We Were Never Like That

A couple of twentysomethings muse
about today's teen-agers at the Dave Matthews Band concert.

LYNNE MEREDITH COHN STAFF WRITER

AND

JULIE WEINGARDEN SPECIAL TO THE JEWISH NEWS

t the Dave Matthews Band
concert at Pine Knob in late
June, we noticed that we
ave gotten old — way be-
fore we expected to. Simply, we
couldn't stomach the glee of the
kids on the lawn, even though
they brought back not-so-fond
memories of the phases and
trends we adopted, adored and
quickly dropped.
Every teen-ager falls into
strange trends and habits, only to
block them from memory when
they reach the twentysomething
years. We may say we were nev-
er like that, but the truth is, we
certainly were. Just ask our par-
ents.

LC: I've been to outdoor concerts
and listened from the lawn before.
Indigo Girls. Jimmy Buffett. I had
expected the Dave Matthews Band
to lull me into an oblivious state,
with Dave's magnificent vocals and
the expert strumming of Boyd Tins-
ley on acoustic and electric violin.
But that night, except for the
large stage-side screens, I wasn't
even sure there was anyone on
stage.
You're probably wondering how
anyone at Pine Knob could miss the
actual act. Well, tell you. The
high-pitched, elated bundles of teen-
agers (who always travel in dusters)
couldn't get over their excitement of
being together, being out of their
parents' reach for a few hours or be-
ing allowed to drive off the driveway
and onto the highway in Dad's
Beemer.
At the Dave Matthews show, all
the groups around us expressed con-
stant glee at being together. rm talk-
ing about hugs, squeals, loud
conversation and a lot of
"Ohrnigods!" Constantly. Drowning
out the mellifluous music seeping
through the speakers. Eventually,
I dragged Julie to the top of the hill.
"I don't care if I can see the band,"
I explained. "I just want to hear it."

JW: It all started with the sorori-
ty six-pack in front of us. Two prep-
pies with no hips, one plaid-shorts
groupie with a cool dye job, a nose
ring gal and a so-smashed-couldn't-
remember-how-to-stand chick.
Very annoying. They kicked off the
concert with their own opener: a
sorority rah-rah. An actual chant

right on the lawn at Pine Knob. Did
I mention that they were annoy-
ing?

LC: So we're standing on my now
very dirty University of Michigan
blanket, holding lukewarm beer in
20-oz. paper cups, and this clearly
under-21 teen-ager approaches
Julie. Not me.
"Um, when you guys go to buy
another beer, will you buy me one?"
she asked, chomping on gum.
With a deadpan, amused stare,
Julie replied without hesitating.
"No."
"Ohmigod!" exclaimed the now
red-faced teen-ager, as if we had of-
fended her.
Julie turned to me, and the girl
followed her glance. Either she
hadn't noticed me standing there,
or she didn't think I was old enough
to purchase alcohol legally.
"Would you?" asked Julie.
"Ohmigod, no!" I replied, mim-
icking the way teen-agers always
slur that word together into what
sounds like little more than an ex-
asperated sigh (we never did that).
We burst into laughter.
"OKfine," the girl said, again, all
one word, and slinked away.
Surrounded by thousands of
teen-agers on the lawn at Pine
Knob, you'd figure that I'd pass for
at least college-age, if not older. I'd
better wear a little makeup to the
next concert. Or high heels.

JW: I was feeling old. Really old.
Probably was one of five people on
the lawn who had a driver's license.
It was at this point that I realized
pavilion is for professionals; lawn is
for losers.
At age 15, I wouldn't have had
the guts to ask a twentysomething
to buy me alcohol. I don't think I
even tried alcohol at that age, oth-
er than a swig of Manischewitz at
Rosh Hashanah.
The first difference between then
and now: Getting permission just to
go to the concert. I wasn't allowed
to see Rick Springfield. I was
crushed. I wanted to be "Jesse's
Girl."

LC: When I was 14, my parents let
me go to the Jack Wagner concert
at the Royal Oak Music Theatre. Af-
ter that, a friend's parents, who
wouldn't allow her to go, also

banned me from hanging out with
her. They said I was too wild.

JW: Second difference: getting
there. If' got the OK to go to the am-
cert, I probably would need the ol'
mom or pop escort. Packing into my
girlfriend's little red Firebird would
never fly with the 'rents.
Third difference: I would never
be wasted. No after-bash for me.
Straight home. Probably would have
been in bed by midnight. Ever hear
of that thing called curfew? (Which
we hated with a passion when we
had one.)

LC: My brother, Randy, 21, says the
same kind of crowd flocked on the
lawn at the Barenaked Ladies con-
cert, days before Dave. We just
didn't notice because, as he says, we
had great seats.
"When I was in line for beer,
there were plenty of `Ohmigods' and
Tm so wasteds,"' he attests.
"I firmly believe that if you are
drunk, you don't need to tell every-
one. And if you're going to say Tm
so wasted,' you're probably not any-
where near the legal drinking age
because you're trying to show off
that you are drinking," Randy says.

JW: There was a girl who puked on
her blanket, then slept through the
entire concert while her friends
danced next to her as if nothing was
wrong. Guess having a friend lying
there delirious and drained of every
potential vitamin and mineral she
had consumed in the previous 48
hours was no cause for alarm. After
all, it was Dave Matthews, and like,
the tickets were like, so, you know,
uh, hard to get.

LC: This is not meant to sound like
a rip session or holier-than-thou
now-we've-seen-the-twentysome-
thing-light diatribe. But I know I
never squealed and hugged and
jumped up and down just over be-
ing with the same friends I saw all
day, all week and all year long. (Nev-
er mind the several hours-long
phone calls after a full day of pass-
ing notes and walking the halls to-
gether at school.)
I know I never went to Pine Knob
as a teen-ager — at 14 and 15, I
wasn't even allowed to ride in teen-
agers' cars, and once I turned 16,
getting the car for any distance be-

Legal to
drink, but
not for
lawn.

yond metro Detroit was a tough bar-
gain to strike with Mom and Dad.

JW: I wasn't allowed to drive on the
expressway when I was in high
school. (And the parental units won-
der why I have no sense of direction.
I think they are partly to blame for
my unplanned venture to Toledo
when my destination was Detroit
Metro Airport to pick up my college
boyfriend. This is where overpro-
tectiveness got me.)

LC: And I know I never dressed like
any of my other friends or in any
weird trends. Even when we
adorned entire shirts with beaded
safety "friendship" pins. And even
when we wore neon for an entire
month straight. Oh yeah, and the
dyed Guess? jeans craze.

JW: Granted, we may have looked
absurd in our big hair high school
'80s heyday, sporting jeans with
pumps and enough purple and blue
eye shadow to stop the marching
band, but we weren't half-naked.
We didn't tattoo our ankles in order
to be so different that we actually
looked like everyone else. And we
didn't pierce anything that houses
shnoz or saliva.

LC: You wore pumps with jeans?
Good thing I was a freshman when
you were a senior.

JW: The an-ay of tight tank and hal-
ter tops was dumbfounding. Espe-
cially coming from a childhood
where Levis with holes were for-
bidden, and miniskirts were banned
the way Tipper Gore has a hold on
rap lyrics.

LC: And what's with the bra straps
hanging outside the tank top
strings? So you can see the bra?

JW: The lawn guys had scraggly

hair, earrings in both ears and
Birkenstocks. I remember guys in
high school with spiked punk hair
and thin leather ties with baggy
black jeans. Their parents probably
thought they were weird for using
styling gel on their hair.

LC: Nowadays, what is cool is what

used to be cool. By this I mean the
Woodstock-wannabe young Dead-
heads out there, so easy to spot:
batik shirts in purple and green.
Long, frizzy hair. Comfy sandals, of
course. And worn jeans, perhaps a
pocket ripped halfway off the butt,
with dirt rubbed into the vein of the
fabric.
I've begun to think that trends
are like writing: As there are no new
stories, just new ways to tell old sto-
ries, there are no new trends —just
reborn trends that cost more in their
new incarnation.
At the top of the hill that night,
a woman with strawberry-blond
frizzy hair danced in place to every
single note. I mean, she did not lift
her feet from a particular oval piece
of grass, except for balance when
lifting the other foot. Behind her, a
T-shirted male friend spun dancey
circles. A lot of them. I was dizzy.

JW: But enough dissing. Maybe the
control my parents had over my
teen-age years helped me avoid
some sour teen phases. I didn't take
up smoking or drugs. I was a good
student. I didn't cheat or steal. Their
concern may have kept me overly
clothed, but it also helped instill
strong morals and values.

ti

rn

CO

I-
CJ)

LC: I guess that's what they mean

when parents say, "You'll thank me
someday." I just didn't realize it
would be so soon.

❑

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