Deck The Hall Ball: Concert Event for a Costco Nation

Seattlest is fashionably late, making an important statement: Not everyone can get here right at 5 p.m. on a Tuesday night. So we missed a few things. Visqueen’s early evening set is over. Vampire Weekend has already closed its 20-minute long set. There don’t seem to be any Vampire Weekend shirts, and the general consensus is that "Yeah. They were okay." Phoenix is being lifted into the air by thousands of tender hands. The seats behind are filled, and the floor crowd is growing far away from the stage, toward its outer limits. Security works with gusto to keep the perimeter clear. The first unamplified words spoken are "You can’t stand there." The "there" in question doesn’t feel like anywhere in particular. All around dancers sway, calling to mind images of space-traveling flower children, except instead of flowers and smiles, they’re sporting 1,000 yard stares and checking their cell phones every couple of minutes.

This is a concert event for a Costco nation. The concrete floors are impeccably polished. The sentries at the doors would like to see your receipt. We prefer our music in bulk here. It doesn't matter if we’ll never use it up--at least we’ll never run out. And the best quality, biggest name brands are represented, which is fine because we can’t think of anything we’d rather have. The ghost town bathrooms are big and clean. Concession lines are long, but they move quickly.

As children we preferred to mix all the flavors of soda out of the fountain. It was called a Suicide. It tasted like the sounds coming from the distant stage, almost identifiable, thick and stomach-shaking and syrupy sweet. The thing about a Suicide is that when you do finally taste a specific flavor, it’s more than enough to satisfy. It’s all you can ask for really. Especially on a Tuesday night.

The drinkers shell out $8 for a draft beer, $7 for wine. An odd realization sets in over the crowd, the understanding that they paid $50 for that little taste of sweet flavoring when maybe they would have rather paid a few dollars for a bigger cup. A Scotsman offers the majority of his beer to the stranger standing next to him, and anyone who sees this occur thinks that no matter where you are, there are good people. It's a truly wonderful, neighborly, team spirit lifting display.

Metric rips through half of their newest LP, but everyone knows following Phoenix can’t be easy. Soon it’s time for the penultimate showcase, 30 Seconds To Mars. Jared Leto, movie star rockstar, puffed-up Jared Leto shouting "fuck" whenever he deems it necessary to remind this crazy crowd that they’re a crazy crowd. He owns the quote of the evening: "This has got to be the craziest crowd we have ever played in front of in our whole lives." And with that it becomes perfectly clear that this guy could have a future in acting. Maybe he could get something in commercials. He introduces the next song. It’s called "The Fantasy."

The evening's special is Muse. Muse is obviously the fan favorite, indicating that The End knows a thing or two about its listeners. The group’s front man, Matthew Bellamy, comes from a different time, or maybe it’s two different times: 1979 and 2010. With bombast and virtuosic lead licks no longer common in pop music and an eye always focused more on the near future than the present or past, Bellamy effortlessly chugs and noodles out futuristic yet simultaneously outdated electric roller coasters. The night ends with Muse performing its ridiculous "Knights of Cydonia," a galloping, chromed, fist-pumping, western ride toward god knows what. Probably a bitchin’ horizon.

Everyone is strikingly polite and serene on their way out. It was as if for a moment, just one moment, we had all gotten exactly what we wanted.