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Gonzo Report: Joan Jett & Billy Idol close out the summer in Chula Vista
Always meet your heroes
I have two tickets to the Billy Idol show that’s going down at North Island Credit Union amphitheater in Chula Vista. Joan Jett is opening. When I was offered the tickets via e-mail a few weeks ago, I was sitting on my friend Matt’s couch, next to his vast vault of vinyl records. His collection grows every week. I asked if he wants to go to the “Nice Day to Tour Again” show with me. Without hesitation. he claimed the other ticket. But he was more in it for Joan Jett. Despite going to rock shows for the past 40 years, he’s never seen the queen of the Blackhearts, and here was an opportunity to make that happen. We were locked in. Quick fist-bump.
The day of the show, as I’m driving back to Matt’s to scoop him up, Billy Idol is streaming through my car speakers. The stereo’s Bluetooth has been stroking out lately, and it sounds like I’m listening to a scratched CD on a bumpy road. Car karaoke sessions have been frustrating. In the midnight hour, she cried, “More more mo..crackle crickle crack...re.” With a rebel fist, I want to smash smash smash my dashboard, but I hold back and finish the song’s line myself.
We get to the show and park in the Sesame Street parking lot. The water park is now a creepy ghost town of big, dry, lonely slides. No Big Bird or Elmo, just a stampede of people in massive lines to get into the amphitheater next door. The show has already started. It’s about 7:30 and we hear the guitars and drums start to scream and bang. “I’ve never seen lines like this here before,” Matt says. “They’ve got some Disneyland shit going on.” It’s true. The lines to get in feel like we're at an amusement park. Heads everywhere.
A woman wearing a white wedding dress walks by, gushing at all the attention it’s drawing. People are showing up for the last bangs of the summer, even on a Tuesday night in Chula Vista. The occasion feels like a celebration.
Once inside, Matt wants to find the Jett merch, but first we look to find our seats. I look at the tickets. The seats are in the lower orchestra section. Matt’s satisfied. Joan’s rocking her hits. I walk up to the front barricade to try to get some pictures. I take a few snaps before security brushes me away. I get what I want. “I’ll be back,” I murmur as I head over to my assigned seat. Matt’s there sipping red, red wine with a new Joan Jett T-shirt hanging over his shoulder. Meanwhile, 69-year-old Billy Idol is waiting in the shadows, preparing to invade with a loud, obnoxious slice of his British brand of punk rock. Nice. I’m here for it.
Idol’s been riding on a revitalizing 2025 current. He’s proving he still has octane to burn by touring on his new album Dream Into It. He opens his set with a new single, “Still Dancing.” The song recipe remains the same: a raw ‘80s kind of punk with some poppy hooks and anthemic noises. A pleasing combination for any Idol fanatic.
Speaking of Billy Idol fanatics, I notice a young cat in the crowd behind us. He’s probably about 50 years younger than Idol, but looks just like him: spiked bleach blonde hair, leather jacket draped over his shoulder, and fist raised while giving the iconic curled lip. He poses for photos for other concert goers, me included. But I don’t catch his name or speak to him, because suddenly, he’s being escorted by security for some reason. The guy didn’t seem to be in any trouble. I guess they're taking him back to meet his idol Idol. That’s what I hope, at least. They say not to meet your heroes for fear of being disappointed, but I say fuck that. Meet ‘em anyway.
After the show, Matt and I are back at Sesame Street, kicking cans in the parking lot. Matt’s saying something about Billy Idol looking like Corey Feldman on stage. A bored cop on a motorcycle keeps riding by every few minutes. He wants us to go. I can tell. But it would be foolish to contend with the jam to get out of the joint. We wait it out by the car until the midnight hour. Count von Count, where you at?
Here's something you might be interested in.
Gonzo Report: Joan Jett & Billy Idol close out the summer in Chula Vista
Always meet your heroes
Gonzo Report: Joan Jett & Billy Idol close out the summer in Chula Vista
Always meet your heroes
I have two tickets to the Billy Idol show that’s going down at North Island Credit Union amphitheater in Chula Vista. Joan Jett is opening. When I was offered the tickets via e-mail a few weeks ago, I was sitting on my friend Matt’s couch, next to his vast vault of vinyl records. His collection grows every week. I asked if he wants to go to the “Nice Day to Tour Again” show with me. Without hesitation. he claimed the other ticket. But he was more in it for Joan Jett. Despite going to rock shows for the past 40 years, he’s never seen the queen of the Blackhearts, and here was an opportunity to make that happen. We were locked in. Quick fist-bump.
The day of the show, as I’m driving back to Matt’s to scoop him up, Billy Idol is streaming through my car speakers. The stereo’s Bluetooth has been stroking out lately, and it sounds like I’m listening to a scratched CD on a bumpy road. Car karaoke sessions have been frustrating. In the midnight hour, she cried, “More more mo..crackle crickle crack...re.” With a rebel fist, I want to smash smash smash my dashboard, but I hold back and finish the song’s line myself.
We get to the show and park in the Sesame Street parking lot. The water park is now a creepy ghost town of big, dry, lonely slides. No Big Bird or Elmo, just a stampede of people in massive lines to get into the amphitheater next door. The show has already started. It’s about 7:30 and we hear the guitars and drums start to scream and bang. “I’ve never seen lines like this here before,” Matt says. “They’ve got some Disneyland shit going on.” It’s true. The lines to get in feel like we're at an amusement park. Heads everywhere.
A woman wearing a white wedding dress walks by, gushing at all the attention it’s drawing. People are showing up for the last bangs of the summer, even on a Tuesday night in Chula Vista. The occasion feels like a celebration.
Once inside, Matt wants to find the Jett merch, but first we look to find our seats. I look at the tickets. The seats are in the lower orchestra section. Matt’s satisfied. Joan’s rocking her hits. I walk up to the front barricade to try to get some pictures. I take a few snaps before security brushes me away. I get what I want. “I’ll be back,” I murmur as I head over to my assigned seat. Matt’s there sipping red, red wine with a new Joan Jett T-shirt hanging over his shoulder. Meanwhile, 69-year-old Billy Idol is waiting in the shadows, preparing to invade with a loud, obnoxious slice of his British brand of punk rock. Nice. I’m here for it.
Idol’s been riding on a revitalizing 2025 current. He’s proving he still has octane to burn by touring on his new album Dream Into It. He opens his set with a new single, “Still Dancing.” The song recipe remains the same: a raw ‘80s kind of punk with some poppy hooks and anthemic noises. A pleasing combination for any Idol fanatic.
Speaking of Billy Idol fanatics, I notice a young cat in the crowd behind us. He’s probably about 50 years younger than Idol, but looks just like him: spiked bleach blonde hair, leather jacket draped over his shoulder, and fist raised while giving the iconic curled lip. He poses for photos for other concert goers, me included. But I don’t catch his name or speak to him, because suddenly, he’s being escorted by security for some reason. The guy didn’t seem to be in any trouble. I guess they're taking him back to meet his idol Idol. That’s what I hope, at least. They say not to meet your heroes for fear of being disappointed, but I say fuck that. Meet ‘em anyway.
After the show, Matt and I are back at Sesame Street, kicking cans in the parking lot. Matt’s saying something about Billy Idol looking like Corey Feldman on stage. A bored cop on a motorcycle keeps riding by every few minutes. He wants us to go. I can tell. But it would be foolish to contend with the jam to get out of the joint. We wait it out by the car until the midnight hour. Count von Count, where you at?
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