Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, March 19, 1995 TAG: 9503210011
SECTION: CURRENT PAGE: NRV-3 EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY
SOURCE: DONNA ALVIS_BANKS
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
``No, Mom,'' my son, Darin, corrected me. ``COOL MOM GOES TO COOL CONCERT.''
The Offspring, for those of you who aren't so cool, is the L.A. punk rock band that recently sold 4 million copies of an album appropriately titled ``Smash.''
I was one of the 4 million cool people who purchased this album.
It was at the top of my son's Christmas wish list, right under the Donkey Kong Country Super Nintendo game cartridge.
When my offspring - Dee, 13, and Darin, 12 - heard that the punkers were coming to town, they got all fired up.
``Can we go see Offspring? Can we? Can we?'' they nagged.
Being a mother who practices reverse psychology, I decided to invest in tickets to the Offspring concert at Radford University's Dedmon Center. I figured a trip to a punk rock concert with Mom would do the trick.
If I was lucky, my children would dunk punk like a soggy doughnut.
Wrong.
I forgot that these sons of mine practice the art of double reverse psychology.
When I produced three tickets to the concert, they were impressed.
``You mean you won't be embarrassed to go with your mother?'' I asked.
``No, Mom,'' they said. ``That's cool.''
My fate was sealed. I was going to attend my first ``alternative'' concert. I immediately started worrying about what to wear.
Should I dig out my thigh-high suede boots and my scarlet lined cape from the '70s when I was making the rock concert scene?
I don't think so.
How about my work clothes? The polyester Alfred Dunner slacks and conservative blazer?
Nah.
I finally found a reasonably cool ensemble in my closet - blue jeans and a cotton flannel baja the color of semidigested spinach. I pulled on my hiking shoes and modeled for Dee and Darin.
They just rolled their eyes.
``Mom,'' Darin said, ``you'll probably see lots of guys with their shirts off.''
``That's fine,'' I responded, ``... as long as they don't try to pick me up and pass me over their heads.''
The crowd at the Dedmon Center was mostly a mixture of college ``types'' - Greeks, geeks and freaks. I was relieved to see a few other haggard looking parents sitting beside pubescent punkers with bowl haircuts and skinny legs.
As soon as we entered the Dedmon Center, Darren Wood, one of Dee's friends from school, came running up to us.
``I'm scared to death,'' he said breathlessly. ``This is my first concert.''
I listened as the three boys critiqued the Offspring.
``Offspring's cool,'' Darren said. ``I hate "Killboy Powerhead,' though. That's a stupid song.''
``Yeah,'' my Darin agreed. ``That's one of their cussin' ones.''
Just as I was about to take up the profanity issue, the lights went out. There was a mad rush to the floor where a maniacal mob had gathered in front of the stage.
The boys and I kept our seats.
We watched in awe as the crowd surfing began. That's the punk-rock protocol of lifting live bodies above the audience and passing them in ``waves'' over the crowd.
The opening band let out an ear-splitting electronic sound and lunged into the first song.
I shouted to Darin on my left, ``CAN YOU UNDERSTAND THESE WORDS?''
``NOT AT ALL,'' he shouted back, smiling.
The opening band was followed by a second band that was even louder than the first. My companions started to get bored.
``When's Offspring coming?'' Darin asked, plugging his fingers in his ears.
``Look!'' the other Darren screeched, pointing to the center of the arena. ``They're throwing a pair of pants!''
By that time, most of the guys in front of the stage had indeed removed their shirts and were tossing them above their heads. Sweat was flying everywhere.
I pulled off my flannel covering, too. Underneath, I had on my favorite T-shirt. The one that says, ``Me? 40? I DEMAND A RECOUNT!''
The three boys and I jumped to our feet when Offspring began to play. I even understood most of the words to the songs - particularly the obscenities in the first song, ``Bad Habit.''
Dee shot me his best ``Well, I never!'' look and Darin yelled, ``Don't worry, Mom. They don't cuss in most of their songs.''
He was right. The next few songs were loud but not lewd and by the time the band got to its big hit, ``Come Out and Play (Keep 'M Separated),'' I was singing along. I even tried that springing thing I saw Noodles, the guitarist, doing on stage. I was bouncing up and down, bobbing my head ragdoll-style.
The lead singer, Dexter Holland, was a bundle of live energy, vaulting around with his long blond braids whooshing around his head.
``Do you like this music, Mom?'' Darin kept asking.
Actually, I liked it better than I thought I would.
When the concert ended, my ears were ringing and I was still humming the tune to ``Gotta Get Away.''
``Well?'' Dee, my quiet offspring, asked. It was one of the few words he had spoken all night.
I responded in a word, too:
``Cool.''
P.S. About the profanity issue. I made a deal with Dee and Darin: They can swear all they want when they graduate as valedictorians of their high school classes, get their master's degrees and start working on their Ph.D.s, like the Offspring's lead singer, Dexter Holland. Holland is working on his dissertation in molecular biology at the University of Southern California. Meanwhile, I'm thinking of pursuing a degree in reverse psychology.
Donna-Alvis Banks is an editorial assistant in the Roanoke Times & World-News' New River Valley bureau.
by CNB