Institute Sucks Balls

As many of you know, I attended the U2 shows in Atlanta a couple of weeks ago. More will come on that (It kicked ass, btw) after I upload my pictures. But first, I'd like to take a moment to personally advocate the removal of the opening band, Institute, and actively encourage my readers to aid me in a grass roots letter writing campaign to have Gavin Rossdale neutered and sold to gypsies.

Now, I know the real question on everybody's mind is, "Why did you sit through their so-called performance? Why not do what every other self-respecting music fan would have done and gotten drunk off your ass and screamed insults and obscenities from your seat?" It's a valid question, granted, and there were a few factors. First, I was some two-hours away from home and had to drive back that night, so drinking myself silly was not a great idea. Secondly (and probably more importantly), I don't think I could have gotten a flask of anything past security and the drink prices were damned near astronomical. I think even Budweiser was in the neighborhood of $8 or the promise of a major organ. Most importantly, however, I had paid a lot of money for the tickets, not to mention the fact that I hadn't seen them in four years- There was no way I was missing any of U2's set by spending most of the night in the line to the women's restroom.

Just to preface the tirade that is about to ensue; in Institute's defense, they really did try. I'll give 'em a big solid "E" for effort, but that doesn't begin to make up for the 2 hours of my life they wasted.

Due to the ineptitude of the Philips Arena staff, it took nearly an hour to get past security and into the venue on the first night which made me miss about half of Institute's set. In retrospect, I realize now that perhaps they were actually doing me a favor and I should have slipped them a couple of bucks in gratitude. I got down there much earlier on Saturday and decided since I had nothing better to do I might as well listen. I really kept an open mind while I listened. (Insert Laughter) That's a complete lie and I won't even pretend that I gave them half a chance. Come on, they've been relegated to opening- band status; even they know they suck.

Mr. Stefani's band played about an hour each night, which was roughly 59 1/2 minutes longer than anyone should be forced to tolerate listening to them. If you remember Bush's music at all, you have a pretty good idea of what Institute sounds like. Institute's even worse, though, because they are trying like hell (unsuccessfully, I might add) to branch into a heavier sound. This alleged heavier sound basically consists of turning up the volume on Gavin's guitar so we can hear both of the chords he's been learning and adding some moron from the band, Helmet, whose name I'm too lazy to bother Googling. And really, the only moderately redeeming quality of Bush was the fact that although they also sucked balls, at least they could write a fairly catchy chorus. It wasn't particularly good, but you might find it stuck in your head if you didn't change the radio station fast enough. Rossdale is, undoubtedly, taking his writing cues from Eddie Vedder and has decided that good songwriting entails that you never once write a discernible chorus or anything resembling a melody. Their music manages to simultaneously be loud and boring at the same time, a feat normally only reserved for the likes of Nickelback or Linkin Park. If I ever run out of Sominex at night, I'm switching to a stiff dose of Institute to lull me into slumber.

Although, their music is comically pathetic, their real downfall comes as a direct result of their British pansy of a lead singer's stage antics. As he vigorously strummed his made-to-look vintage guitar, his faced wracked with angst and mock-fury, he would run his hand through his long, flowing locks, which invariably sent the fourteen-year-olds females into a fit of teenage hysteria. It's kind of sad when a 38-year-old man's entire fan base is composed of the overflow from his wife's middle school devotees. And probably only the 7th-graders like Institute; by the time you get to 8th-grade you've figured out how lame they really are and have moved on to, like, way better people, like, you know, Kelly Clarkston.

After showcasing his lack of guitar prowess he switched to a hand-held microphone and proceeded, much to my horror, to quite literally, skip around the entire ellipse that encompassed the stage. Unless you're the age of four or in a production of Guys and Dolls, I am of the opinion that males should never skip under any circumstances. He's even failed to master the art of the macho rock n' roll fist-pumping gesture and I didn't see any devil's horns thrown even once. His hand gestures are more akin to flailing his arms in the air and looking like he was trying to sprinkle the audience with magic pixie dust or glitter he stole from little Gwenie's Hello Kitty makeup bag. Perhaps, one of the more disturbing parts of the performance came at the end when in some sort of creative fury he climbed atop one of the speakers and began to voraciously hump it, I'm sure causing Michael Stipe to faint outright in his box seat. The real show-stopper, however, came during the last song when Gavin resumed his Townshend impersonation and lifted his guitar high above his head and acted as if he was going to smash it. I admit, the possibility of destruction makes me a tad giddy, so when the little wimp didn't even have the chutzpah to actually do it, I was inconsolable in my seat.

Dear readers, I implore you to get out your pen and paper and join me in the fight to end this music travesty.

PS- Please don't buy that damned Gwen album, either. It sucks balls, too.