Same as is has ever been.
There is something about being at a rock show that just fills my spirit. Ever since my first MCR shows, ever since my first festivals, when the music dragged my feet stageside until I could feel the music thumping behind my ribcage, like a second heartbeat, being at a show has charged up my spirit and filled me with life. When I'm at a show all my priorities are rearranged, all the flotsam falls away and I am reminded of what makes up my core self: the joy of being exactly what I am, foolish and creative and strong and engaged in the entire process of living. No hiding, no apologies -- just music so loud I can't hear anything but my joy when the bands onstage catch fire with their own music and set me ablaze, too.
That was what happened last night, in Allentown -- the pure pleasure of watching Luther and The Menzingers and The Bouncing Souls, of hands flying on frets and jumping and smiles -- and when the crowd went as rowdy as they had to, as they must, and I was jammed against the rail by the press of sweaty bodies, my grin just grew wider. I asked of my gods for chaos -- set me alight, I prayed, make the night electrified -- and oh my prayer was answered. The crowdsurfers all seemed to home in on my spot on the barrier, and wave after wave of kicking flailing shoes crashed against me like I was a breaker on the shore. I was angry on behalf of the danger to my glasses (which I had foolishly left on my face, when I knew better), but also unwilling to fold under. I stayed my ground, guarded by my friends, and watched over by the lead singer of the Souls (he even came up to our group afterwards in the parking lot, to make sure I was alright, to chat with all of us, a kindness greatly appreciated) and somehow that made it even better.
I'll be in front of those same bands tomorrow night, in Brooklyn (sans glasses, this time!), and I can't wait. The bruises, the soreness, the grime staining my shirt -- it's all worth it, it isn't even a detriment, it's life, it's music. I love it.
That was what happened last night, in Allentown -- the pure pleasure of watching Luther and The Menzingers and The Bouncing Souls, of hands flying on frets and jumping and smiles -- and when the crowd went as rowdy as they had to, as they must, and I was jammed against the rail by the press of sweaty bodies, my grin just grew wider. I asked of my gods for chaos -- set me alight, I prayed, make the night electrified -- and oh my prayer was answered. The crowdsurfers all seemed to home in on my spot on the barrier, and wave after wave of kicking flailing shoes crashed against me like I was a breaker on the shore. I was angry on behalf of the danger to my glasses (which I had foolishly left on my face, when I knew better), but also unwilling to fold under. I stayed my ground, guarded by my friends, and watched over by the lead singer of the Souls (he even came up to our group afterwards in the parking lot, to make sure I was alright, to chat with all of us, a kindness greatly appreciated) and somehow that made it even better.
I'll be in front of those same bands tomorrow night, in Brooklyn (sans glasses, this time!), and I can't wait. The bruises, the soreness, the grime staining my shirt -- it's all worth it, it isn't even a detriment, it's life, it's music. I love it.