Look, Hawke’s Bay’s Mission Concert is a giant embarrassment – I’ve been a bunch of times (usually as occupational-hazard); been puked on, nearly been in fights – more times than at any other venue, in any other city – and it’s always the most ungrateful audience. They turn up with their golf-carts full of piss demanding only the songs they want – doesn’t seem to matter that the main attraction never ever recorded that particular song.
“I paid my goddamn money, I’ve ironed my best white trousers. Now the least you could do is sing my favourite fucking song!”
Some fan of the Mission’s annual piss-up/gig once remarked, “I go ever year. They could put a guy up there on a fucking lawnmower and I’d still go”. So, as you can see, it’s a tastemaker-event.
Well, the time I most enjoyed this ghastly event was seeing The Beach Boys. Sure, it wasn’t really The Beach Boys – it was what was left. But there’s not a lot you can do about that. The Beach Boys have been The Mike Love Show for longer than they were The Beach Boys. But it’s still a show that you can enjoy – all those hits. Helps too if you’re nicely stoned, gently drifting…
I only went because a mate offered tickets at the last minute – we drove up in his van. His folks were away, they had purchased tickets – then realised they wouldn’t be there for Hawke’s Bay’s big bun fight.
So we stepped in. And got nicely toasted and enjoyed all those songs we fucking love.
It had a dream-like quality to it, golden hues. Baked and lovely.
Stubs is an occasional feature here at Off The Tracks – looking back through the ticket-stub box and remembering how the show went down.