I was not even to will call when I was reminded why I refuse to see shows at the House of Blues. Had it not been for a free last-minute ticket to the Sub City Take Action Tour featuring Every Time I Die, I would have been down the street at my overpriced one-bedroom Hollywood apartment watching some form of mindless television with my fiancee. As I walked down the hill from Sunset Boulevard toward the box office, the screams became louder and louder. You could hear the pain in this poor soul’s voice.

“Stop it! Stop it! You are hurting me! Stop it! Can you loosen up just a bit? Ouch, ouch! Stop hurting me!”

This only caused the beefy security guard twice the size of the detainee to stick his knee further into the back of a handcuffed kid. The kid screamed again.

“I demand you give me my cell phone! I want to call my stepfather! You are hurting me! I will sue you!”

The guards continued to laugh as they held what was probably an intoxicated underage male hostage on the cold West Hollywood sidewalk.

My fiancee and I got our tickets from will call and started to head further down the hill into the venue. Of course we had to wait in line, as they have one very small gal check your bags, pat you down and flash a metal detector wand across your entire body to make sure you do not have a camera or rocket launcher. As the female employee of the House of Blues rubbed my legs with her soft, gentle hands, I asked why they had the kid detained. She informed me that he was underage and drunk.

“That’s it?” I asked her.

“Yep.”

As I waited for my drink ID (not that I planned to give this oppressive venue a cent, let alone 10 bucks for a Bud Lite) I saw three beefy security guards bring out another man. When he inquired as to why he was being kicked out, they said it was because he was the biggest guy in the pit and he was no longer welcome. The man begged to be let back in, but the guards just laughed and said a few words that won’t get past the MTV.com censors.

So much for going into this show with an open mind, I thought to myself. For those who have never had the opportunity to experience a concert at one of our nation’s plentiful House of Blues, the motto “Unity in Diversity — All Are One” is nothing more then a lie thought up by old white men in a boardroom a few miles down the Strip. Answer me this, House of Blues: If there is unity in diversity, why don’t you have the old African-American man who hands out paper towels and Blow Pops (for a tip) in the bathroom serving the drinks at the bar, and put the blonde with the big cans at the bar in the men’s room to hand out those items? That would be diverse. Seeing how you have no problem with female-on-male pat-downs at the door (something the LAPD won’t even do), I see no problem with a hot fox handing me a paper towel after I relieve myself.

As I walked around the half-full venue, I found myself thinking about the second half of the venue’s motto: All Are One. That is a rather nice thing to say for a venue that is covered in stereotypical drawings from African-American culture (there is a reason I have always called this place the House of Racism, and it’s not just because the only African-American employees hand out paper towels in the bathroom or block the stairs to keep the VIPs safe).

As From First to Last wrapped up their set (no comment), I found myself thinking not only am I the oldest non-employee in this place, but thoughts were running through my mind of my San Francisco upbringing. I thought of the legend of rock and roll promotion Bill Graham and what he would think of an establishment like House of Blues if he were still alive today. While I have no clue at all what the poor kid outside did to get cuffed and beat down by security, I know that if this were the Fillmore in 1968, that kid would have been taken care of. He would have been treated with love and respect, and they would have helped his bad trip along, not shove his face into the unforgiving concrete.

As I waited for Every Time I Die to close out this stop of the Take Action Tour (which also features the Human Abstract, August Burns Red, the Bled and From First to Last), I watched the overzealous security patrol the venue like we were inside Guantanamo Bay, not a rock and roll show. When the band finally took the stage just after 10 p.m., opening with a track off of their new album, The Big Dirty, the young and energetic crowd went wild. So did security.

As I walked around the venue avoiding security and trying to get just one decent shot of the band with the camera we snuck in, I grew angrier and angrier. If a horse-collar tackle (basically dragging someone down from behind by the collar of their shirt) is no longer allowed in the NFL, why is a security guard inside the House of Blues allowed to do this to one of its underage patrons whose only crime is having a good time, moshing in the pit with his friends?

Despite the brutal environment, Buffalo, New York’s Every Time I Die (who I am pretty sure have had a different bass player all four times I have seen them now) did what they do best. They played an hour-long set of what I can only describe as spastic pop metal. Singer Keith Buckley is so energetic it is hard to keep track of where he is. When he’s not onstage, he’s in the crowd. When not in the crowd, one second he is running past his brother guitarist Jordan Buckley (who has a very sexy mustache) to hop on the shoulders of their other guitarist, the massive Andy Williams (who looks like the illegitimate love child of Grizzly Adams and Kate Hudson).

Every Time I Die played songs from all four of their albums, but drew heavily from Dirty. They managed to get the crowd going with numbers such as “Floater,” “Kill the Music” and “No Son of Mine.” The group seemed to have the energy I have grown used to at their shows, but last night (while still great) seemed to be down a notch from their usual level of being an 11 on a scale of 1-10.

As the set closed, the band proved to me that House of Blues does not even respect the bands that play at their stale corporate venues. Throughout the night between songs, Keith Buckley had informed the crowd that they were Every Time I Die and that the stage was the audience’s stage as well. It was our party, and the band at least subscribed to the All Are One lie that is displayed above the stage, inviting the crowd to join them onstage for the last number. Fans frenzied to get onstage, and some did indeed make it, only to be kicked off by security. I used this chance to move down to the floor to try to get some pictures while security pulled down crowd-surfers and slammed them to the floor as if they were in a WrestleMania main event. Seeing that security was breaking up the party, Keith Buckley decided to simply finish the set in the crowd. The last chord that rang through the PA has my ears still ringing this morning, and the band left the stage just past 11 p.m.

My fiancee and I got the hell out of Dodge, and upon leaving I ran into the guy I saw get kicked out for dancing. We spoke and he agreed to let me videotape his story for this very site. As angry as I was, this man (a Marine) had way more right to be pissed. I was lucky enough to get a free ticket. He paid, only to get kicked out for letting loose on his day off. If one thing sticks in my head from this night, it’s something that I already knew. Corporate greed has killed the artist in the 21st century. That, and I will Take Action and never pay a dime toward the House of Blues again.

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