The Bands You Didn’t Come to See

“Would you take me in?
Are you lonely in the dark?”

- Billy Squier, “In the Dark”

So far, I’ve been to three concerts this year — Ghost, Bruce Springsteen, and Rush. These artists couldn’t be more different, but their shows shared one thing: none featured an opening act.

In all of these cases, the decision made sense. Ghost was setting an atmosphere from the time fans entered the arena, and it would have been unrealistic to have an unrelated band play first. The other two were working with decades‑long playlists and could easily fill an entire night.

To some, the absence of an opening act is a blessing, and I’ve sat through enough badly botched sets to understand why. A lack of experience becomes dangerous when glitches creep into a set. Sometimes the mismatch between opener and headliner is too great to overcome. In other cases, the anticipation for the main act is so great that sitting through the first set feels like an inconvenience rather than part of the experience.

But sometimes you find a gem at the beginning of the night. It could be an artist that provides the perfect setup for the main event. Some become tied directly to a moment in time. Others may not have even been on your radar before the night began, but you leave the venue as a newly converted fan.

These are some of my opening act memories:

Billy Squier

Opening for Queen
Madison Square Garden
July 1982

I had an after‑school routine: I would sit at the kitchen table with a glass of milk and a box of Oreos, reading my grandfather’s copy of the Daily News. I’d eat the cookies as I worked my way through the paper. The comics came first, then the centerfold, and, before getting to the day’s hard news, the warm‑up of the entertainment section.

I can still vividly remember reading the headline listing the concerts scheduled for the upcoming summer. As I scanned through it, the name of my favorite band jumped out. Queen was touring that summer, and I had to see them.

My mom bought the tickets for me as a present to celebrate my graduation from middle school. I had invited my best friend, whose father convinced my mother that we needed an adult chaperone. I’m not sure why, but he ended up being the one to take us.

Tickets in hand, I sat on the front porch with my sister waiting to be picked up. Anticipation turned to anxiousness as the planned time came and went. Finally, the car pulled up, and my friend’s dad walked over to say hello to my mom.

“Sorry I’m late, but it shouldn’t be too bad. There’s an opening act, so we won’t miss much. Billy something.”

Squire, I thought. It’s Billy Squire. How could he not know who this was? Don’t Say No is an amazing album.

When we finally got to Madison Square Garden, the show had already started. As we made our way up into the arena (is there any other venue where the “floor” is five stories up?), the muffled sounds grew louder. We showed the usher our tickets and stepped into the bowl.

The timing of our entrance was perfect: the pulsating synthesizer greeted us at the start of “In the Dark.” Bombarded by the sound waves, it was the first time I could feel music. There wasn’t a better way to be thrown into the concert experience.

Squier and his band played one or two more songs before getting off stage, but like the perfect appetizer, it left me even hungrier for the main meal. It was a long 45 minutes of anticipation as the roadies cleared the set and Queen prepared to take the stage.

Mudvayne

Opening for Ozzy Osbourne and Rob Zombie
Continental Airlines Arena
December 23, 2001

One of the perks of having my former wife work for a drum manufacturing company was that I was occasionally able to get free tickets to shows. While these were in short supply for concerts in Los Angeles, our trip back to New York coincided with the last stop of the Merry Mayhem tour featuring Ozzy Osbourne and Rob Zombie.

When we picked up the tickets, I didn’t expect much; I was grateful just to be attending. To my surprise, our tickets were handed to an usher, and we headed toward the floor entrance. The excitement grew as we walked closer, eventually ending up dead center in the middle row of the section closest to the stage.

While I was a veteran concertgoer by this point, this vantage point was almost entirely new to me. As the first band took the stage, it felt strange to be able to see the performers’ faces and to hear the roar of the crowd coming from behind me.

The first opener was Soil, a Nu‑Metal band I knew from their breakthrough hit, “Halo.” They performed exactly as I expected and delivered a solid start to the night.

Next up was Mudvayne, a band I had heard of but didn’t know much about. It was a complete surprise when they came on stage with their faces and bodies covered in layers of theatrical greasepaint. From our vantage point, we had a close-up view of multi‑colored, living nightmare caricatures.

Their music was just as unsettling. It was aggressively unrelenting, with energy closer to Metallica or Anthrax than the derivative Nu‑Metal I was expecting. It was also more complex than most bands in that genre, at times even suggesting a hint of Queensrÿche.

I had never seen people flee the area in front of the stage so quickly. Those who were there for the scene bolted for the lobby, leaving behind the fans who came for the music.

For me, the music was cathartic. This was my first trip to New York since the terrorist attacks on 9/11, and while the emotional scabs had started to form, my hometown was still in pain. More than any other band that night, Mudvayne’s music gave me a place to release those emotions. Especially the anger.

IAmDynamite

Opening for Blue October
Las Vegas House of Blues
September 9, 2011

If the courtship with my wife were a montage in a movie, the song playing underneath it would have been “18th Floor Balcony” by Blue October. As we prepared to say goodbye after our first date, she handed me a ripped copy of Foiled, the album it came from. She had mentioned the band during the evening and was surprised I had never heard of them, given that they were one of her favorites.

“And I knew it from the start
So my arms are open wide”
- Blue October, “18th Floor Balcony”

While I grew to appreciate the band, their next album, Any Man in America, is the one that really hit home for me. The soundtrack to Justin Furstenfeld's divorce and child‑custody battle resonated with me as I had fought my own.

With the kids in the care of my parents, my birthday on the horizon, and tickets in hand, we eagerly headed off for a weekend in Vegas to see Blue October in concert. Wanting the best viewing point, we took advantage of an offer that gave us first access to standing room on the floor if we ate at the restaurant. We ended up right in the middle, with only a few people separating us from the stage.

Having staked out a prime spot, we dared not move and resigned ourselves to standing through the opening acts. Ashleigh Stone was first, performing alone on her keyboard right in front of us. Next up was IAmDynamite.

Even before they took the stage, I was impressed that the drum set was up front, turned sideways so the drummer wouldn’t be hidden but completely exposed to the audience. Then, as they were announced, only two people walked out. This was going to be different.

As they began to play, it was clear the duo hadn’t sacrificed any sonic intensity by creating the smallest possible band lineup. Their energetic, instantly accessible songs were bolstered by tight harmonies between the two members. Less was indeed more.

Leaving the venue, we saw the drummer sitting by himself, and my wife encouraged me to introduce myself and tell him how much I’d enjoyed the performance. But my shyness interfered, and I let the opportunity pass.

When Supermegafantastic, their debut album produced by Blue October’s bassist, was released the following year, I immediately downloaded it. It lived up to the promise of their live show and still frequently turns up on my playlists.

We also made sure to see them play the Viper Room in Hollywood. After their set, I spotted them outside and didn’t pass up a second chance. My wife and I introduced ourselves and bought a couple of shirts from them. We talked for a while, and they were genuinely nice, turning the moment into a great memory.

Carl Petersen is a former Green Party candidate for the LAUSD School Board and a longtime advocate for public education and special needs families. Now based in Washington State, he writes about politics, culture, and their intersections at TheDifrntDrmr.