Fall tour craziness
So it's that time of year again. The one where we empty pocketbooks and bank accounts and spend several days in questionable states of sanity and hygiene just to follow three silly Midwestern boys around the country. Now, I'm one of those fans who glories in saying that she's been there from the beginning. I bought three copies of Middle of Nowhere on CD because my brother was "tired of listening to that girly shit" and wanted to see what happened if you put a cd in the microwave. The Albertane Tour was my first concert ever. My mom drove some friends and me to crappy Lakewood Ampitheatre. We had lawn seats and the boys looked like ants. It was hot and crowded and overpriced. Taylor waved at a group of us through the fence afterwards, and I still remember the shirt he was wearing. That was almost ten years ago.
Now, half my life later, I, like many thousands of other fans, have grown. I've grown with the boys, through mergers and marriages and backlash and babies. Most importantly, I've grown without them. I've figured out what I want to do with my life and gotten a college degree. My family has seen death and birth. And now, I think I may be falling in love--really-- for the first time. I've lived, as much as it's possible to have lived at twenty-one. Why then, do I still need this music? It's not just a want, a hobby, something that makes me happy. It's a need, way down deep in my gut. A need so strong that I traveled fourteen hours one way in a car this summer with girls I'd only met a handful of times just to see them in their element. Just to be able to sit four hours on a sidewalk in the Oklahoma heat, listen to songs I could sing in my sleep (and have, by some reports), and squeak out three variations of "Hi! You were amazing! Thank you so much for doing this for us!". Not that it wasn't a fabulous experience. It was. The emotion in that Tulsa bar that day was so heavy and thick it was almost tangible. We had been there since day one, and we were hearing a real, heartfelt thank you for our time and our money and our defense of this band that so many had discounted as fluffy, silly, teen-idols-of-the-moment whose moment had long passed. It was totally worth it.
This fall is my first tour as a real adult with a job and responsibilities and people counting on me. It's work and it's hard and how the hell do they expect me to get back home at 2am and to teach a class 6 hours later? Why are there so many shows in the middle of the week? My solution? Drive 7 hours to St. Pete to catch the closest weekend show (Dear God PLEASE don't let there be a hurricane. PLEASE.), and maybe still go to Atlanta. Maybe. If I have the money for buses and cabs and tickets oh my. Why do I care so much? All they've ever given me is music, right? Just notes on a page transmitted through my radio or stereo or iPod. But it's been so much more than that. It's been ups and downs and anticipation and release and the best friends I'll ever have, even if I never meet them all in person. So I guess that's why. See you all on the road.
Now, half my life later, I, like many thousands of other fans, have grown. I've grown with the boys, through mergers and marriages and backlash and babies. Most importantly, I've grown without them. I've figured out what I want to do with my life and gotten a college degree. My family has seen death and birth. And now, I think I may be falling in love--really-- for the first time. I've lived, as much as it's possible to have lived at twenty-one. Why then, do I still need this music? It's not just a want, a hobby, something that makes me happy. It's a need, way down deep in my gut. A need so strong that I traveled fourteen hours one way in a car this summer with girls I'd only met a handful of times just to see them in their element. Just to be able to sit four hours on a sidewalk in the Oklahoma heat, listen to songs I could sing in my sleep (and have, by some reports), and squeak out three variations of "Hi! You were amazing! Thank you so much for doing this for us!". Not that it wasn't a fabulous experience. It was. The emotion in that Tulsa bar that day was so heavy and thick it was almost tangible. We had been there since day one, and we were hearing a real, heartfelt thank you for our time and our money and our defense of this band that so many had discounted as fluffy, silly, teen-idols-of-the-moment whose moment had long passed. It was totally worth it.
This fall is my first tour as a real adult with a job and responsibilities and people counting on me. It's work and it's hard and how the hell do they expect me to get back home at 2am and to teach a class 6 hours later? Why are there so many shows in the middle of the week? My solution? Drive 7 hours to St. Pete to catch the closest weekend show (Dear God PLEASE don't let there be a hurricane. PLEASE.), and maybe still go to Atlanta. Maybe. If I have the money for buses and cabs and tickets oh my. Why do I care so much? All they've ever given me is music, right? Just notes on a page transmitted through my radio or stereo or iPod. But it's been so much more than that. It's been ups and downs and anticipation and release and the best friends I'll ever have, even if I never meet them all in person. So I guess that's why. See you all on the road.