After countless concerts throughout my life, I have come to the conclusion that dancing and screaming to live music is absolutely my favorite past time.
Over the weekend I went to see Barry Manilow. I know what you’re thinking….not exactly a crowd to rock out to. I assumed it would be a nice sit and listen to music kind of evening. I grew up listening to my mom’s vinyl collection of Barry Manilow, Kenny rogers, Dolly Parton, etc..
Don’t worry – I have my own taste in music now. But that old stuff brings back childhood memories and I know every lyric. Plus Barry is Barry! Who else can actually convince me I am suffering from extreme heartache, when I am actually, well….not.
Vinyl is a whole other topic. I miss that sound…..the crackling of the needle on the record. We have amazing digital technology now, but that soothing crackling noise on a record player was well suited to some of the old music. Remember the smell of a new album? If you flip the pages of a new book in front of your face to catch the scent of fresh pages, and you are over the age of 40, then you sniffed your brand new, stiff album covers. (jackets, sleeves, whatever we called them ;))
Do you remember what the bonuses were? If it was a folded album jacket that could open up, you hoped to find lyrics to every song written right there, as you carefully opened the stiff new album. Could anything else be in there to top the lyrics which would help you sing every song…even the ones that weren’t on the radio?? Yep – a treasured poster of your beloved artist! You won’t find a poster to hang near your bed in a tiny CD case.
I may have gotten off track discussing the beauty of vinyl, or rather my musings as a now middle aged woman on thoughts of, “back in my day….” Really? I’m there now?
So concerts…..my first was Bon Jovi. There would be a lot of money and time spent for years to come on good ‘ol Bon Jovi. My first concert experience hooked me like a fish to a worm on a hook. Anticipation builds, the thrill of it all happening, then the pain of it ending. Yes, post concert depression is real – I can’t make this stuff up.
No matter who it is I am seeing, when those lights go down and the crowd begins to chant….there’s nothing else like it. My heart races, my arms fling up above my head and I scream. Just scream. No words, just a sound that comes from deep within my soul and exits my lungs in sweet relief that I am at that moment surrounded by people who “get it.” I think those screams represent my suppressed self who can’t walk around acting like she’s at a rock concert on a daily basis. It’s like for about two hours I am not mommy or wife. I’m not responsible for anyone or anything while I sing, scream, jump, and dance. I have often compared concerts to a roller coaster ride. You slowly ride to the top as you wait for your rock star to appear, then when they make their sudden appearance on stage, it’s like the first big invigorating drop on the roller coaster. The rest of the concert is full of laughs, smiles, and more screaming. Finally it slows down and you know it’s coming to an end. If you love roller coasters, you can’t wait to get right back in line and do it again. If you love rock concerts it’s the same feeling.
Time to find some more tickets!
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