I went to a concert the other night. This is only a notable thing because I hadn't been to a live show in approximately 15 years, and boy, it was a struggle. I eagerly bought tickets for the concert months ago - optimistically, as one does, very long before the night of the actual concert comes around. "Boy, that's a band I really used to like," you think. "That will be a great night! I can't wait to go out. Ha ha! I still got it! It being energy, and life, and an ability to care about things!"
Then you forget all about this audacious plan until the week of the show rolls around. This particular concert was on a Friday night. Monday, I started feeling that familiar sense of dread.
"Man… I'll have to be standing for like, two hours. And I know this going to be a really long week, I'll probably be exhausted by the time Friday rolls around. Like, it should also basically be illegal to be expected to go out on a Friday night or socialize or see a person or have to say words to anybody including your immediate family on a Friday night. That's just crazy talk."
By Thursday, when I realized the concert didn't start til TEN O FUCKING CLOCK, I was in full on panic mode. If I'm not in my PJs and brushing my teeth by 9:55 on most nights, the world may as well be coming to an end.
Things got worse Friday night, when I made the mistake of going home first before the show, then over to my boyfriend's to watch some Netflix. My boyfriend lives literally three blocks from the Black Cat, where the show was, and even then, it was a real, real close call if I was going to make it. If I was really being strategic about the night, I would have just started doing coke at 6pm (I've never done coke) and torpedoed my way through D.C., or whatever happens after you do a lot of coke, in order to make it out that late. But I was making rookie mistakes like sitting on a couch before the show all over the place.
But because I'm basically a modern-day hero, I did it. You think Malala really ever did anything? Did she ever have to go a concert that started on 10pm on a Friday night at the age of 35? DID SHE? I rest my case. Where's my Nobel peace prize.
The show was Okkervil River playing one of their earliest albums, "Black Sheep Boy," in its entirety. This, honestly, added a whole other layer to this adventure, because it forced me to come to terms with the fact that I'm now old enough to be going to shows where bands play 10-year-old albums straight through. I really didn't think anybody besides like, old, sad bands from the 70s who really need to make a buck were doing that. But they are. And I'm going to see them.
The album, which is amazing, came out in 2005. Ah, the mid-aughts. Let's reflect back for a second. I was 25. I went to concerts all the time. I was editing music sites. I blogged a lot. I had just moved into D.C. Basically, it was the golden age of Catherine. And it certainly was for a lot of other mid 30-somethings, too, gauging by the average age of the crowd, almost all of us, doubtless, ready to indulge in a bit of nostalgia for the evening. If we could stay awake. And stand for hours. Without our spines collapsing in on us. Hopefully.
But when Will Scheff, the frontman came out on stage, solo for a few older songs... it was nice. He's nearly 40, though he still looks 25, and he was sweet, and excited, and singing a little off-tune, and closing his eyes while he sang. It was like... he wasn't a cynical bastard worn down by age and life. Huh. Weird.
By the time the rest of the band joined him on stage to launch into the full album, I was a goner. "THIS IS WHY I USED TO GO TO SHOWS ALL THE TIME!" I yelled, to myself, in my head. It was FUN. The band's all older, but they were having an unbounded, genuinely fun and energetic time. The sound was muddy, just like it should be at the Black Cat, but that didn't deter the songs from sounding good, and raw, and fresh. You can certainly tell that the album was written by somebody in their mid-20s, in all the good ways - unbounded energy, tempered by nostalgia for something unknown, and just an energy and a real belief they're making important music.
And for us concert-goers, they were. It was a great crowd. Remind me to go to more shows populated by nobody under the age of 30. We merely sway gently, are polite and helpful to each other at the bar when trying to get the bartenders' attention, give each other ample space while standing there and watching the music, apologizing profusely when we so much as gently brush against somebody when passing through.
And the best part? Hardly anybody was taking one billion shitty photos and videos on their phone to share with the world. Our evening of remembered glory was contained, mostly, to that one room and that one moment. Just like it would have been in 2005.
Anyways, this is the lesson, for the next concert I go to, which will probably be in late 2032: Make sure it's a reunion show of a band you loved when you were 25, and don't worry about how late it starts: it'll be worth it.
Anyways,
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