Call it schadenfreude if you must, but this story made me smile:

Creed Fans Realize Band Sucks, Sue

Disappointed Creed fans sued the pop band Monday, saying singer Scott Stapp "was so intoxicated and/or medicated" at the band's concert Dec. 29 at Allstate Arena in Rosemont "that he was unable to sing the lyrics of a single Creed song."

"Stapp left the stage on several occasions during songs for long periods of time, rolled around on the floor of the stage in apparent pain or distress and appeared to pass out on stage during the performance," according to the suit filed in Cook County Circuit Court.

Each of the four named plaintiffs in the suit seeks a refund of the $56.75 cost of each ticket, as well as parking expenses. The plaintiffs also are asking a judge to certify the suit as a class action, so other fans who were at the Rosemont show could also get refunds. If the whole class of concertgoers is certified, the total could be $2 million.

Okay, I made the headline up, but the rest of the story is true.

Later on in the story, the paper quotes a statement that the band offered after the concert: "We apologize if you don't feel that the show was up to the very high standards set by our previous shows in Chicago." This is basically a variation on your classic non-apology apology, isn't it? "I'm sorry if what I said offended you." Well, fuck you very much.

While I think substance addiction isn't funny... okay, rarely funny... all right, all right, not nearly as funny as a monkey drinking his own urine, I just hate Creed so much that I have to take some pleasure in this. And before you say it, no, it has nothing to do with their religious affiliation, though their hypocrisy is somewhat galling sometimes (this very article, for instance, points out that "fans might have been surprised by Stapp's alleged drunkenness. The group sings songs with Christian subtext, and Stapp preaches against the evils of alcohol."), but everything to do with their near-omnipresence on the radio (which is somewhat less irritating since I don't listen to the radio anymore -- and they are one prime reason I gave it up), their grating musical mediocrity, and especially singer Stapp's obnoxious mealy-mouthed singing style. Every time I hear him sing, I want to slap him. Hard. With a hammer.

The mention of Rosemont brought back some memories for me, though. It was there, at the Rosemont Horizon, that I saw Roger Waters perform, and met him briefly afterwards. I also got to meet several members of his band, and the production designer, of all people. Mostly I remember meeting Jon Carin, who is the only person to have played tours with both post-1987 Pink Floyd and Roger Waters. (I think Roger's comment was, "Well, he already knows most of the material...") Carin is really something of a musical wunderkind: On the Floyd tour he "only" played keyboards and sang harmony, but in Roger's show, he played acoustic and pedal steel guitars, keyboards and sang lead several times. His slide solo in the second half of Shine On You Crazy Diamond was the highlight of the show for me. I was somewhat dumbstruck getting the chance to meet him, and the only intelligent thing I remember asking him was what David Gilmour thought of him touring with Roger. ("He said 'go for it. It'll be a good opportunity.'") Other than that, I just followed my usual trained monkey method: smile a lot, nod and laugh when appropriate. I was just so bowled over to be meeting the guy that I couldn't think of anything intelligent to say.

My meeting with Roger was even less auspicious. He, like Jon and the other band members, came out to see a truck that the owner had meticulously painted with artwork from The Wall. Roger admired the truck, and then signed the hood. The owner said he was going to mount the hood on a wall in the garage (ehm, okaaay...) and get a new hood for the truck. Which he would then have to meticulously decorate, I guess. Whatever. The point was, I got to meet Roger briefly while he signed my tour book. In line with the other post-show people who had stuck around after the show in the hope of meeting him, I tried to come up with something to say to Roger that wouldn't come off as fawning or cloying. I probably should have stuck with "thanks" or something simple, but instead I tried to forge a connection, dropping the name of a mutual (believe it or not) friend, who had produced some radio shows for Roger recently. I'm not sure what I expected to come of this. Perhaps I thought Roger would brighten up at the mention of his colleage and invite me in to the after-show party? We would become instant friends and I would be asked to join the tour as the official mascot? I don't know. I was young and star-struck. What does one say to a man that has sold more albums than damn near anyone else still living? "Floyd roolz, dood?" Hardly.

I saw one more concert at the same arena, but it was hardly as memorable. (What could be?) It was the first of two shows I'd see by Sarah McLachlan on her Surfacing Tour, and I was in the midst of an extended breakup with a college girlfriend who was a fan as well when I bought the tickets. Rather cruelly, I (metaphorically) dangled the tickets in front of her, not as an incentive to get back together with me, but rather to taunt her with what she was losing because of the split.

That was one of two things I did during that breakup that I'm less than proud of. The other one was worse, I'm afraid: During the inevitable argument that usually marks the definite End of Things, I told her I had been in love with her. I never really had, although I liked her a lot. Too many things bugged the living shit out of me, though, for me to ever really be In Love with her. (Her overwhelming attraction to all things "cute," for instance.) But I said it, not out of genuine affection, but to hurt her. Nice, huh?

This, my friends, is why I refer to myself as "emotionally retarded." As opposed to Creed, who are just retarded.