Disclaimer: This column includes strip-club references, a man on man kiss, defense of the Goo Goo Dolls, an argument in support of Our Lady Peace, and the intimation that Nickelback’s reputation is salvageable. Proceed with caution.
I encountered John Rzeznik for the first time as a mediocre 19-year-old. I was surrounded by strippers, a lesbian, and my visible and pungent virginity when Mr. Rzeznik arrived. Allow me to explain a bit: I had a crush on an older, Anne Hathaway type, who had a crush on girls, she took me to Déjà Vu, a strip club, and as I struggled with my virginity and the fear that my crush went lez because of my inadequacies and not her genetics, in walked on the Goo Goo Dolls, and their dashing lead singer, John Rzeznik.
If the ability to completely divert the attention of a group of perverts from nipples and tramp stamps is a variable in the musical-influence calculation, then the Goo is floundering uncomfortably close to the Led Zeppelin realm.
Upset that the forty-three cents in my pocket was of no interest to the strippers and that the erection protruding into my pocket was of no interest to lesbiAnne Hathaway, I walked up to the Goo, more specifically Mr. Rzeznik. I stared at him with the uninhabited gaze of Nancy Pelosi and the homoerotic tension of Barney Frank at a “Glee” viewing party. He isn’t a very tall man, he had a disproportionally large head, and the majority of his weight was comprised of scarves, chains, and hair product. The mediocrity of his band notwithstanding, he was cool as fuck. I wasn’t star-struck; I was gazing at him the same way a third-grader stares at the T-Rex skeleton. This guy is a rock star, crushes more whores that I will ever crush, and he’s paid! Damn it! Why the fuck did I pick up a book over a guitar?
I must have given off a Mark David Chapman vibe, because he leaned toward me and asked, “I’ll ignore the copy of Catcher in the Rye in your back pocket and give you a picture if that’ll make you happy.” I politely declined a pic and asked – like an idiot, I might add – “You’re the Goo Goo Dolls, right?” After he answered yes and shook my hand, I thanked him and walked back to my seat. I watched as he and his hideous band mates rounded up all the hot strippers and disappeared into the back room I couldn’t afford.
The head Goo was way too polite to me considering my gaunt frame and eerie stare. He could have been rude and dismissed me as ruthlessly as my lesbian crush eventually would. His demeanor had a direct correlation with my impression of his music – I liked him, which is why I liked his music, and I liked the way we met, which is why I relayed the story to my friend Justin.
Justin decided to share his close encounter with a rock-and-roller; he was at a small venue watching Our Lady Peace (OLP) when the crowd rushed the stage. According to Justin, he went up to the lead singer and gave him a kiss on the lips. Justin was a really nice Midwesterner who wouldn’t go gay for anyone, so his partial team switch was rather profound. He was so moved and captivated by OLP that he kissed a man!
OLP’s lead singer, Raine Maida, was unfazed with the kiss and continued shrieking into the microphone while the mayhem raged around him. Raine would not let security remove the idiot stage rushers and continued jamming because, according to Justin, “he’s just about the music, bro.” Justin maintains his overestimation of OLP’s talents and albums. Since Justin and I are friends, I’ve had to listen to OLP a great deal. I developed an affinity for the band’s music, because any band that moves my friend to the brink of homosexuality has to be pretty good.
You’re not supposed to meet your heroes, because they can only disappoint. But you should meet famous people you don’t give a crap about because they could alter your impression of them forever. Hence, my Goo Goo run-in and Justin’s man-kiss with Raine is the only reason I am going to accept my acquaintance Frank’s defense of Nickelback.
I often lie awake wishing that the Starbucks barista had not given the band their change, a nickel, back, so that we could have avoided their reign of terror. I’m amazed that I don’t know a single person who owns a Nickelback album or has gone (not as an employee) to one of their concerts, even though they were by far the most successful musical act of the 2000s. My friends and I refer to the slutty, empty, and ultimately worthless girls we meet as “Nickelback bitches.” Nickelback is not good … but apparently they are incredibly polite, deferential, and all in all good guys.
Frank is the head bouncer at the most popular bar in Detroit. I became acquainted with Franky when I randomly encountered him at a whiskey bar. I bought rounds of shots and all his drinks so he would like me. Now when I go to his bar, I am always VIP and always walk past the long-ass line. Frank is a simple guy; he looks like a guy who took steroids and only sorta worked out, he thinks that underage girls who flirt with him to get into the bar actually like him, and he works security for the majority of the big concerts in Detroit. He worked a Nickelback show and said they treated him and the staff better than ninety percent of the acts that come through the D. They bought everyone dinner (pizza and wings), shook hands with people, and even went so far as to high-five Frank a couple of times. Frank has some moronic tendencies, but he’s not a liar. He also said that they put on a hell of a show and that if I heard them live I wouldn’t be so anti-Nickelback. I’m starting to think that all of Nickelback’s fans became fans after chance encounters that opened their eyes to the bands niceties … because it can’t just be the music.
My opinion of Nickelback has changed a bit. I’m not a fan, but I don’t hate them anymore. I’m going to try to not marginalize the people who rock out to Nickelback or Kid Rock or any of the other whack-ass bands littering the scene. Who knows how many pizza dinners, strip-club encounters, or man-on-man mouth marriages have raised a band’s stock in a fan’s eyes?
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