I get that you were there to see Aimee Mann. You had staked out your spot to see your favorite 1980s rocker—the one who stayed cool, like you wish you could have—and now hated having to suffer through this lone dude with a guitar onstage. Said dude was funny and quiet, and he played some lovely songs... not that any of us could hear. You kept getting LOUDER as he played, talking over his subtle nerdy anthems even as he glared in your direction and asked the house to turn up his volume, until Aimee walked out onstage and admitted he helped write four of the songs on her new album. That shut you up, finally. If you don't like an opener, fine, but talking over someone playing music for you and 400 other people makes you a fucking asshole.