guys that I’ve figuratively been looking up to for so many years. Before I could catch my breath, a familiar melody started playing over the PA. I sprinted through Door 2 of the Orchestra section and located my seats as quickly as possible so I could to witness the boys perform “Roses are Free” even better than they did on the mastered album version of “Chocolate and Cheese.” If I wasn’t working, I probably would have burst into tears right then and there.
I don’t know about you, but I have a special relationship with Ween. They’re one of the most creative bands of (here it comes) all time. They mesh weirdness with tangibility in every track, and their ability to perfectly float through genre-space-time, like Matthew McConaughey in that Interstellar movie, is unparalleled by any other group in history. I was overcome by this feeling of respect and appreciation for the opportunity to cover this show, and as I daydreamed, Deaner shredded through a 25-minute rendition of “Tear for Eddie.”
Unbeknownst to me, a close friend had been standing over my shoulder like the Phantom of the Orchestra Section for the duration of this existential moment. They only made their presence known when they got my attention to single out the two high school age (maybe early college) kids that we were standing less than 5 feet away from. These dudes were SCREAMING at the top of their lungs. I meekly watched, taken aback, while they perfectly belted their way through a double-time rendition of “Voodoo Lady.”
The show kind of plateaued from there, Ween played some sick hits before they left for their encore only an hour into their set. To preface their departure, the guys went straight from playing “Tick” into “Push Th’ Little Daisies,” and then they danced off into the night. 20 minutes passed and the crowd started to get antsy. I just assumed that the gang was waiting on Dean to finish his cigarette so they could get back to work and fall asleep in their own homes before 6 AM.
The encore lasted another 40 minutes, which included a Phish style jam session over “Johnny on the Spot.” I couldn’t help but drop my jaw at the ferocity of the unprovoked circle-pit that got started by the old fuckers in GA. “Calm down,” I thought “one of you is gonna break a hip and ruin this whole thing for all of us.” SUDDENLY, the music stopped altogether and the retired moshers all halted and leaned over like they were passengers on a packed subway train with nothing to hold onto. Deaner took a moment to address the crowd for the second time of the night (he’s a quiet guy), and he said that they were going to do something a little unorthodox. For whatever reason, Ween broke into a full-blown tonally-perfect cover of Prince’s “Kiss.” That absolutely BLEW my fucking MIND, and I rode that high all the way through the end of the set, which just so happened to include “What Deaner Was Talkin’ About” and ended with, according to them, an unusual closer; “I Gots A Weasel.”
I was out before the house lights could come on, a sold-out show in a venue full of 3,500 drunk Ween fans didn’t seem like the place I would want to get trapped in for more than 5 minutes. On the walk to my car (I parked for free on a sidestreet about a 5-minute walk from the venue, fuck the Met for offering $75 parking like that’s something a normal person could do) I felt a wave of emotion wash over me. I couldn’t stop smiling and gabbing about how cool it was that I got to see a band I discovered when I was 10 years old because “Ocean Man” was the credit song in The Spongebob Squarepants Movie.
I would 100% see Ween again. Would I pay Stubhub prices up to $300 for general admission tickets? Fuck no. But, if I learned anything from the youngsters that screamed next to me the entire time, seeing Ween isn’t just about watching a band, it’s about witnessing the history of “fun” in the industry. Henry Rollins said it himself, Ween saved music from taking itself too seriously, and we should be grateful for the Pennsylvanian shed-dwellers that gave us such unique and enjoyable art. You’re not supposed to think too hard about Ween’s music, you’re just supposed to smile, and that is a pretty special thing.
Overall, I give the Ween show 8.8/10 Dicks Waving in the Wind, it would have been a 9.8 if they actually played “Waving My Dick in the Wind,” and that’s my only criticism of the set. Congrats on selling out the biggest music venue in your hometown guys, you deserved it.
