The Limit of Fandom

I am a huge Duran Duran fan, which is pretty clear by the amount of time I spend on message boards, on social networking sites and on this blog.  I have spent quite a bit of money over the years on shows and on their products.  It is not uncommon to hear my stereo playing something Duran related or seeing a Duran show or dvd on my television.  When I’m with my Duranie friends or talking to them on the phone, they are always part of the conversation.  I memorized as many facts as I could as a fresh, new Duranie in the 1980s and I like to share that knowledge when I can, even now!  As I type, I have no doubt in my mind that I will buy the new album on the day it comes out and will plan to travel as soon as tour dates are announced.  I am a big fan, but, even I have my limits.

Four years ago today, Rhonda and I were among the thousands standing on a muddy field in New Orleans waiting for the headlining act to appear.  Initially, we thought we were so smart as these general admission tickets to the Voodoo Festival cost us around $25 a piece.  We arrived early in order to stake our spots in front and we managed to do just that by being about two or three rows back from the center walkway.  Before arriving at the festival site, we bought a blanket to sit on as we knew that it would be hours before Duran played.  Again, we thought we were so smart!  By two or three in the afternoon, there was no longer room to sit down and we were struggling to maintain our position as more and more people were pushing their way to the front.  Then, the crowd surfing and moshing began.  As most Duranies know, this is not EVER something that happens at a Duran show and we like it that way.  As a short female, I appreciate knowing that I am not risking injuries by attending a show.  We literally spent the next four or five hours watching and guarding against getting kicked in the head or face and against losing our spots.  This was not at all enjoyable.  We were no longer feeling so smart.

By the time Duran appeared on stage, we were more relieved than anything else.  After all, we had been standing in a tiny spot for literally hours with no room to move, no chance for food or drinks and no way to even think about going to find a bathroom.  I do remember that at the end of Duran’s set, Simon dared to ask the question, “Do you have time for one more song?”  Dear Rhonda screamed back at him, “Do I have time for one more song?  I have time for 50 more songs, now sing bitch!!”  as she, like me, felt like we had deserved to hear thousands of songs for all that we had suffered through. 

After that show, I discovered that I, too, have a limit as a fan.  I’m willing to do a lot in the name of being a Duranie.  I’m willing to put up with not-so-good albums *RCM* but I am no longer going to be attending any festivals featuring Duran Duran or anyone from the band unless I get a seat ON the stage.  I don’t like, literally, fighting for survival.  I can’t say that I’m a fan of standing on my feet for HOURS or not getting anything to eat or drink.  Bathrooms are a necessary part of life that was sacrificed that day.  So, never again will this Duranie attend a festival.  That is my limit.  What’s yours?


3 thoughts on “The Limit of Fandom”

  1. Well Amanda, I'd say my limit was Voodoo. After having the sweat from a very sweaty man's armpit smooshed (yes, smooshed!) across my face, and being scratched on the cheek by an unruly crowd surfer, and watching a young girl in front of me literally get kicked in the mouth and lose her two front teeth (and then pronounce it as the best day in her life when she was invited backstage to meet the members of My Chemical Romance), I would say that was my limit. Next time the band does a festival, I'm either going to be in VIP up on the damn stage, or I'll be drinking in the bar down the street. They can come see me when the show is over. 😀

    Ah, always good memories to relive each October on this day. 😉

  2. I was tickled reading both your comments as I was there that day too.

    But I must say the worst festival nightmare I've been to in my Duranie days is LoveBox in London. My purse actually got separated from me due to the crowd being so packed and pushing that the whole body of us was changing shape like a giant animal, we were being picked up and carried with our feet off the ground whether we wanted it that way or not. Literally my bag went one way and I went the other. I nearly had to kill someone to get it back, I was not letting that thing go!

    Not a fun day. At one point I nearly yelled to security (I'm short) because my lungs were being compressed so I couldn't breathe. But alas, when your lungs are compressed you can't yell! LOL. The girl beside me did go down for the count though, along with many others. It was a scary time.

    I remember the incident with the girl getting her teeth knocked at VooDoo! Along with another at the end of the gig who literally couldn't move her legs, security had to scoop her up.

    I DO like festivals for the fact that a poor person like me (being a starving student) actually has half a chance at being front row, with some dedication and persistence in terms of waiting all day. But I'm not sure my old body can take it anymore, after incidents like these it doesn't seem worth it.

We (Amanda and Rhonda) appreciate discussion and differences of opinion. We respectfully ask that you fully read the blog before bitching us out. If you're only here to take us down a notch, note that we moderate replies (meaning we're not printing rude comments). Thanks a bunch!

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