How an International Trip to See Blink-182 Led to Disappointment, Then Redemption

How I ended up taking my partner to see Blink-182 in Mexico City on our 10th anniversary

Photo: Karla Fajardo/Shutterstock

In mid-’90s suburbia, you couldn’t open a magazine or walk through a Sam Goody store without seeing the “12 CDs for a penny” ads. They were everywhere, and always appeared so scammy, even in glossy print. BMG and Columbia House Records, in a fight-to-the-death competition for teenage ears, tried desperately to lure kids into their “CD of the month” clubs, essentially by giving them a bunch of music for nearly free. You could pick any 12 CDs you wanted, from almost any artist you could imagine. Just cover shipping and handling and allow six to eight weeks to arrive, the ads promised. Scammy as it sounded, I bought in.

It’s hard to overstate the impact that these mega-deals had on my life. At the risk of sounding pathetic, I’d go so far as to say that they played a large part in making me the person I am today.

I don’t remember which one I signed up for first. But I’ll never forget the day a cardboard box containing 12 shrink-wrapped CDs showed up on the doorsteps of my parents’ house in Littleton, Colorado. I was in 6th or 7th grade, perhaps the summer in between the two – the age when you start noticing, and craving, what kids a couple years your senior are wearing at school or at the local amusement park. Such things as NOFX t-shirts and backwards Butthole Surfers caps were what caught my attention.

This box of CDs could stand today in a museum of ‘90s ska-punk nostalgia. I’d selected albums from all the bands I wanted to be into – Let’s Face It from The Mighty Mighty Bosstones. Losing Streak from Less Than Jake. Turn The Radio Off from Reel Big Fish. Goldfinger and Rancid were in there. And of course, one of the seminal albums of that era, Dude Ranch from Blink-182, which had just come out and featured the song “Dammit” that was in constant rotation on the local modern rock station.

I wholeheartedly embraced the excited feeling I had that day. Going forward, every dollar I earned mowing lawns or babysitting went to concert tickets. Rather than eating lunch at my middle school I’d buy only an M&M cookie each day, hoarding the rest of the money my mom gave me for food to go to the record store every Friday and pick up a new CD. In high school I bought a Squire Stratocaster and hung out regularly at punk shows in Denver, and in college I started my own band in an attempt to be like my heroes. The “scene” became my life. That meant it inevitably became part of my relationships, for better or worse.

Alisha, of course, knew who Blink was when we started dating in 2013. She thought they were ok, but as she puts it, she never expected to marry a “Tom Delonge stalker.” Still, the band has been the soundtrack to much of our relationship. The idea of seeing them on a big anniversary seemed exciting.

A stinging disappointment

Delonge is a frequent poster on social media. Three Instagram posts a day from him isn’t uncommon, particularly when he’s on tour and seemingly bored stiff in the dressing room or on a plane. Shortly after we checked into our Airbnb in Mexico City’s Condesa neighborhood, I checked the ‘Gram to see if the band was in town yet, and if so, if they’d stumbled across any of my favorite taco stands or markets. Delonge, however, hadn’t posted in a few days, and even more concerning, there was nothing on his page about any of the band’s other announced tour dates in Latin America, which they should have been moving through over the couple weeks prior.

Something was amiss.

I found the news after Googling “Blink cancels Mexico City shows.” Drummer Travis Barker had hurt a finger and was unable to perform. The cancellation had been announced a couple weeks earlier. I’d heard nothing from StubHub, where I bought the tickets, about this, but realized I must have missed the band’s announcement on social media.

Just like that, our anniversary trip had fallen apart just as it’d started. I was disappointed, although I’d seen them several times before. When you’re making thousands of dollars per night, you don’t cancel shows – right? Alisha was irritated, mostly because she’d never seen them but had been listening to me blabber about how epic Tom’s raunchy jokes are for a full 10 years without context, and now she’d have to continue doing so.

The night that we were supposed to be at the Blink show we instead went to see an opera at the Palacio de Bellas Artes. The performance was beautiful, but I was distracted. I actually felt let down by Blink-182, like they hadn’t held up their end of the bargain. After all, I’d shelled out $300 for two tickets, plus the cost of airfare and an Airbnb. The sting was similar to being betrayed by a friend or family member who you’d trusted.

A second chance in Salt Lake City

Tom Delonge. Photo: Tim Wenger

Several months later and after multiple rounds of back-and-forth with StubHub in an attempt to get our tickets refunded, Blink-182 announced an additional run of tour dates under the “One More Time” tour. The band promised to make up its canceled Latin America shows (which it did, save for the Mexico City date that our tickets would have been valid for). Also on the schedule were several cities that were skipped over the year before, including Salt Lake City, about four hours from where we now live in western Colorado. I grabbed two tickets to the SLC date in hopes that things would work out better this time.

Eight months after securing the tickets, we drove to Salt Lake City and checked into a hotel downtown. The night came together well, most notably because the band showed up. The guy sitting on the opposite side of me as Alisha (we’re old now and sit down at shows) was an old-school fan like myself and during the set change between the opener, Pierce the Veil, and Blink-182 we shared stories of seeing Blink and other punk bands back when tickets cost $10 instead of $150. Mark, Tom, and Travis walked onstage to The Undertaker’s theme song, a serious dose of retro. Say what you will about Mark and Tom – for 32 years their shows have been defined by corny, R-rated jokes that are easy to take out of context – but no band in history better understands the impact that nostalgia plays in maintaining an atmosphere at a concert and keeping fans (and the band’s bottom line) as engaged as possible. I’m 40 now, but singing along to “First Date” and “The Rock Show” felt as satisfying as it did at 17. They even played “Carousel,” the first song the band ever wrote and one of my all-time favorites (video of the song below).

Blink’s entire 90-minute set list was comprised of hit singles, quite an accomplishment for a band that sings almost exclusively about wistful relationship scenarios and teenage angst. Millions in my generation know the words to most of these songs, save for the closer, which was the new song “One More Time” about the band’s dramatic history.

Walking out of the venue to grab a nightcap at a nearby bar, I noted to Alisha how finally seeing the reunited Blink-182 felt like closing an outdated chapter in our marriage. It forced us, parents of a toddler also juggling hectic careers and with little time to connect, to step out of our routines for a short time to rekindle the sparks of our younger relationship. Alisha concurred. Flying to Mexico City to see the band, only to be disappointed when they didn’t show up, and then waiting nearly 18 additional months to finally see them in Salt Lake City, actually brought us closer together. In this sense, traveling for a concert is more than worth the hassle and cost. There’s no better excuse to let loose and remember when life was much simpler. Hopefully you only have to do it once, instead of twice.

Blink-182 has upcoming tour dates in Europe and the United States