Conceptually, I understand how music is made. The person does the thing, the thing is recorded, yadda yadda, Britney Spears comes out my head phones letting me know I “better work, bitch.”
But knowing about music is no substitute for feeling it. I know that I over use the word “magical,” but it’s only because I over feel things and see them as magical. So it’s with that knowledge that I say; live music is fucking magical.
To watch the making of music is to me like watching wizardry. “So, seriously? You just strum your fingers on those strings and music happens? Whoa.” It really doesn’t matter what music it is, reggae festival, rock concert, marching band, bagpipes, even country music; it all sounds better live.
Watching the music unfold with other people can be almost transcendent.
I’ve been lucky over the years for all the music I’ve experienced. My first concert was when I was 14. I’d been grounded for my behavior. Rightously so. But we’d already paid the $16/ticket to see Howard Jones in Davis. You are instantly in my tribe if you have any idea who that is. His biggest hit was something along the lines of “whoa, whoa, whoa-oah, whao, whoa.” The only thing more 80’s than his frosty bowl cut and the broach he wore at the top button of his shirt was his overdependence on his synthesizer. Mom took me, offering a brief stay from my grounding. We were immersed in the smell of clove cigarettes and artificial angst. It was the kind of show you were supposed to look gloomy for. As if 80’s kids at a concert at a university really had any reason to be gloomy. Geez. Bless my mom for her patronage. She made the best of it. Did some hairdresser research by asking some rando what products he used to get his mohawk as rigid as it was.
That experience could’ve turned me against concerts, but it was the 80’s-90’s. Tickets were cheap and travel was easy. I saw some ridiculously good shows. Scorpions, INXS, Black Crowes, No Doubt, most of Lynrd Syknyrd, to name a few. Far and away during those days, the best was AC/DC.
I’d plotted for weeks. My outfit had to be on point, suitable for moshing, and also easy to travel in. I stuck with the black tank dress. I took the more conservative route by wearing leggings with lace on the bottom. Also, black. (Goth is not a phase). My work buddy drove us to Sacramento , and we were thunderstruck. It was so good. So loud. Such energy. It was perfect. We couldn’t hear for days. Luckily, Denny’s has pictures on it’s menu so we were able to at least nourish on our way home. It was *murmur murmur years ago, and yet I can recall exactly how it felt when they took the stage.
Live music frequency decreased, but appreciation has only increased. (The best show I’ve seen in decades, Highly Suspect, gets a post all of it’s own some day.) Nowadays, I mosh less. I dance less. But stare in wonder just as hard as I ever did. “How do they do that?”
Bifocals and Barbells 