"Remember When You Used to Be a Rascal?"

My parents were in town visiting for a couple days, and they were nice enough to put the kids to bed last night while my husband and I had the rare chance to attend an actual rock 'n' roll show in Manhattan.

I've been a huge Arctic Monkeys fan ever since I first saw them play live three-and-a-half years ago in Central Park. Alex Turner's intelligent and often surprising lyrics, the band's tendency to change tempo mid-song, and the complex riffs impressed me. The band has been in heavy rotation on my iPod ever since (especially my "Running Songs" playlist--it's impossible not to turn your jog into a sprint while listening to "Brianstorm").

So when I heard they were playing Rumsey Playfield in Central Park again, I had to get tickets.

My husband and I took the train in, then made our way uptown. We took a taxi because I was wearing brand-new wedge heels and wasn't sure how much walking I could do. (This was less about style than practicality: I always wear heels to general-seating shows because I'm too short to see anything in flats.) There was traffic, but luckily we were in no rush.

Once at Central Park, we meandered down the paths toward Rumsey Playfield. Then THE LINE came into view. More traffic--this time of the human variety. For some reason, even though the venue's doors had been open for over an hour and the warm-up band (The Vaccines) was almost done with their set, there was a massive, snaking line for ticket-holders. The line turned out to have no purpose whatsoever, but since the Arctic Monkeys weren't due on for at least a half-hour, I didn't care. I was just happy to be out in Manhattan.

Once inside the venue, we again queued up--this time for $8 beers--and then made our way toward the stage. The band emerged to the strains of "American Woman" by The Guess Who playing over the sound system. Kinda a huge cliche, but they're just young boys from Sheffield, England, so what do they know?

The only negative about going to concerts with my husband is this: Because he's tall and gets claustrophobic in crowds, he likes to stand toward the back, but because I'm short and enjoy getting caught up in the action, I like pushing my way to the front. So I always end up going it alone. We arranged a meeting place just in case, and I headed into the crowd.

I had only gone about 20 feet, though, when some weird barrier system prevented me from getting any closer. I settled in and checked out my surroundings. Clean cut twenty-something dude with madras shirt on my left, clean cut twenty-something dude with madras shirt on my right. And they didn't even know each other. (Since when is Hipster out and Prepster in?)

Arctic Monkeys, Central Park, 5-24-11

The moment the band started playing, out popped the iPhones. Argh, the iPhones! I completely understand taking a photo or two, or even shooting a 60-second video, but people were practically recording the whole concert! Why bother seeing them live if you're going to watch the entire show through a 3.5-inch screen?

The only other thing that bugged me was the smoking. I don't think I've even seen an actual, real-life cigarette in months, let alone breathed in the smoke from one, so when both of the clean cut dudes sparked up at once, I started reconsidering my choice of viewing spots. I hadn't minded so much when it was a doobie burning away, but the cigs were killing me. I tried not to be a fuddy-duddy, though, and persevered.

I had figured my husband and I would be the oldest people there, but was pleasantly surprised to see a few other folks in their late 30's to early 40's rocking out. The average age was still under 30, though, which made listening to hundreds of young people sing/scream the following lyrics from "I Bet You Look Good on the Dance Floor" a bit surreal:

Your name isn't Rio, but I don't care for sand. 
And lighting the fuse might result in a bang b-b-bang! Go!
I bet that you look good on the dance floor.
I don't know if you're looking for romance or, I don't know what you're lookin' for.
I said I bet that you look good on the dance floor!
Dancing to electro-pop like a robot from 1984. Well, from 1984!

Did the kids there even get the Rio reference? Did they even know what it meant to dance like a robot? Were they even alive in 1984?

We had a great time. The band sounded awesome, the crowd was totally into it, the weather was perfect, and my new shoes only hurt a little. I eventually rejoined my husband in the back (when the Madras Men simultaneously lit up smokes for the third time), and we enjoyed the encore of their hit (in England, anyway) "Fluorescent Adolescent" together. Considering we were an old married couple at a rock show, surrounded by a bunch of twenty-somethings, the lyrics were perfect:

You used to get it in your fishnets,
Now you only get it in your nightdress.
Discarded all the naughty nights for niceness,
Landed in a very common crisis.
Everything's in order in a black hole,
Nothing seems as pretty as the past, though.
That Bloody Mary's lacking in Tabasco.
Remember when you used to be a rascal?

I may not be a rascal anymore, and, yes, occasionally my life does feel like an orderly black hole, but that doesn't mean I've forgotten how to have fun. Nor would I give up the life I have now to be one of those twenty-somethings again.

Thank you, Arctic Monkeys, for reminding me of what I sometimes forget.