The weekend before last I went to a Los Campesinos! concert at Lee’s Palace. I went with three guys, a friend of two of his friends. We went out to eat first, they all seemed like pretty cool guys. A bunch of engineers and a dancer (I am an engineer, I mean, I wish I had that type of coordination.)
The concert was a beautiful thing.
Performances always make me feel so vividly, I was overwhelmed with emotion before it even really started. I felt really close to the people I went with, despite having no right to. It made me feel vulnerable in a way that almost matched the music. But that was just the beginning.
I say that I feel deeply, and I am being honest. There is something so exhilarating about live music, about the voice of the crowd, the surrealism of being there in a room with the people who created something you love, who wrote songs that spoke to you.
As an extrovert, something about crowds of people crushed against one another singing and cheering and moving is incredibly exhilarating. Especially when I’m separated from so many of the people I love right now.
I mean, there’s a reason I got my first kiss at a concert.
Another reason I’m really glad I went with the guys I went with is that they were as excited as I was. Probably more excited even in some cases. We got there early, we were at the very front, we danced and jumped and became a jumble of thrashing limbs riding on the wave of the music.
Someone actually tried to crowd surf. One word, FAIL.
I didn’t really anticipate how strongly the music would bring me back to my first semester of university, falling in love, gaining independence, exploring a new city. It reminded me of anarchist books about traveling Europe penniless, and shy phone calls, poetry slams and running through the grass in the middle of the night, gleeful laughter and painful confusing and delicious hesitation.
I kind of just wanted to be held. And the crowd held me, so to speak.
The next few days I felt myself longing for the connection, I felt a loss for something that was fleeting despite its strength.
I got a ride home that night, and my three friends went off together, I know that they were just sleeping on the floor in a house too full of people, but it felt strange to leave them after sharing the best concert of my life. We hugged hard on parting.
The thing about good things is that they don’t feel quite real afterwards. The moments were so intense that they feel imagined. Drunk of the energy of the crowd our words perhaps were not as sincere as they felt when spoken. I hope not, but wondering makes me long for the connection I felt in an achy sort of way.
It was a wonderful time. I’m grateful I was invited to something so special, irregardless of the past or future.
I didn’t want to miss any of the experience by pulling my phone out and taking photos (it was sort of hard to get at lodged in my sock/shoe) but I found these videos of the actual concert I was at. Something I love about the internet.