To a Place Where All the Mutants Go

I remember the first time I learned of DEVO’s existence. It was 1981. After he got home from work, my father used to watch the Merv Griffin Show before supper. One day, his musical guest was a band called DEVO. I wish I could find it on the net somewhere.

They came on in their energy domes and played “Whip It”, plus one or both of “Beautiful World” and/or “Freedom of Choice”. I was seventeen and pretty full of rebellion; it struck a chord, if you will. I went out and bought a cassette of “Freedom of Choice”, then “New Traditionalists” when it came out. I became a DEVOtee.

That was twenty-seven years ago now. DEVO flamed out a year or two later, producing a couple fitful final LPs for Enigma at the end of the 80s. They never were quite dead, but they weren’t a band, either, never touring or producing new material. It was hard to be a DEVO fan in those days.

There were rumors of live shows every decade or so. Maybe Central Park, or more often on the west coast. I never got to one. And, frankly, I had little hope of ever seeing them play. I’d gotten used to the feeling. If you ever want an example of the Buddhist concept of impermanance, just try following your favorite rock bands for a decade or two, and watch as they each either explode or wither and die. Where are they now?

To cut the reminiscences short, DEVO played here in Boston about a month ago. It was—no exaggeration—their first visit to New England in more than twenty years.

When I first heard about the show, I was torn. That was in the middle of Inna’s upcoming visit, and I knew she wouldn’t be into it. But I checked with her, and that wound up being the same night one of her friends was in town, and a good time for them to have a girls’ night out at some shi shi fru fru Fronch (sic) restaurant.

So I got the green light and went to book tickets. No way. Ticketbastard wouldn’t sell tickets in groups of less than two. What?!? And what’s more, they were selling for a minimum of $80 each. There was no way I could justify $160 for a concert, even for DEVO.

Then, just after Inna’s heart-wrenching visit, since she’d left town early, the day of the show came, and I was morose. So I checked once more. Not only were they selling single tickets, but they were selling individual sixth-row tickets for $45 each. I scarfed one up and mustered the energy to do a little happy dance.

Took the MBTA’s “Silver Line” subway (really just another bus) for only the second time in my life (and the second time in three days) down to the South Boston dump where they put up the “Bank of America Pavilion”. Got inside with no problem. Got some pizza. Got a really cheap, thin tee shirt and a plastic energy dome (with instructions on how to purchase a hard hat insert so you could actually wear it) for fifty bucks. Ran into former SAPE co-worker Erik and his wife, which was amusing. Failed to run into a current co-worker’s husband Matt, which was sad. Sat through a thankfully short set by 80s no-name Tom Tom Club while two geriatric old ladies who had won their tickets from a radio station danced in the aisle next to me. God help the middle aged. Quickly!

Then watched DEVO. They rocked. Not sure what more can be said. It was a very special time, and a real treat that I never imagined I’d actually live to see. And then I rode the T home, wearing my energy dome, which was kinda special, too.

About the only disappointment was that now there’s no one I can share the moment with.