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  • One of my 80s punk rock gods was Bob Mould, first with Hüsker Dü, then solo. By the time he released his second solo album, I was living in San Francisco, and he was playing a concert at the Warfield Theater, mere blocks from my apartment. Of course I was there, and the concert was great. I arrived early and was able to watch the entire concert from the front as he completely bared his soul, stalking around the stage with his screaming guitar, his eyes rolled back in his head, every ounce of his being thrown into each word and chord. I screamed and sweat and moshed and completely gave myself over to the musician and his crowd.

    As the lights went down for the encore, the screeching guitar began the opening strains of ‘Whichever Way the Wind Blows’, and I lost it. I pushed through the people in front of me, climbed up on stage, and prepared for my first stage dive. I jumped off the stage, and the crowd parted like the Red Sea. I landed painfully, and when I stood up in a daze, in the middle of a mosh pit, some hard body part of someone hit me in the mouth. Fearing the worst, with my mouth closed I licked my teeth, and noticed one of my front ones was gone. I feared my mouth was full of blood. I climbed through the crowd, left the theater, and went straight home, not once opening my mouth. In about fifteen minutes I was home, I went in the bathroom and opened my mouth, and there was no blood, just the tooth. Damn! I thought. I didn’t have to leave the concert!

    Fortunately I still had a few more months on my mother’s dental, so I was able to get a new tooth, which I still have to this day (the bigger, lower front tooth with dead gums). And that is still one of the best concerts I ever saw.
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