Survival

I went to a show in Brooklyn by myself tonight to see two bands that I've come to really enjoy as of late: 'The Sidekicks' from Columbus, Ohio and 'Hop Along' from Philadelphia. Going to shows by  myself is always fairly awkward for me, but, depending on who I'm seeing, I can get over it almost immediately as soon as the band starts playing. Thankfully, that was the case tonight. 

Just as I have a romantic relationship with New York City, I have one even stronger with the concept of sinking my mind—my entire being, really—into a really good song or a live performance of a band with which I have a very personal, musical relationship. It's the auditory equivalent of a drug for me, and it's a feeling for which I so desperately yearn on an hourly basis. Fortunately for me and my precarious budgetary situation (I have no source of income and I live in a very expensive city), good songs are easily accessible and cheap. An awful platitude, to be sure, but I honestly don't know how I would deal with the world around me if I didn't have access to music. 

More specifically, I am referring to the kinds of songs that can completely overwhelm me and consume every ounce of attention I can pay in a single moment. Some people don't understand this concept, and I'll never understand that or support it. I can't. Have you not ever acquainted yourself with a song so powerful that it changed your entire state of being? A song that prevented the continuation of whatever you were doing, no matter what you were doing, until it ends? To be sure, with certain drugs this is much more easily observed, so maybe you aught to try that first, but, for me, many songs are powerful enough to need nothing else. For example, the song 'Weird Fishes/Arpeggi' by Radiohead is so substantially captivating that my entire mind is consumed by it. It's not just the song; it's the lyrics and the emotionality. The honesty of the words is overwhelming while the guitars that pick up as the song progresses seem to have their own agenda, as if disconnected form the other instruments entirely, yet they piece together to suck up every ounce free worry I can muster. As it builds up, it devastates me, and, at the same time, it comforts me to know that something so simple (simple as the concept of a song is simple) can take my mind off of everything awful for five minutes.

  Five minutes might sound quite trivial, but it saves my life. I guarantee it. My mind is always trudging—I can't really explain why, but it is—and often the world around me is just too much for it to handle. With live music in particular, it's so much easier to have my worries sidelined in majestic transience. I can focus entirely on the music, letting my mind sink into my heart and be swallowed by it, and even let my body take a break by letting the crowd push me and pull me in whatever direction it wants. I don't brace myself; I let go in every sense of the phrase. 'The Sidekicks' have songs that are so genuinely honest and passionate that I got to embody them for thirty-five minutes. You could tell it meant a lot to them that the crowd had a good time, but it meant so much more to me just to experience it. Sometimes I feel like no one knows how much these things mean to me. Today was rough for me. The past week has been rough for me. I have no job, no prospects of employment, impeding rent-checks to be written that linger over my insufficient savings account, more homework to do than I've felt like I can handle, and the stresses of feeling like nothing is working out after a making a major change in my life. Tonight music got me through it. Tonight music allowed me to transcend every problem I have, even if only temporarily.

During Hop Along's set, some asshole tried to start a fight with someone that accidentally shoved him. When the accidental-shover committed the apparent atrocity, the asshole head-butted him in a way I've never seen off the big-screen. I was feeling too happily sedated to let a fight break out, so I put myself between them, smiled, and told them that we're all alright and that everyone's having a good time. They weren't cooled off, but I hate fighting, so I persisted. Eventually one of the asshole's friends got the asshole to leave, so I'm sure I played no part in alleviating the situation, but it was scary for me and it made me feel very, very alive. Nothing beats that. This excitement, derived from a (likely unwarranted) sense of bravery and genuine fear, paired with my alleviated worries from Hop Along's set, left me floating in satiated bliss.

After the show I walked a little less than a mile to the nearest subway station. It was about 15 minutes after midnight. I could see very closely to my right the Manhattan skyline. The Chrysler Building, the Empire State Building, the Bank of America building each glimmered as airplanes blinked and flew by, tracing the city overhead. They looked stunning and I felt inspired. To my left I saw the peaceful, yet awake, well-lit Greenpoint street that guided me to my station. It was about 70 degrees with a heavenly breeze, and I put my earbuds in and listened to some comfort music. I started off with 'The Last Lie I Told' by Saves the Day. Although I knew things wouldn't be shortly after I got home, everything was alright, and I couldn't have asked for anything more than that. 

Addendum: Listen to 'Young and Happy!' by Hop Along and '1940's Fighter Jet' by The Sidekicks.