I'm not sure what it is about concerts, for me. Because, when I really think about it, they're basically torture. Torture that I
pay for. In tickets and service fees and gas money and beverages bought just to stay alive after I actually make it into the overcrowded, overheated venue.
Just hear me out. And don't get me wrong. Because I love live music. I love it to the point that I used to refuse to get serious with any dude who wasn't happy to take me to see it. When Drew and I spent our first Valentine's Day at a MuteMath show? I knew it was meant to be. As I said, I really love concerts. But sometimes I wonder if this love is logical, or if it's even somewhat abusive.
You drive many miles to get to the venue, because when are they ever in a convenient location? Then there's parking. If you don't want to pay for parking, you're looking at walking approximately five blocks. And that's a moderate estimation. If you don't want to walk, and decide to park, you'll most likely realize that you don't have cash to pay for said parking. This results in a scramble between you and all of your friends, searching through purses and pockets and underneath seats. Usually though, you'll have to find an ATM anyway. This is an ordeal in and of itself.
After you've parked and made the treacherous journey across several busy streets to the venue, you get in line. I'm convinced that these lines are apart of some sort of alternate universe. Where people with unnaturally-colored hair and spiky accessories stare at you. Just stare. As if they're questioning why you think you deserve to be here, in this line, to see this band, that they have
clearly liked for longer than
you have because
they're wearing a shirt from a tour that happened
five years ago.
Now, if you want to be anywhere near the stage at this concert, you'll need to get in line in advance. How far in advance? That depends on the popularity of the band you're planning to see. The time varies anywhere from 1-15 hours. Also, keep in mind that the doors always open at least half hour after the ticket says they will. So get comfortable. Not that this is possible.
Sometimes it's raining, other times you're under direct rays from the sun. Either way, you'll probably be at least moderately miserable. In this case, glare at the bouncers. It doesn't do anything to really fix your situation, but seems to help me.
Once the stars align and all of the bouncers are finally able to see our of their third eyes, they decide to let you into the venue. That you paid to be able to go into. Regardless, they still act as if it's some huge service on their part. They also treat you as if you're a convicted felon, and will pull a knife out on them at any second. Oh, and your ID is fake. Even if it's real, they're sure it's fake. At this point, you are herded like cows through the doors. If you're lucky, you'll be frisked. But only on special occasions.
Then comes more waiting. You like standing, right? Because you're going to be standing for a long time to come. The show most likely won't be starting for another hour or so. And if you try to sit down, one of those pleasant bouncers will come over and let you know that such actions are unacceptable. Because reasons.
If you're fortunate, there will only be one opening band. But usually, there are three. Three half hour sets with 45 minute breaks in-between. But you want to be in front for the band that you actually came to see, so you stand your ground. Even while being pushed around by these people.
These people are not your friends. They are very unhappy that you got to the concert before them, and have a better spot than them. So, naturally, they spend the rest of the evening making you as uncomfortable as possible. At least one of them will be extremely inebriated, and fall all over you, the entire time. Just accept it. They are never going away.
By this time, It's 11:00 pm. You've been standing up since about seven, when you got in line to be judged by all of the judgy judges. You're exhausted and dehydrated. But you can't go get a water, because 1) Water costs a million dollars, and 2) You'll lose the spot you've worked for all day. That can't happen. Then, finally, the lights go off. The horrible reggae album of Beatle's covers stops blaring in your ears. It's happening. The actual band that you actually want to see is actually coming on stage.
By now, you're probably at least partially delirious. Your legs are numb and the soles of your feet feel like they're bleeding. The crowd has started doing this thing where they get into a circle and shove each other in different directions. After countless efforts at a countless number of shows, I still have found no valid reason for this to be happening. But it happens. It happens every time.
Somehow, you're moving around and banging your head and singing along to these songs you've been waiting for all day. You magically have energy again. You once were lost but now you're found. And you don't even care about how tired you'll be at church tomorrow. Because Portugal. The Man is just
that good.
