hiding the wristband
I am a music lover and have been for my whole life. I grew up in a very music friendly house- everything from Chicago to Pantera to Mozart. I, to this day, will never live down the fact that as a kid I would put on my parent’s Chicago’s Greatest Hits cd and proceed to sing and dance my heart out on my make-shift stage (our fireplace) for any and everyone coming into our house, be it family or my brothers friends. [I cannot express how glad I am that my family did not own a video camera at that time, thus none of this is documented.]
Anyway, as I said it was a very music friendly house, but when it came to concerts there were rules. The biggest being that you had to be 15 before being allowed to go to them. This age never made much sense to me, but it was the way of the Lafferty house. I was only really mad about it a few times, like when all of my friends were buying tickets to see N*Sync in 5th grade (as it turned out, I was in Ireland when the concert was happening, so I think that one was a win for me) or in 7th grade when I wanted to see Blink 182, Green Day, and Jimmy Eat World, but wasn’t allowed. By the time 8th grade rolled around, my family ventured to the KC Irish Fest when it was still in Brookside. Headlining that year was a little band that no one really knew of yet- Flogging Molly. It was a pretty awesome little show and thus I had attended my first concert. That was the beginning of my love affair with live music. A few weeks later, I was given a free ticket to see one of my favorite bands, Incubus, at Sandstone (when it was still called Sandstone). It changed me. I can still vividly remember the show and how hearing Brandon Boyd sing live just made it so much better. There was no way my parents were going to keep me from going to concerts after that- nor did they try. Over the course of the next 8 years I attended roughly 35 (real) concerts, 1 music festival, and countless battle of the bands/dive shows.
Now, the point of this post is both about my love of music and the overwhelming feeling that I am, in fact, old.
Earlier this month, I attended a Passion Pit concert at the Beaumont Club in Westport. I had seen Something Corporate and Flogging Molly there when I was 15. I had not been back there since that Flogging Molly show, where I got beer spilled all over me and ended up going to school the next day with my purse and shoes smelling like smoke and booze. Anyway, as my friend Jack and I were waiting in line outside the club with the hoards of hipster teenagers, it totally took me back to being 15. I completely remember being beyond excited to go to a concert at a place like the Beaumont, feeling like I am older and cooler and if I hide my hands [that happen to have giant black X's on them] then no one would know I was just a kid. I remember that being allowed to go to a concert on a school night was a huge deal. And I remember that going with my brother would mean that I wouldn’t have to be dropped off and picked up, so I would again look just a little cooler. I remembered all of that, while standing outside the club. Then I took out my ticket and my ID [which is now horizontal] and walked inside to receive my little white wristband. That wristband that has seemed just outside my reach for so many years now was on my right wrist. It was not more than 10 minutes into waiting for the first band to play that I realized that for the first time, I was the old one at the concert. In the last few years, my concert going has been pretty non-mainstream. I’ve been doing more indie shows, and on top of that they have been in Lawrence, thus having an older crowd by nature. For most of the 8 years I’ve been going to concerts, I was always young for the shows I was going to, but something changed that night at Passion Pit. It was a sold out show, and the crowd seemed to have an average age of 16. Now, Jack wasn’t the same kind of concert goer as I was in high school, so he did not have the same sort of anger I had at the crowd that night. I am used to peaceful, dance-y, fun concerts where everyone gets along, not ones with drunk 17 year old girls from SM East who are hitting on frat boys from Arkansas, or girls giving me a death glare, or people stepping on my feet to get me to move and super tall guys standing in front of me and not asking if I could still see. I’m short, I can rarely see at concerts where people are nice, so it’s pretty obvious that I did not get to actually see much of Passion Pit. During the first band, Bearhands, the drunk high schoolers began their decent upon our area, they were wasted and began asking around to see if anyone was 21 and would go buy them drinks at the bar. All it took was me hearing one of them ask a girl if she was 21 for me to immediately hide my newly acquired wristband. I was not about to have any part of that situation. That was the moment I realized I was old. The rest of the night it was just verified that I was in fact old and lame and cannot do concerts like that anymore. I danced and sang and really enjoyed all three bands, probably enjoyed Mayer Hawthorne the most, but it was a good concert with some of the worst people I’ve ever been around. The days of me going to shows loved by hipster teens are so over. Last Friday, I saw the Flaming Lips for the second time. It was mind blowing and the crowd was so nice and happy, such a nice change from Passion Pit. The Dead Weather opened for them, which fulfilled my dream of seeing Jack White live. It was a perfect night in Bonner Springs, KS. The only drawbacks to that magical show was the obnoxious guy who was both drunk and high, which means he was just out of it and dancing with his elbows (I HATE ELBOW DANCERS!) and the fact that my shoes were killing my feet, but besides that it was wonderful and perfect and I hope I can see them many more times.
This could have been more concise. I’m sorry. I must be feeling very long-winded tonight.
yours truly.
