Confessions of a 1980s Punk Rock Concert-Goer, By Holly Homan

Early 1980s Seattle had a pretty active music scene. There were clubs like Baby O’s, Eagles Auditorium, Seattle Hippodrome, The Showbox, The Hall of Fame, among others. The only place still in existence is The Showbox. I was barely over twenty- one, but my best friend and sidekick Katie was still 20. Back then, the clubs wouldn’t allow anyone under twenty-one in. These days the bars are separate so most shows are all ages. In order to sneak my friend into shows, we did two things. She and I looked enough alike that we could swap IDs. Katie would go in first with my purse while I waited outside just out of sight. Katie went in, showed my ID and if she was questioned, she’d show them the contents of my purse bearing items with my name on them. This was always convincing enough. Other times I would get my hand stamped and go back outside where Katie waited just out of sight. She’d spit on the top of her hand and I’d transfer the mark from the stamp onto her hand. At The Hall of Fame, they always stamped with a black horizontal stamp. We found that by rubbing a burnt cigarette over the same spot, it resembled the stamp closely enough that it fooled the Luciano Pavaratti look-alike manning the entrance. This worked for months until the manager of the band we chased around clued Pavaratti in to what we were doing and got us eighty-sixed from the club. We got even with him by anonymously sending him a small gift-wrapped box of cat turds.

Taking photographs of some of the major acts coming through town was something else I got away with then. I looked really innocent (and I was), so I never really got searched much. I also used to store the camera body and foot-long zoom lens in areas security couldn’t search. If I was with someone, I could hand off the body of the camera for her to smuggle while I smuggled the lens. Sometimes we strapped them to our legs, causing us to limp slightly as we approached the concert venue.

I have three favorite photography memories. The first one was at a Devo concert. It was probably 1982 or maybe 1983. It was winter so I was wearing a long, heavy coat under which I had smuggled my camera and zoom lens. As I settled into my seat, I began pulling out said camera and lens when suddenly some guy sitting next to me touched my arm and said, “I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me, ma’am.” I’m sure I turned white as a sheet as I stared at him, horrified. He started laughing and said it was a joke. I continued staring at him, horrified. He apologized several times. I moved to another area of the concert hall.

Memory number two was at Duran Duran. This was August of 1982 so a year before they broke big. I had never seen Duran Duran and didn’t know what they looked like, but all my friends said they were drop-dead gorgeous. When they hit the stage, my jaw hit the floor. My friends weren’t exaggerating. The stage was about five feet high and to get the best vantage point for photographing these luscious guys, I grabbed a flimsy metal folding chair to stand on. It held my weight just fine as long as I stood still. It was about half way through the show when some girl who probably weighed at least 300 pounds decided to invite herself onto MY chair, like there was room for both of us. She started dancing her heart out and within seconds, the chair was a smoldering wreckage on the dance floor. Security was now guarding all the chairs and they weren’t allowing anyone to use them. My vantage point was gone. I glared in said girl’s direction, but she was oblivious. All was not lost as I did get fantastic pictures.

The final incident was for David Bowie in 1983. The show was held at the Tacoma Dome about 40 or so miles south of where I lived in North Seattle. I didn’t drive back then so had to take two buses to an area half way between Seattle and Tacoma called Federal Way. There my mom met me and would take me straight to The Tacoma Dome. However, though I had my camera with me, I realized after I hopped on the first bus that I’d forgotten my zoom lens. There was no way I’d be able to shoot pictures with just a 50mm lens, especially in a venue the size of the Tacoma Dome. Then I thought of a cunning plan. My sister lived in Tacoma and she had a telephoto lens. It was only a 135mm compared to my zoom, which went up to 200, but it was better than nothing. Problem number two. It was a different mount than mine. My camera was an older screw mount while my sister’s used the more modern bayonet mount. It would have to do. I forced my mother to take me to her house to get said lens. She agreed, grumbling because it meant she had to drive about six or seven miles south, then turn around again to take me to the show, then turn around again and go home. Since the lens would not fit on my camera, I had to hold it in place with one hand while focusing with the other. I had to press quite hard to get the lens to stay in place and my eye socket was quite sore before the show was over. I was sure I’d have a black eye before the night was through, but I didn’t — just a very sore spot. But during the night, guys let me sit on their shoulders for a better vantage point and the pictures ended up being the best I’d ever taken. They actually looked like I’d been on the stage with the illustrious David Bowie.

During the last four decades that I’ve attended shows, the most colorful show has to be T-Rex whom I saw in August of 1973. It was the height of the glam era and the audience members were more interesting than the band. Here I was, an innocent 15-year-old and probably the only one dressed “normally” in jeans and a t-shirt. Some very tall guy was dressed as the Tin Man from Wizard of Oz, while another guy wore pink hot pants (short shorts for those of you too young to remember or know what hot pants were), hot pink nylons, platform shoes and a blonde bouffant wig. The marijuana smoke inside the theater was so thick it could have created its own weather pattern.

My most exciting concert was The Ramones show at the University of Washington. It was the end of 1984 and some crazy, ignorant frat boy thought you were supposed to spit on the band at punk shows, so that’s what he did over and over again. His “offering” kept landing on Dee Dee who understandably was getting very annoyed. Several times he told the imbecile to knock it off, but to no avail. Then he kept pointing him out to security who did nothing. Finally Dee Dee had enough, leaped off the stage, and started beating the crap out of the guy. It took four people to haul Dee Dee off and get him back stage. Later the band came out and did a couple more songs before calling it a night. There was no encore.

The next day I went to the Edgewater Hotel on Seattle’s waterfront. This was where almost all bands stayed when they came into town. I spotted Joey in the gift shop and entered with trepidation. Joey was at the check out counter. If I remember correctly he had a package of chewing gum on the counter and some loose change he was shaking around in his hand. It was as if he didn’t know what he was supposed to do next or he didn’t know what to do with the change in his hand. Finally manager Danny Fields popped in and asked the elderly woman behind the counter how much she needed. Danny came over, paid the lady, and Joey put the change back in his pocket and took the gum. At this point I handed Joey the poster from the show and asked him if he’d please sign it. He took the poster, scribbled his name, and gave it back to me without saying a word to me. I thanked him and left. Joey was a very odd fellow and his signature looked downright psychotic. I still have the poster nearly three decades later, framed and hanging in my living room.

I have seen a lot of fascinating characters and have experienced many an intriguing show in my 40 years attending rock concerts. Those are only some of the most memorable. As I enter my fifth decade of life, I’m still attending concerts regularly and hope to have more fun experiences. I doubt any of them will match the ones I’ve just retold here.

– Holly Homan