I didn’t have any audio issues until the second night, when I was 20 rows to Brent. So we moved back to where we were on night 1, 15 rows to Phil, and didn’t leave for two days.
The massive swirl of the sound in that black cage-lookin pavilion was one intense trip. Puddles, indeed. I wasn’t sure if it was me, it was so distinct and bizarre, I’ve never had any experience like that at a show, before or since. When I finally got my wits about me to say “fuck this, we’re bailing” (likely exact quote), it was like being set free. Hey Pocky Way was a riot that second night (always was a riot, though).
I grew up about 20 minutes away in just over the Indiana border, so we took Route 30 and back roads instead of I-80. We could see from the lot that people were bailing on their cars on the side of the freeway.
I think these were the first big concerts at the place, but I could be wrong about that and am too high to Google it right now.