Music is my Religion
Rush. Rush. Rush. Pant. Pant. Pant. Running on a cold winter night is the worst idea ever, especially when I have to be at my house in about 5 minutes. Finally, I get to my dingy apartment, throw my massive school bag on the weathered armchair, and figure out what I want to wear. I want to look cute, but also be warm at the same time. Merde. My friend, Bekah, picks me up and complains about how she doesn’t feel cute enough to go anywhere. As we drive to our destination we start listening and singing to our favorite songs. Finally, we get to our target: Kilby Court. The place where we can actually see Sea Wolf play his music.
Walking down the dark alley to the show trying not to get mugged, looking stupid, and getting money out to pay for my ticket can become quite a hassle sometimes. We’re late, and there is a big line waiting to get in. We get to the back of the line and people start murmuring about how the show is sold out. I think to myself, “WHAT? Seriously, for this small of a band they are pretty big in the indie scene.” Suddenly, the line parts as if I’m Moses. While going through the Red Sea, I figure out a plan. Maybe I’ll show the ticket guy my boobs? No. But then, I see that the ticket guy recognizes me. “Abby!!” he screams. I’m a little bewildered, I’m not gonna lie, but still I manage to keep it cool. We talk, or he talks to me, and then it clicks; he used to be my Great Harvest buddy that would give me free hot chocolate and bread every morning of my junior year of high school. Good times. Luckily, he’s very nice and gets my friend and me in. Going into Kilby Court is like going into a church, or some kind of sacred space. There is a big fire pit in the courtyard waiting for me, roast marshmallows, ponder about music and have conversations with people that I don’t know. Everyone is here for one reason: to listen to good music. All the people I talk to make me feel that I am in the right spot. I can ask a person what their opinion is of a band and they’ll not only know which band that I’m talking about, but also give priceless insight. When asking my friend, Bekah, why she goes to concerts, she says “it makes her more excited about music and closer to the band.” I agree. Sometimes it feels like I can make a connection to bands, whether I’m singing (horribly I might add) to one of my favorite songs, or actually watching the lead singer pour out his heart to the audience. That’s what makes the connection between the band and the fans; there is this hidden understanding in that moment where there is no time or regrets, when you can just actually feel the music fill up inside you.
It seems that music is much more important when it’s live. Even though, I might have the CD and listen to it over and over again, there’s nothing like seeing the band face to face. “There’s a personal connection not only between the fans and the musicians, but just between everyone. We’re all here for one purpose: to listen to some great music,” says Chaz (my ticket-taker/Great Harvest friend).
Bekah and I go into the small venue that used to be someone’s garage. The micro stage is in the right corner. It’s lit up with cheap Christmas lights and a green wavy plastic backdrop that is enhanced with light bulbs in the back giving an eerie glow. Sea Wolf walks onstage. Everyone starts clapping, chanting more like it. He starts strumming his guitar like it’s his old cat, waiting for it to purr. Everyone’s waiting. Swiftly, he starts singing: This part is for my love of old/ How the Rose in your heart would hold. Each person in the crowd starts swaying to the music, like daisies on a summer breeze. This moment is the part where everything gets magical. Where you know that you are exactly where you need to be at that time: In a dingy but mysterious box with a group of people that you adore. I become hypnotized with his voice. If he told me to jump off a building I would totally do it. As the time goes by, Sea Wolf has ended. People start moving/pushing through to get to the other small box that has the souvenirs (or relics in some peoples’ perspective) to show others that they actually saw the band play. I’m still in the same spot where I heard the music, still mesmerized. Bekah and I finally leave. Not only did we listen to the band on the way to the concert, but also on the way back. We talk and discuss our favorite songs and the funny things that he said. When I drift off to sleep, we still hum the melody and dream about music.Because of this ritual, of going to concerts, I’ve created this side of me that is totally my own. Yet, music has created this community that will never break as long as people listen and appreciate what they are hearing. After going to concerts, music becomes an obsession to most people. It’s a way of living and a breath of fresh air.
Rush. Rush. Rush. Pant. Pant. Pant. Running on a cold winter night is the worst idea ever, especially when I have to be at my house in about 5 minutes. Finally, I get to my dingy apartment, throw my massive school bag on the weathered armchair, and figure out what I want to wear. I want to look cute, but also be warm at the same time. Merde. My friend, Bekah, picks me up and complains about how she doesn’t feel cute enough to go anywhere. As we drive to our destination we start listening and singing to our favorite songs. Finally, we get to our target: Kilby Court. The place where we can actually see Sea Wolf play his music.
Walking down the dark alley to the show trying not to get mugged, looking stupid, and getting money out to pay for my ticket can become quite a hassle sometimes. We’re late, and there is a big line waiting to get in. We get to the back of the line and people start murmuring about how the show is sold out. I think to myself, “WHAT? Seriously, for this small of a band they are pretty big in the indie scene.” Suddenly, the line parts as if I’m Moses. While going through the Red Sea, I figure out a plan. Maybe I’ll show the ticket guy my boobs? No. But then, I see that the ticket guy recognizes me. “Abby!!” he screams. I’m a little bewildered, I’m not gonna lie, but still I manage to keep it cool. We talk, or he talks to me, and then it clicks; he used to be my Great Harvest buddy that would give me free hot chocolate and bread every morning of my junior year of high school. Good times. Luckily, he’s very nice and gets my friend and me in. Going into Kilby Court is like going into a church, or some kind of sacred space. There is a big fire pit in the courtyard waiting for me, roast marshmallows, ponder about music and have conversations with people that I don’t know. Everyone is here for one reason: to listen to good music. All the people I talk to make me feel that I am in the right spot. I can ask a person what their opinion is of a band and they’ll not only know which band that I’m talking about, but also give priceless insight. When asking my friend, Bekah, why she goes to concerts, she says “it makes her more excited about music and closer to the band.” I agree. Sometimes it feels like I can make a connection to bands, whether I’m singing (horribly I might add) to one of my favorite songs, or actually watching the lead singer pour out his heart to the audience. That’s what makes the connection between the band and the fans; there is this hidden understanding in that moment where there is no time or regrets, when you can just actually feel the music fill up inside you.
It seems that music is much more important when it’s live. Even though, I might have the CD and listen to it over and over again, there’s nothing like seeing the band face to face. “There’s a personal connection not only between the fans and the musicians, but just between everyone. We’re all here for one purpose: to listen to some great music,” says Chaz (my ticket-taker/Great Harvest friend).
Bekah and I go into the small venue that used to be someone’s garage. The micro stage is in the right corner. It’s lit up with cheap Christmas lights and a green wavy plastic backdrop that is enhanced with light bulbs in the back giving an eerie glow. Sea Wolf walks onstage. Everyone starts clapping, chanting more like it. He starts strumming his guitar like it’s his old cat, waiting for it to purr. Everyone’s waiting. Swiftly, he starts singing: This part is for my love of old/ How the Rose in your heart would hold. Each person in the crowd starts swaying to the music, like daisies on a summer breeze. This moment is the part where everything gets magical. Where you know that you are exactly where you need to be at that time: In a dingy but mysterious box with a group of people that you adore. I become hypnotized with his voice. If he told me to jump off a building I would totally do it. As the time goes by, Sea Wolf has ended. People start moving/pushing through to get to the other small box that has the souvenirs (or relics in some peoples’ perspective) to show others that they actually saw the band play. I’m still in the same spot where I heard the music, still mesmerized. Bekah and I finally leave. Not only did we listen to the band on the way to the concert, but also on the way back. We talk and discuss our favorite songs and the funny things that he said. When I drift off to sleep, we still hum the melody and dream about music.Because of this ritual, of going to concerts, I’ve created this side of me that is totally my own. Yet, music has created this community that will never break as long as people listen and appreciate what they are hearing. After going to concerts, music becomes an obsession to most people. It’s a way of living and a breath of fresh air.
