Gym Class Scuffle [absolutepunk.net]
Gym Class Heroes Frontman Arrested For Assault After Reacting To Racial Slur [RS; HT Christopher Weingarten]

The New York branch of the company is calling this promotion the "skip the line" promotion (clever!) and is as I type this setting up separate admission lines for people clutching Live Nation-issued printouts at four of the city's general-admission venues. Which are: the Blender Theater at Gramercy, the Hammerstein Ballroom, Roseland, and Irving Plaza. (Which I'm going to refer to by its real, Fillmore-free name as my way of weakly rebelling against this latest bit of corporately concocted idiocy.) What's next, a free well drink to anyone who wears a Live Nation-branded shirt to the venue? VIP status for life if you tattoo the company's logo on the back of your neck? Perhaps I shouldn't be giving these people any ideas without letting them know my consulting rate up front.

Live Nation's "Skip The Line" Ballyhoo [Sound Of The City]

Beforehand someone told me they'd banned SLRs specifically from the gig. And were turning them away at the gate. Which seemed ridiculous. Some kind of attempt to keep high-quality shots in the hands of promoters and media?

But a half hour after the band came onstage, I would have happily barred every camera from the place. And mobile phones too. An endless array of shiny silver doodads held up, videoing, photographing, relaying. There's something distracted about the way we're enjoying ourselves now. It's not just that new technologies are affecting our attention span, it's like people are trying section away a portion of their enjoyment. Saving it for another day. Unable to simply experience the moment, as cliched as that sounds. Just fucking stand there and listen, or dance, or whatever. Just let the thing that's supposed to happen happen.

That sums up my feelings on the matter of watching a show through other peoples' viewfinders pretty well, I think. (Although in this instance, I give a dispensation to anyone who whipped out their phone just to snag some Jonas Brothers candids.) Anyway, a few people—including me and the always-cutting-to-the-chase Catbird—responded in agreement, but it didn't take too long for some dude out there to call the drive for experiencing shows "nostalgia" and subsequently go into a full-on techno-utopian rant. Warning: The word "meatspace" and the term "mobile log" used as a flippin' verb are within:

Think about how vastly we can augment our intelligence and capabilities by being plugged into what is happening around us on a hyper-current level? How much more can we experience through others sharing? Yes a picture of a concert doesnt give me the entire experience of being at said concert, but it is certainly more robust than not even seeing that picture. Is having countless mini-experiences through rss and social feeds more enlightening than one physical encounter in meatspace?

From a certain perspective one can state with some sincerity that social network users are taking part in something bigger than themselves.

Those who mobile log and share at the sacrifice of their current experience are participating in a global conversation. We are through our tumble and flickr feeds, exploring the world on a level we could never match in reality. Through the cumulative power of social sharing we all experience something more powerful than the experiences we can have in the physical realm.

This self-styled Howard Rheingold seems to be so convinced of his importance that he thinks he transcends the physical, i.e. his assertion that because he has the means to acquire technology that can broadcast his banalities worldwide and probably annoy the crap out of the people who are actually standing around him. Which is kind of funny, since I originally got online (way, way back in the day) because i wanted to buck that sort of "might of money" attitude exemplified by the larger telecom companies out there. "Exploring the world on a level we could never match in reality"? Putting aside the idea that, well, in reality one can actually use all five of their senses to experience a show as opposed to just sight and maybe hearing, how, may I ask, would this person even know, given that he has seemingly chosen to live in an entirely mediated existence right now, one where he doesn't have to be confronted by new experiences because he can just put on his Bluetooth headset and not-so-subtly tell the world "la la, can't hear you" while looking like Lobot.

Monday June 09, 2008 at 9:23 [distorte]
Sunday June 08, 2008 at 22:43 [distorte]

"He dropped his guitar, the mic fell over and he flicked the Vs in the general direction of the thrower," says DiS scribe Rob Webb, "before continuing with the song. He even adapted the lyrics to 'where'd you go, no, seriously, where'd you go you fucker'."

Heading offstage before the encore, the band returned to another missile as they ran through 'Rebellion (Lies)'. Win stopped playing, promised that the band were "never fucking playing Nottingham again" before finishing the song and exiting back into the bowels of the Arena.

According to a commenter on This Is Nottingham, the first projectile thrown was, in fact, a shoe, and one that could travel long distances at that:

It was a shoe rather than a bottle, and it was hurled from a way back in the crowd. Security found a guy with one shoe on at the end of the gig and he denied all knowledge of the incident. They didn't give him the missing one back. Two more projectiles landed on stage after that, which is when Win said "one more thing and we're never playing in Nottingham again". Fair enough. Apart from that, fantastic show.
p_j_f, London

I can't help but wonder if the guy's friends throw the later projectiles in a half-hearted effort to get their pal's shoe back. But either way, this sounds like a whole new arm of the "Hey, Asshole!" museum needs to be built ASAP.

Arcade Fire boycott Nottingham after missile attack [Drowned In Sound]

So there I am with my tiny Sony digital camera, capturing the song, and suddenly I realize I'm getting flipped off by the singer. While playing the super emotional song, "Funeral", he flip me off and mid song yells, "I see you recording me." I look around and at least 5 other people are taping him and he calls me out. Fuck you. I duck out and I am fucking outta there. There's nothing worse than a fucking whiny baby onstage. It wasn't bad enough that earlier in the set he complained about the sound and the mix, asking his band, "Should we keep playing?" Now he's gonna be a whiny bitch about me recording his shit. Fuck him. I was outta there.

Whining about whining—how meta! And she later calls the band "Bandaid of Horseshit," tee hee. Anyway, today Pitchfork has an interview with Bridwell where he apologizes to the blogger, but also takes time to discuss the incident and the YouTube culture of shows in 2007. (I should probably take a second here to note that I'm not really a fan of Bridwell's band at all, but I do feel for him on certain points—particularly the ones about more members of the crowd being in attendance to treat shows like photoshoot opportunities, instead of enjoying them in real time/IRL.)

But then you had all these kids up front, that seemed so disinterested in the show and didn't look up at the stage or anything. They just kind of sat there in front of the stage. Just seemed like they didn't want to be there at all, until we played "The Funeral". So all of a sudden you had these people that seemed so disinterested in the show all, somehow at the same time, pull their cameras out of their bags and start filming.

So I'm sitting there— now they're really interested in this one song— and they still won't make eye contact, looking through their little lenses, taping this one song for their blogs or for their fucking YouTube [accounts] or whatever, and it was just so annoying. It's like, this show is already going south, and these people that seem disinterested are only here to further their YouTube accounts or their blogs or whatever, and it just pissed me off.

It was really annoying. It was just scratching at the surface of what's happening to shows lately. Everybody's got a camera in their pocket, and they turn it on to just, I don't know, exploit us in some way or further their own projects or whatever the fuck they're doing with their websites and shit. It's become a little bit ridiculous, and it was just a bit unnerving, and [with] the situation with the show and everything, all the stars lined up and I got pissed off....

I don't know what to say. I admit that I was being a fucking asshole. I feel bad to single her out, but it wasn't so much her. It was mostly these other people in front of the stage that seemed so disinterested that kind of got the wheels turning, and once they all popped up with the cameras at the same time, I guess that's where it just exploded.

Pitchfork: Is it like that at most shows you guys have played recently?

BB: It seems to keep happening. You see it getting progressively worse. It's almost like the skateboarding community, where everyone's a fucking photographer now. You look at shots, and it's hard to keep the photographers out of the shot, you know? It kind of seems like the same thing with indie rock; everyone's got a fucking camera in their hand and, I don't know, is there no sanctity left for live performance with going to a show and seeing it with your own eyes and remembering it? Do you have to tape every second, or even just your favorite song? I understand it, but it's becoming annoying.

Truth be told, I've probably been guilty of having my eyes on my phone the few times I've been at a Band of Horses show—but that behavior's been saved for the back of the room, because there are few things more annoying than having your already-lousy position in the crowd made even worse by a host of viewfinders being hoisted in front of you. It's just another aggravating thing about the live-show experience in 2007, up there with expensive, crappy beers and, uh, people talking on their cell phones, and it's doing the probably undesirable effect of making my nostalgia for "the old days" even more inflamed. Because even though having to check my cell phone at the Morrissey show at the Apollo a couple of years back was excessively annoying (mainly because of the post-show glob of people who were trying to retrieve their phones from the lineless coat check), it was also kind of awesome, if only because I was able to actually watch the show—and, sometimes, have my thoughts drift off into unexpected places—without my ADD acting up and me berating myself for missing a "perfect" moment to shoot.

BoH's Bridwell Talks YouTubers, New Album, Sex Clubs [Pitchfork]
[Photo: DG Jones]

Above, video of the White Stripes performing "Hotel Yorba" on a Winnipeg bus yesterday, when they were accompanied against their will by two overexcited fans who don't really understand the "inside voice" concept. (Do you want to bet that one of the screamers was using her lungs for the sole purpose of telling pals that, yes, she was there, and you could tell because of her way-too-audible yelping?)

The White Stripes play gig on city bus [NME]

Then the house lights went down, the opening act walked onstage, and about 10 flashbulbs went off to commemorate the moment. (The fact that this particular venue was "in the round," and your correspondent was sitting on one side of the stage, made the flashbulbs a little more noticeable.) The camera-wielding patrons didn't seem like your typical rule-breaking, boisterous, screw-'em-all concert attendees—instead, they were suburban women, seated but clapping, a few with greying hair, all with digital cameras of various sizes at the ready.

After a brief flashback to the Pokemon-induced seizures of 10 years ago, we wondered if this show was a final, definitive sign of the "no cameras" era at shows ending. We've seen our share of cameraphones and digital point-and-shoots at the club shows that we've attended, but at this concert, people were whipping out really nice cameras, including a few with film, and doing so from their seats—despite the pre-entry bag check, where the security guard regarded our smartphone with interest, but said nothing about our small camera (which, alas, we did not use).

So we're in an era now where cameras in venues are "illegal," but since so many people carry cameras around in the everyday, chucking them pre-show is both inconvenient and extremely inadvisable (we have awful memories of a Morrissey show where all patrons were required to check their cell phones, resulting in a lot of post-show chaos). Obviously, to set up a nice photo rig that'll inconvenience other patrons should still require a pass—but has technology made the idea of people not bringing cameras into shows at all obsolete? (And if we're going to enter an era where cameras are okay at shows, can we at least encourage people to not use the flash when they're taking pictures? Because it seriously felt like there were strobe lights coming from the seats at certain points.)

R. Kelly - Red Carpet (Pause, Flash) [MP3, link expired]
Earlier: The "Hey, Asshole!" archives

I couldn't believe when I read your "Hey, Asshole!" on the Amy Winehouse show at SXSW. I actually had my worst ever concert fight at that very show!

Because I was a lowly wristband-wearer, I got there extra-early and waited through Seth Lakeman (who was awesome) and the guy who replaced snowed-in James Morrison (who was not) so that I'd have a primo position near the stage for Amy, Razorlight and Mika. I was center stage, about three people back. Probably the closest I've ever been to an artist at a concert that wasn't just some friends of mine playing in their backyard.

And then, halfway through Winehouse's set, these two obnoxious British chicks pushed through the ENTIRE crowd and stood DIRECTLY in front of me and everyone else who'd been there for hours. Instantly, my view of Winehouse, her John C. Reilly-esque trumpeter and her obscene tattoos was ruined. Without being too rude, I'll just say that these birds weren't the easiest people to see around, either.

When I asked them to move, they acted like they couldn't see how anyone could possibly question their behavior and then spewed forth a torrent of chavvish venom that ranged from the offended ("Are you SERIOUS?!") to the illogical ("Well, we have to stand in front of SOMEONE!") to the sarcastic ("Thank you for this lovely welcome to America!").

I know it must've been exciting for them to see Winehouse in such a relatively small venue compared to the places she must play in the U.K., cut come on! I wouldn't do this at a John Mellencamp show in your country!

We argued through half a song before I realized it was probably better to let it go than to be so disruptive so close to the stage. Guess Winehouse doesn't just play the badass, she attracts them, too.

Still a great show, though.

Earlier: "Hey, Asshole!": We Tried To Make Them Shut Their Pieholes, But They Said, "No, No, No"
Hey, Asshole! archives

I WANT A FAMOUS FACE: Behind us and to the left was an inebriated woman who was so smitten with Winehouse, she wanted to eventually morph into the troubled singer-songwriter. (Guess she hasn't been reading the tabloids lately.) Her patter went from banal ("I want her hair! Do you think I could have her hair?") to downright weird ("Yeah, I'd have her hips, too. I want it all!"). Expect to see her during the wee hours of MTV2's programming within the next year or so.

I'VE HEARD IT ALL BEFORE: And on the other side was this guy, who was trying to show off his record-collection bona fides by singing songs that Winehouse had "ripped off" during every song. Okay, dude: You have a big, throbbing ... record collection. And you're right, there's nothing new under the sun. But! You aren't all that innovative for pointing this "fact" out—in fact, you're nothing more than the rock-show equivalent of Comic Book Guy, which means that you, too, are a retread.

To top it all off, there was the battleaxe with the overflowing cup of red wine who, upon brushing past our companion, spilled half of her glass down his shirt, and didn't even break a sweat to apologize. Although if she'd been klutzier a few seconds earlier, we probably wouldn't have heard the end of that, either.

(Have you seen someone "acting out" at a SXSW show this week? Drop a line to asshole@idolator.com.)

Hey, Asshole! archives

Subject: National trend of douchebags seeing TV on the Radio

The "Hey Asshole" report of today rang true with me as I encountered a similar awful, large, asshole guy at the Providence TVOTR show last Thursday. This one was dressed in all white, with a fauxhawk, fake-looking tan, and designer glasses with garish thick white frames. I first notice him standing behind me and can only shake my head at how retarded he looks. Then there's a push to move up, and he goes right past me and attempts to shove my (petite, blond, ten-to-fifteen-years-younger-than-him) girlfriend out of the way, with his arms and a shoulder check, so he can get ahead of her. Let me reiterate that he has at least 7 inches of height and 100 pounds on her. To her credit, she stands her ground (hip check) and sneaks ahead of him, which succeeds in making him look more like the lame asshole that he is. We move up and establish a nice new spot, only to have him come up from the side and end up in front of us. Fine, whatever, he's a few feet ahead, and now I have a great view of his ridiculous rhythmic shoulder dance and associated gorilla arms dance, which I imagine would go over great at a rave (I've never been to a fucking rave).

Sadly there's no confrontation to tell you about, but why the hell are these guys so AMPED for TV on the Radio?

We're stumped, to be honest. So if you have any ideas, or more stories to add to our growing dossier, by all means let us know. Only together can we rise up against boorish behavior by those with fake tans and "Dick In A Box" beards.

Earlier: "Hey, Asshole!": Cookie Mountain Gets A Little Bit Crowded

I wanted to give a "Hey Asshole!" shout-out to the mook with the shaved head who nearly picked a fight with me at this evening's TV on the Radio show in Columbus, Ohio.

I was enjoying the show from my spot about a foot behind the railing around the back of the sound board. About 4 songs in, said mook, his mook friend with a Color Me Badd/JT Dick in a Box beard, and a random short girl wedge their way in front of myself and a female friend who is also right behind the railing. Female friend gets beer spilled on her, and bearded guy apologizes for his friends parking their sorry asses about 4 inches in front of us.

At this point, I am unhappy, but decide to take it easy. Five minutes later, bald mook starts slowly backing up into me trying to gain more space for himself. His back is now pressed against my forearm and beer that I'm holding in front of my chest. I choose not to step out of his way, so he starts flicking me glances over his shoulder. Einstein then decides confrontation is the answer, telling me to back off because I'm crowding him. I calmly respond that I had been there for the entire show, and he was the one that chose to squeeze in front of me. He says I should have claimed my space, and I say he's a dick.

His ranting causes me to miss half of a Bowie-less "Province."

Now, I can see the cogs working in his shiny, bald skull as he tries to figure out how he can get me to move. He then turns all the way around to stare me down for a full minute (which doesn't seem like a long time, but holy hell, it felt like an eternity), saying I'm making him "uncomfortable" because he has no room. I told him that was his own fault. Fire lights up in his drunken, dopey eyes, and for about 30 seconds, I'm approximately 92% sure that I'm going to get punched in the face.

"Wolf Like Me" is now ruined.

Finally he turns back around, then leaves a minute later. My wife tries to throw her chewing gum at him.

Hogue doesn't tell us whether or not his wife hit his target, but he does add a postscript in which everyone (almost) gets along:

Epilogue: Bearded guy is wasted and tries to be my friend, bald douche cuts back in for the encore, and I walk out at the end of the night still expecting to get bashed in the back of the head.

I was trying to figure out where I could throw in an "I was a lover before this war" joke, but sadly it just didn't work.

Earlier: "Hey, Asshole!" archives

Between each song, the drunks behind me loudly yelled, "PLAY SOMETHING GOOD!" and "YOU CAN DO BETTER JERRY LEE!" After "Memphis," one yelled, "PLAY SOMETHING BY WHITE PEOPLE!" When he moved into his country songs, they started yelling, "WHY CAN'T YOU PLAY SOMETHING GOOD?"

After the click-through, a tale of drunken dumbwittery that will make you forever hate white people—or any people, really. And please note that the above picture of Lewis is not from this particular gig—but we're pretty sure his facial expression remains unchanged at this point.

So my husband has a fixation on Jerry Lee Lewis and also seeing old rock icons before they die; unfortunately for me, the only US date on Jerry Lee's schedule this year so far was at a casino in French Lick, Indiana, a bustling metropolis about an hour north of Louisville, Kentucky. So we drove down for the weekend (we live in Chicago) and arrived just in time for the show on Saturday night.

The show is in a large ballroom that I would imagine is typically used for either the wedding of the daughter of French Lick's mayor or a visit from Tony Robbins — a raised stage up in front and then rows and rows of straight-backed chairs (that ordinarily would be placed around ten-seat tables) placed edge-to-edge from each other. Behind us sits is a fellow in a straw hat and a Hawaiian shirt, obviously taking a break from Margaritaville, drinking something pink from a plastic cup. His buddy wears a fringed, beige leather jacket, Wranglers, and an Indiana Colts stocking cap, pulled down to the sunglasses covering his eyes (yep, sunglasses at night. In a ballroom. In a casino). He is on what I would imagine is his seventeenth Bud Light.

The show starts with Jerry Lee's band playing without The Killer (he was late since his flight was diverted from Bloomington to Evansville) and while it was all a lot of filler, it was just a couple songs, and
for that reason alone, it was better than most opening acts. This did not go over so well with the men behind us.

"Where's the Killer?" one slurred.

"I dont' know, but this is bullshit." The second one said. "This is second-rate bullshit. Let's go get a drink."

"I don't want to listen to this shit."

"This is second-rate bullshit; let's just get a drink."

Thirty seconds later, it was upgraded to third-rate bullshit, and they were about to go get drinks when Jerry Lee hobbled onto the stage, sat down at the piano, and broke into "Roll Over Beethoven," followed by
"Over the Rainbow," "Sweet Little Sixteen," and "Memphis."

Between each song, the drunks behind me loudly yelled, "PLAY SOMETHING GOOD!" and "YOU CAN DO BETTER JERRY LEE!" After "Memphis," one yelled, "PLAY SOMETHING BY WHITE PEOPLE!" When he moved into his country songs, they started yelling, "WHY CAN'T YOU PLAY SOMETHING GOOD?"

At this point, they decide what they need to do is go up to the front and start dancing. The one in the fringed jacket starts (who dances like Snoopy) pointing at Jerry Lee, who points back at him. Two
security guards come out and escort them to the side of the stage, which, very un-rock-and-roll like, was the approved dancing area. The one in the fringe jacket keeps running out to the center to dance, and
eventually is escorted back to our area. The one in the straw hat, however, gets involved in a fight over on the side, which only ends when someone is hit over the head with a beer bottle. Later, we saw the one in the straw hat being interviewed by police while the guy who got hit with the bottle was taken out on a stretcher.

Finally, we went to get our coats to try and find some food, and we see the guy in the fringe jacket alone, trying to sneak a beer into the alcohol-free casino.

Bear in mind, besides us, most of the audience was little old ladies.

The show was Rock Kills Kid, The Receiving End of Sirens, Cobra Starship, Head Automatica and 30 Seconds to Mars. There was just too much chance of 100 things to go weird to miss it so thankfully I had the pleasure of accompanying my photog friend to the show, and happily so - I love irony and dildongery.

-Sure there was the drunk guy that propped his even more drunk friend up on the bar and left him there, and the friend proceeded to fall over everyone, attempting to throw his hands in the aiiir during Head Automatica.
-Absolutely there were at least 3 guys in ball caps and tight shirts asking me "who the hell are these guys" with each band that took the stage.
-There was the guy manning the Cobra Starship merch booth that - when I refused to sign a PETA petition to 'save the chickies from KFC' - hollered at me that 'I'm not that cool.'
-The odd stall in the middle of Cobra Starship's "Bring It" when Gabe stopped to bring out onto stage some Georgia frat boy, complete with button down shirt and baseball hat to - get this - perform the rap in the middle of the song.
-There was a strange conglomerate of cowboy hats and boots, which makes me wonder if our local country station has taken a liking to Beautiful Lie.
-Then there was the local band manager who sat downstairs with Gabe of Cobra Starship, unapologetically hitting on the leftover underage co-eds surrounding his new friend.
-Above all of it, there was the fact that the $2 Bill show was $33.50.

At any rate, it all came to be worth it during 30STM's set, and it only took Jared 1.5 songs to achieve. Must be a record.

Every city has their one or two "professional" photogs that are omnipresent at any radio or overly sponsored shows. The two of them, and a few others, lined up in the photography area and suffered through a ridiculously unnecessary 20 minute set by the Street Drum Corp before Jared Leto ascended to the stage, looking like a multi-colored goth warrior. After just one song, Jared screamed at the photographers for taking pictures of him tuning. We have no explanation for that one. Perhaps he wants his flock to think he isn't fallible enough to need to tune?

But then, halfway through song #2, he dove into the crowd, singing and surfing. Nice. On his way back? Stepped on one of the aforementioned " professionals", who happens to be a nice large, older lady, knocking her to the ground. It took no less than 3 security guards to get her back to her feet. Jared continued on with his anthem, not even blinking that he had used this poor woman as a step stool. Man, I can only hope there are pictures. Perhaps Jared has added concert photographers to his list of victims? Maybe he thought she was a blogger?

My only regret is that I didn't think of wear a t-shirt that said, I'm Liveblogging You Right Now.

Sean Na Na had been asking for shots during their set and the 5 guys were pretty well off when all was said and done. The guitar player just started walking around the stage..singing various parts..drinking..asking for stuff..you name it.

They all join in on backing vocals for songs. The guitar player takes off his shirt and rolls on the floor, each member takes at LEAST 1,000 flash photos.

The band comes back out on stage and the same shit continues. The singer from Sean Na Na arrives with Craigs glasses on saying he is "Craig" and "how awesome was Sean Na Na".

Yeesh. Too Much Rock has video of what appears to be a portion of the Sean Na Na invasion, while the Sean Na Na haterade is a-flowing on the Hold Steady's message board.

The Hold Steady - The Middle East, Cambridge 10/30/06 [Random Musings]
boston [forums.boysandgirlsinamerica.com]

Here's a brief synopsis of what happened. It was clear fairly early on that security was a a bit lax at the Shrine Mosque...Fairly early in the set, there were a couple of people shoving and roughing up others in front of the stage. Jeff asked everyone to calm down and respect each other and when things did, the band resumed the set.

...During the first encore a young man jumped onto the stage and did the requisite salute to his pals. While we certainly do not encourage that kind of behavior, we were prepared to let it go, as he was, it seemed, heading back into the crowd. Just when it appeared he was walking off the stage he turned around and moved towards Tweedy from behind. Jeff did not see him approaching, but felt the guy's hands on his head. To this, Jeff reacted.

And though they don't quite spell it out on the site, by "reacted," they mean "he cold-cocked the guy." A similar event occured at a Juan Maclean show last week in Atlanta; if anyone has any pictures of the offending assholes (or any assholes in general) please send it to tips@idolator.com. Again, Idolator only wants to encourage documentation, not actual violence. Unless you're the frontman of an alt-rock band, and can afford to keep a pitbull attorney on retainer.

UPDATE: Pitchfork has the video here. Damn! That looks more like a Wayne Brady-style choke!
Tweedy Speaks Out After Missouri Incident [Billboard]
Juan Maclean Beats Down Drunken Reveler in Atlanta [Pitchfork]

A proud moment in "Hey, Asshole!" history: Our first video footage of an obnoxious concertgoer in action! We'll let reader Darryl—who shot this a few weeks ago at a Snow Patrol show in San Francisco—set it up for you:

Aw man, this guy was great. At first, you see a guy spazzing out on a crowded floor and you think "What an asshole!" You see him try to squeeze his way into the middle or front of the crowd only to be rejected, and you think, "Yeah, nice try, jerk!"

But then you see him dancing and singing in the back with abandon. And actually try to engage the people that reject him. And actually get hugs and smiles from some of those people, and you think, "Well, maybe he's not all bad."

Take a look at Daryl's caught-in-the-act footage (especially clip No. 2, above) and decide for yourself: Inconsiderate asshole, or endearingly overenthusiastic fan? Either way, we're pretty sure it's Norman Cook.

That Guy at the Snow Patrol show at the Warfield [YouTube collection]
"Hey, Asshole!" archive

"Hey, Asshole!" works like this: You go to a concert, someone acts like a jerk at said concert, and you shame him or her with a delightful picture. If all goes well, you end up with a gem like this, courtesy of reader Anna:

The Queers show at [NYC's] Knitting Factory [Sunday night] was full of asshole crowd surfers who drunkenly decided that it would be a smart idea to try to stage dive into a pit of 5'2 girls. Of course, the crowd parted and they fell head first onto the floor, but to their credit, they were resilient and didn't hesitate to try again. The gem in the crowd though was this guy who before jumping onto a heap of 115lb females, would dance - nay, do the twist! - on stage for a couple of songs. You can tell he's a winner.

People actually still stagedive? To the Queers? How very 1998.

The Queers - Drop The Attitude Fucker [MP3, link expired]
Earlier: Hey, Asshole! Round-Up

We begin with two nearly must-read accounts of Saturday's Sufjan Stevens show at Town Hall, the first from commenter SupraCute:

i was sitting in my comfy town hall cushion seats, surrounded by mellow 14-year-old sufjan fans and their parents, excited for the show. about 15 minutes in, these two completely wasted misshape-ian wannabes fumble to their seats in the row in front of mine. for the next hour-and-a-half, they proceed to disrupt every single person around them. digital cameras with bright screens, obnoxious texting, yelling out to sufjan how beeeeeeeeautiful he was, calling friends to play them "totes favorite song" by reaching their arms out with their phones until they were elbowing the people in front of them. one girl was more wasted than the other and proceeded to lay across both seats passed out.

Readers Elizabeth Thompson and Jessica Suarez take it from there:

The best part, though, was when drunk girl no.1 made a lengthy bathroom trip and left drunk girl no.2, who had since passed out in her seat, to slump over across her arm rest while the young boy next to her gaped. The band played "That Was the Worst Christmas Ever!", during which inflatable Santa Clauses were thrown into the audience and tossed around like beach balls. One of them hit still-passed-out drunk girl no.2, who, after sleeping through loudly dropping her cellphone on the floor, everyone assumed was out for the count. She sat unresponsive as the Santa lay across her lap, but when the father of the boy next to her tried to grab it for his son, she bolted upright, snatching it, and tucked it under her head as a pillow.

Drunk Girl 1 returned during the final song, "The Man of Metropolis Steal Our Hearts, " only for inflatable Superman dolls to also be thrown into the audience. Drunk girl no.2, still motionless, was pelted with two Supermen which drunk girl no.1 quickly shoved beneath their seats while the children in their row watched. They then ran out, not staying to watch the encore, so drunk girl no.2 could vomit all over the front steps of Town Hall. We couldn't grab a picture, since they left before the end of the show, but they would have been in row K, seats 117 and 119.

Elizabeth and I are both nice girls, kind to strangers, call our parents regularly, etc., but if we ever see those girls again, we're going to stab them in their throats.

We don't want to encouarge violence, but really, could someone track these two girls down? We'd like to get their side of the story, and at least help Jessica, Elizabeth and Supra get the inflatable Santa toys they deserve.

Next up, from reader sissyneck:

We went to see Damien Jurado open for Rocky Votolato in Provo, UT. Rocky's set was predictably white-boy-with-an-electric-guitar boring, but at during one song, the guy next to me pulls a harmonica out of his pocket and plays along note-for-note with Rocky's harmonica solo. The look of "i'm so damned awesome" exhilaration on his face as he replaced his harmonica completely erased any annoyance that I felt. In fact, I'm not even sure that this should be counted as a "hey, asshole" moment, because it was easily the most enoyable moment of the set.

Our sympathies, but we're pretty sure that was just a hobo with bad taste. Finally, from commenter chrisb:

Last night [Oct. 3] I saw Roger Waters perform at the Cricket Pavilion in Phoenix, Arizona. Surprisingly, the most obnoxious people there were not the three fat geezers in front of us who stood the entire show, even during boring crap like "Leaving Beirut." No, we had the unfortunate displeasure of sitting in front of the Unauthorized Pink Floyd Historian. He talked incessantly. Throughout the entire show, he rattled on to his buddy about who sang each track on the original album, Waters or David Gilmour, provided an extensive overview of Pink Floyd's court battles, and even relayed Pink Floyd legends including the story of Syd Barret showing up in the studio during the recording of "Wish You Were Here" and the time Roger Waters spit at a fan. If I had just one more beer (and perhaps bigger balls), I would have turned around and said, "Hey asshole, if you like Pink Floyd so much, why don't you shut the fuck up and listen." Still, it was a great show. Expected more lasers.

And we're pretty sure that was just David Gilmour.

Thanks to everyone for their great tales. Remember to send your cherished concert experiences to asshole@idolator.com.

As many of you have pointed out, one of the biggest challenges with our "Hey, Asshole!" feature—in which we ask you to document obnoxious concert-going behavior—is figuring out how to get a good picture in a dark club. As a primer, we offer one tipster's fine example of duplicitous lenswork, which resulted in this amazing shot from a NYC Queensrÿche show a few weeks back:

Right next to me is a gentleman I'll call "Guido" (and you'll see why from the attached pic), drunk out of his mind, who spent all of the first half of the concert doing one of two things: 1. Metal screaming lyrics that didn't fit into the song at full volume. 2. Counting off rock-drummer style (you know, like the beginning of every Ramones song) at random points in the music. I think he was so drunk that he couldn't figure out where in the song the band was and he was expecting the tempo to pick up or something. Not only did this keep killing the mood, but he was so loud that my left ear hurt afterwards - and I was wearing earplugs...I followed Guido out to the lobby during the intermission between sets, watched him do yet another metal scream and then asked him to do it again so I could take a picture, "because it rocked so hard." I still chuckle evilly over THAT little lie.

You see? Sometimes, you just have to lie. How do you think Diane Arbus got all those people to frown on cue?

Also, a reminder: We'll be publishing a round-up of "Hey, Asshole!" stories later today, so if you have any egregious concert-goings on to report, be sure to send it to asshole@idolator.com.

Previously: "Hey, Asshole!" Virgin Festival Special Edition

The Who perform at the Virgin Festival in Baltimore. Not pictured: The Who.

You'd think that an outdoor festival with two stages, a DJ tent, a freak show, ample beer supplies, and 40,000 sunstroked fans would be a goldmine of idiotic concert-going behavior ... and you'd be 100% right. Dashiell, the associate editor of our filthy sibling site Fleshbot, pulled his head out of the gutter long enough to attend Saturday's Virgin Festival in Baltimore and provide us with an exhaustive chronicle of the boorishness on display. After the jump, see the world through the eyes of an asshole.

There's a special place in hell reserved for the ladies who sit on shoulders at concerts. It's a little disturbing that we've allowed this to flourish unchecked for so many years, since it really is the ultimate selfish move. Yes, you can see better and your chances of appearing on the Jumbotron have increased exponentially, but a simple acknowledgement that you aren't the only person on the planet would be a nice gesture. The only thing worse than the girl who sits on someone's shoulders and blocks the view of others ...

Dude ... really?

Other examples of reckless foolishness include:

The Careless Toker. High winds mercifully limited our second-hand smoke intake to half a bowl.

The Public Urinator (in blue hat). No, when you gotta go, you do not have to go.

Balloon Head. Because in a festival environment, it's important to make your profile as large as possible.

The Flag Waver. Our companion explained this one to us thusly: "It's a homing beacon for morons."

Onstage Cameraman. Do you need to stand directly in front of the band to do your job? We paid to see Brandon Flowers' mustache, dammit!

Then the crowd surfing began. Oh, boy. We're all for getting excited, but how can you deconstruct that Flowersian prose when you're being kicked in the head every twenty seconds by a 14-year-old at his first big boy rock show or a 45-year-old still trying to re-create that one college football game that totally ruled like two decades ago. The only bright spot is that nearly every single one of them was dropped on their head.

If you're over six feet tall and/or 195 pounds, you should not be allowed to ride.

Tragically, all they found of him was his shoe.

Daaaaaad ... you're embarrassing us!

But what about the music, you ask? Oh, we have no idea. We were too busy taking pictures of this guy to enjoy the show.

He spilled beer on us and didn't apologize. Thanks a lot, asshole.

Previously: Blogsmacked: Skeletor, Non-Naked Flea Spotted At Virgin Festival

After the jump, we present our way of dealing with this ever-growing scourge. Some will call it cowardly, drive-by social scolding; we call it "Hey, Asshole!"

Here's how it works: The next time you're stranded next to some obnoxious show attendee, take a quick picture of him or her and send it—along with a description of their egregious antics—to asshole@idolator.com. We'll pick the best entries, and hopefully restore show-going etiquette to its late-'60s heyday—a time when people may have taken brown acid and killed each other, but at least knew to shut up during a slow jam.

And yes, it's understood that taking a picture of someone at a show might in itself be construed as assholish behavior, so try to do it in between sets. Only by working together can we stop the Bubble Boy guy before he strikes again.