I was super-excited to see the Breeders play live last week at Webster Hall in New York City — but clearly not as excited as the guy behind me. I'm pretty sure he was the President of the Breeders Fan Club (of which I'm only a member), based on the unbridled exuberance and near-orgasmic joy with which he greeted every song. Ordinarily, I'd applaud his enthusiasm. But here's the rub: dude was singing along — loudly — to every song. And not just the lyrics — our Breeders-loving hero sang along to the guitar parts too. As if he hadn't already proven his loyalty by knowing the words to songs by Kim Deal's side project, the Amps.

We all know the concert-going stereotypes: jaded hipsters who won't move a muscle versus overenthusiastic fan boys who spill their adoration and beer all over you. Lame-ass scenesters who talk through the whole show, how do you sleep at night?

At this stage in my life, having attended a bajillion concerts, I have no problem asking people next to me who spend the show discussing baseball scores to shut the hell up. I feel it’s my right, maybe even my duty, as a music lover (full disclosure: I rarely do this.) But when it comes to those who take pleasure in singing along at the top of their lungs, I'm not sure where my beliefs lie. And so I pose to you this perennial question: how loud are you allowed to sing in someone's ear?

I do know this: when the person singing along is a musician, it's actually worse. Their gut tells them that if they're gonna sing that loud, they have to put some artfulness into it. In my case, I had to hear Sunny Day Real Estate versions of Breeders songs all night (she's a girl, guy! You're not supposed to be able to hit all those notes.)

In the end, I have no hard feelings. This guy was clearly having the time of his life, and I eventually moved, abandoning my friend and our prime position for safer pastures.

Oh, and the Breeders? They were fantastic. The parts that I heard, anyway.

[Photo: Owyoung/Retna]