“These chicks don’t even know the name of my band…”
I joined him, “But they’re all on me like they want to hold hands…” but I’m a singer, so like all singers, I filled the spaces with unnecessary runs and trills.
“Ooooh,” I sang. I was at a light and the person in the car next to me looked over.

Yeah, that’s right I’m ad-libbing to “My Band.” What?! D12 Mutha*&!@!

After picking up Mark we drove to Anaheim, getting there early to make sure we got good seats. The parking lot was full and as we approached I imagined I could actually feel Eminem’s presence. Despite the fact that the first show had just begun, there were already people lining up outside for the second show. Bleached blond boys stood in Slim Shady shirts, while their female counter parts donned either beanies and baggy pants or halter-tops and mini skirts. The excitement was palatable; I mean how often could you see Eminem in such an intimate surrounding? And let’s be real ya’ll, the song may have been recorded half in jest, but Eminem is definitely the lead singer of his band.

The first show ended and people started to emerge. The energy was markedly low. A downtrodden ten year old kicked a rock as his mother held his hand. A few teenagers yelled out,“D10!”

D10 ! We all thought? What does THAT mean? The crowd jostled uncomfortably.

“D 11!” another person said. And finally, we heard,
“No Eminem! There was NO EMINEM!”

The crowd rumbled with a collective gasp.

“You think it’s true?” someone asked.
“There was no Eminem,” affirmed someone else.
The crowd swayed.
“I’m going home,” a girl said. “Maybe he’ll come to the second one,” said the Eternal Optimist.
“I wonder if we can get a refund.”
“I had a final I needed to study for,” said someone else.
“No Eminem?” said a little girl, probably Hailie’s age, eyes welling up with tears.

I looked at my hot little outfit, feeling deflated. No Em… at least I didn’t pay for the ticket. The doors opened and the crowd filtered in. People spoke in subdued tones as they clutched their once invaluable tickets bought by hours of lawn mowing and baby- sitting. It did seem to be a small snub to Eminem’s most loyal fans, I mean, these aren’t the people that simply don’t turn the station when Eminem comes on the radio, these are the fans that bought the Obie Trice album and memorized all the lyrics to “Cleaning Out My Closet” and “Stan.”

It was like Eminem was saying, “Yes, I am THAT big! I can make you come to a concert to see me and not show up and you’ll keep buying my records and anyone else’s I put my name on.”

The lights dimmed and the crowd cheered. Though they weren’t getting Eminem, the crowd was warm and responsive to D12 (D10?). The music began and the Kon Artis came on stage. The crowd erupted. The second one to enter was Swift, then Kuniva, Proof and finally Bizarre, now coined as the “new leader of the band,” and obviously the one thought of as the “star” that they so desperately needed. He wore a shower cap and a blue faux fur jacket, but beyond his “Bizarre” appearance he was unanimated, and lethargic to watch. Kon Artis, Swift and Kuniva all fell into the same category - sweet guys that were proficient lyrically but ultimately uninteresting to watch. Actually, the only one who had that intangible “it” was Proof. He was vibrant and energetic, dancing, even jumping into the crowd. Proof’s problem was a lack of selfishness combined with a mild form of A.D.D. He wanted to entertain, but in the middle of it got distracted.

After an hour and a half show, D12 closed the concert with their hit, “My Band,” inviting the crowd to sing along with Eminem during the hook. When the last chorus came in, D12 held up a middle finger yelling, “Fuck Marshall!”
And the crowd quickly did the same, holding up their middle fingers, with emotion we yelled, “Fuck Marshall!”
Yeah. Fuck Marshall. And as I went to the bathroom at the end of the show, I heard a girl say, “Dude, who are they kidding?! Eminem IS D12.” I guess that’s why he’s the lead singer of the band.