Lucky Boys Confusion ought to be sued for false advertisement.
While their cutesy pop-punk tunes may have enthralled the dozen or
so Chicago-area Billikens who attended this year’s Spring Fever, I
felt like a very unlucky boy. For the third time in as many years,
Spring Fever’s lackluster bands were sickening.

My annual nausea began with 2002’s legendary reunion of
alternative rock has-beens the Gin Blossoms. And by legendary, I
mean for the cosmic level on which that concert sucked. A pint of
Jack Daniel’s briefly convinced me that Tom Petty joined the
Blossoms for their cover of “I Need to Know,” but my spirit was
shattered upon the rocks of reality. Despite my protests to the
contrary, Mr. Petty had better things to do that evening. Hey,
jealousy indeed.

Last year, the symptoms worsened, thanks to MTV. I guess I just
expected better from the zeitgeist of youth culture than a
studio-bred hack like Fabolous. Stripped of the A-list producers
whose slammin’ beats hung like the midget from his necklace, Fab’s
live act was painful to watch. (I can’t deny it, that concert
sucked too.)

Yet, ever the optimist, I was sure that this year would be
different. Since you can’t throw a 22-inch rim in this city without
hitting a rapper who smoked a blizzle with Snoop Dogg, the
opportunities for fresh entertainment seemed limitless. Alas, Saint
Louis University was plagued by the aforementioned Lucky Boys and
311-knockoffs Zebrahead. Spring Fever may have been free, but I
still want my money back.

At this point, I ain’t got a fever–I’ve got a permanent
disease–and it’ll take more than a doctor to prescribe a remedy
… bad medicine is what I need. Barring a miracle, I realize I
will never see a SLU house call from Dr. Bon Jovi next spring.
Sadly, Student Activities Board is constantly outbid when it’s time
to book an act–their budget simply can’t compete against the war
chests of state universities. We end up fighting for the very
scraps that our better-funded colleagues laughed at while writing
$250,000 checks for a Dave Matthews Concert. Hey, jealousy
indeed.

If big-name talent is out of our budget (and it usually is),
then it’s about time that SLU accepts the next best thing by
embracing the cover band scene. As appealing as penny pitchers may
be, Wednesday nights at Humphrey’s wouldn’t be nearly as
intoxicating without the killer sound of bands such as Ivory Tiger.
Approximately once a month, the foursome takes the stage with a
stellar lineup of ’80s headbangers, and when the Tiger roars,
partying commences.

Spring Fever is traditionally a booze-soaked day of debauchery,
where the brain goes on autopilot and the liver takes center stage
in a quest for survival. Unfortunately, the acts of recent years
have required alcohol as a necessity for tolerating an otherwise
dreadful performance. So to SAB or anyone involved in next year’s
Spring Fever, hear my plea: I am getting old. My opportunities to
make out with a random stranger while raising a lighter to the
sweet sounds of Bon Jovi are drawing to a close. Please, allow me
one last moment of glorious immaturity–I’m going down in a blaze
of glory.