More than a note, less than a love letter

To the powers that be at MusicToday and the Corporate Mad Libs Pavilion:

Great concert Friday night, ladies and gentlemen.

Against a dazzling harbor sunset, a sold-out crowd assembled for the musical wizardry of Ben Lee, Ben Folds and Rufus Wainwright. I was among the masses, having rearranged my schedule, battled a cold and otherwise prepared to take in the sound of three of my favorite performers with two good friends.

Ben Lee kicked things off right, following up on his promise to provide "the best music you could ever file in to." The set was peppered with selections from "Awake Is the New Sleep," "Hey You. Yes You" and even older albums. There was even a Jonathan Richman mention prior to Ben jumping off the stage into the audience for "We're All In This Together."

(Jonathan Richman. Yes. Have you heard of him? No? Well, check him out. Venerable musician of whom Boston should be proud. Doesn't tend to play the Pavilion, however. Hmm. Perhaps you should work on that.)

Ben Folds sauntered onto the stage to a full-blown dorkfest musical vamp, using two bandmates to kick things up a notch. New songs and much-loved classics were presented to the adoring, standing and dancing crowd, and he attacked the piano with his customary blur of fingers and aggressive style, more crouching above the piano seat than ever really sitting on it. He took a pause to break things down a little with a little ditty he'd collaborated with Dre and Snoop Dogg on - only without Dre's knowledge. He brought enthusiastic, somewhat disbelieving screams from the audience as he kicked into "Bitches Ain't Shit," creating glorious melodic melancholy to lines such as "It's a real conversation for your ass." We helped out, too, singing "Bitches can't hang with the streets," when prompted. Over and over, as Ben looked out to us with a mock-melancholic gaze, singing softly, "All the children sing." "Bitches can't hang with the streets..." And he, of course, brought us to our school-choir bests with "Not the Same," finishing the song standing on his piano, leading us in a singalong that included two counterharmonies and a round. He's been making things trickier for his adoring audiences, and we were ready to rise to the challenge as he tapped his knee against the piano for a percussion beat and led both sides of the audience.

Rufus Wainwright had a tough act to follow up, but he strolled onto stage with his usual arrogant gusto and brought a dreamy smile to my face the moment his 40s-remiciscent voice soared through the Pavilion. With a band this time, he was able to bring a live sparkle to his complex album songs and was much more extroverted than his previous Pavilion appearance. Tossing his hair about like the diva he is, Rufus did not provide as all-out insane a followup to Folds as many would perhaps think necessary (and even I agree that Folds should have closed the show), but for those in the audience who love his music, it was heavenly.

How could it not be? He played "Hometown Waltz," "The Art Teacher," "Little Sister," "Vibrate," and "Hallelujah" PRECEDED BY "MEMPHIS SKYLINE."

But here, dear ladies and gentlemen, is the problem. My ticket was purchased within five minutes of the opening of the presale for this show. When the ticket order was processed, the seat numbers included 19, 20 and 42. Same row, same section, screwy numbers. We immediately called the Pavilion and spoke with a representative who assured me that it was the way the seats were ordered and that my friends and I would all be sitting together to enjoy the show.

ASSURED ME.

So why is it that, upon entering the Pavilion last night, my friends had to go sit on one side of the soundboards and I had to sit - by myself - on the other? Why is is that when I complained (politely) to the Pavilion ticket staff, I was told to complain to Ticketmaster? Why is it that when I called MusicToday to (not as politely) complain, I was told to talk to the Pavilion?

After a passionate call worthy of an Oscar (I wasn't furious, but they certainly thought I was), I was told that some form of compensation would be possible.

You think? Because I didn't travel from Vermont for a show - therefore missing another show I would have happily attended - to sit through Ben Lee by myself.

(I convinced the couple next to me to switch with my friends during the first set change, but frankly, I shouldn't have had to go through all of that.)

Great show, yes. But both groups of you, dear Ticket People and Pavilion People, aren't off the hook.

Most cordially,
V