It’s been two weeks. I can’t remember the last time I saw my family. Or my friends. I’ve been too consumed by my dirty habit to even be able to stop and smell the Blue Room muffins and chat with a bud or two. I have spent long nights at the library, trying to make up for the time I’ve spent fueling my obsession instead of doing homework. I’ve lied to people about my whereabouts. I am in deep, deep debt. I even ditched class. I think about my mania all day.
Hi, my name is Daniella. And I go to too many concerts.
To be exact, I’ve been to 5 concerts in less than 14 days. (And that’s just this semester).
Now before you toss all sympathy for me aside, allow me to explain myself.
You know that douchey guy we all know whose personal motto is “Music is my life?” Well, call me Chad, because same.
I don’t mean to get too emotional and vulnerable on the internet; but, I do have to say that music has helped me get through some really dark times. Primarily when Zanessa broke up. But also when I was depressed for two years!
I’ve been going to concerts since I was a wee babe. The first artist I ever saw was Paulina Rubio, a Mexican popstar you may or may not have seen as a judge on season 3 of the American X-Factor. I was six years old.
When I really think about it, I guess it doesn’t make sense that my parents would let me go to such a wild concert at such a young age. It wasn’t The Wiggles, let me tell you that. It was a stadium show. Well, actually it was at the city bullring… which is probably worse?
I didn’t know much of Paulina’s music. All I knew was that she was popular, had a song on the radio that I really liked, and that she had become famous when she was young and sang in a kid band called Timbiriche, a band my mom loved when she was growing up. Paulina’s newest single was about dogs so, naturally, as a six year old, I had to go see her live. (I later found out the song was not actually about dogs– it just repeatedly said that men are dogs, and honestly I think that’s even better.)
We waited three hours for Paulina to show up. A girl, who at the time was probably not too much older than I am now, was in the row in front of us, clearly inebriated. She kept screaming, very loudly and sometimes in my face, that “Ciudad Juarez te ama, Paulina!” (Ciudad Juarez loves you, Paulina!) She was dressed like the singer, sporting pink cowboy boots and a pink cowboy hat, repeating her “we love you” mantra every two minutes. She was exactly the kind of person you don’t want to be near when you go to a concert.
Trying to compensate for the crazy fan (although, side note: mom, you didn’t have to do this, like, I was already a six year old at a concert, there to listen to ONE SONG), my mom bought me a shirt with Paulina’s name on it. I clutched the shirt in my hands, so excited to see the real Paulina sing.
Suddenly, the drunk girl got up on her chair, raised a red solo cup to the stage, yelled “Paulina! We love you!” and spilled beer all over me and my new shirt. Then, for the second time that night, she fell on the people in front of her.
The lights went off. The concert started. Security came for the girl, who had to be dragged outside by her boyfriend, a security guard, and the guy who sold her all the beers.
Paulina started her set with “the dogs song.” There were lights, choreographed dances, and smoke. The stage was a pop music video come to life, and I, with the attention span and excitement of a small child, was in heaven. But for her second song, and for the rest of the concert, Paulina sat on the stage with a guitar and played songs from Timbiriche. I knew none of the lyrics. I smelled like beer, my shirt was ruined, I had been standing for hours, and it was really way past my bedtime.
And I absolutely loved it.
Since then, I’ve taken up every opportunity I can to go see live music. I’ll take it anywhere, anytime, in any form. A coffee shop open mic? I’m there. A music festival? Of course. An underground heavy metal ska band in a warehouse? A typical Tuesday night. The happy birthday song for your co-worker? Let’s go! Barricade please!!
Some may say it’s kind of an addiction. But it’s really my best and only form of self-care. I’m not a makeup person, or into techie stuff. I don’t like fashion, or manicures. I don’t like dining out at restaurants. (And clearly I can’t just, I don’t know, love and respect and take care of myself without enacting some sort of reward system for being a human who has human feelings and acts in human ways.)
Plus, I’m just chasing all the endorphins I can get. Did you know that going to concerts regularly leads to a happier life? Science does!
It’s not like I’m buying Kanye tickets every day. Although if I had money, I totally would. I’m usually just buying cheap tickets, seeing tiny bands no one has heard of, and I’m often at concerts alone. Which is kind of ideal, since I get all the perceived interaction of a social outing, without actually having to interact with people.
Plus, I’m kind of convinced Prince Charming and I will meet at a mosh pit. Then I’ll realize he’s the kind of person who would be at a mosh pit and be like nvm bye!
Concert-going is honestly just a good lens to see your life through. Sometimes a concert is awful– sweaty, filled with people you want to murder, loud, and not what you expected. But in the end, it’s actually filled with memories, and the fun ones will outweigh the not-so-fun ones.
So I guess what I’m trying to say is, I hate life and I hate you, but let’s see a concert together?
