Cue the music.
I saw a glimpse, a shimmer, a shadow
Of something, I had once but since lost
And now I, I've got a feeling that I'm
not complete anymore.
It's 6:30. Doors were said to
open at 6 o’clock, and here we were standing in line in 10 degree weather in front of an old
architecture building of some sort that was now plastered with concert posters
dating back to 10 years ago, thirty minutes after the time we were told we
would be let in with our toes most likely frostbit and back of our hands marked
with big black X’s just to reinforce the feeling that we were too young to be
there. It’s safe to say that the bitter cold was making me crabby.
Soon after, we are finally let in. People
are pushing us in a manner that is probably meant to seem as gentle and as
polite as a push can be, but in fact is not gentle at all. I’m pretty sure the place was added
on to the side of the building, because the right wall is made out of brick, with windows that looked like they came from the factories that, from what I’ve
learned in my years of history class, existed back in the 1950’s. Street
lamps lined up along this brick wall glowed dimly in the background. If you didn’t pay
attention, you probably wouldn’t even notice this detail. On the staircases and
ceilings, bright blue lights were hung up, glowing so brightly that it hurt
your eyes to stare at them for over a few seconds. Along the left side of the
café was the bar, but I really didn’t pay that much attention to it since I am
not allowed to drink anyway. All I can
say is that it was busy. The stage was located at the very back, and was
probably the size of three parking spaces. Right behind it hung a sign just
as big that had the three words, WALK THE MOON, painted on with bright red,
green, and purple paint. The whole place was so hip, with it’s crisp modern
decorations but antique and vintage structures.
With the harmonious melodies of
their first song, “Quesadilla,” the concert started. As I looked through the crowd
I noticed that although everyone seemed so different, I couldn’t help but
wonder whether we were all the same.
In front of us was a young woman
wearing a green dress with pigeons or swans or some type of bird on it, with
the tan purse and brown oxfords, standing with a man who I am assuming was her
boyfriend since he was holding on to her with his hands on her waist. Although
they were touching, they didn’t appear to share any connection at all. They
weren’t talking to each other and both of them had dead looks on their faces, appearing
as if neither wanted to be here at all.
There was that other couple, fellow teenagers this time, who took this time to grind and dry hump not only each
other, but against others around them as well. I don't think the girl turned around even once to talk to the guy. As one of those people who did
get grinded on by them during the concert, I was not very pleased. By all means grind with each other if you please, but do not make this a three way grind with me. I am almost
positive that they were using this as a method to get to the front of the crowd.
Stay classy, people.
Then there’s that guy who is wearing the
navy blue tank top that is obviously a t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, who
is meandering his way through the crowd, carrying little jars of various bold
colors of paint, asking anyone and everyone whether they wanted warrior face
paint. Faces were being smeared with globs of red, blue, and purple, all around
me.
Almost everyone was acting drunk,
although I’m willing to bet that over half of them hadn’t even had a sip of
alcohol due to the fact that I could see black X’s on hands all around us. I
don’t understand what it is about concerts, but they bring out the craziest
side of people. Maybe that’s what makes it fun, everyone doing what they want,
not giving a shit about what others think of them, belting out the lyrics at
the top of their lungs, and jumping up and down, fist pumping, and dancing as
if our lives depended on it.
The set that was prepared by the band was
made to pump up the crowd and bring everyone together. Their last song, or technically their encore, “I
Can Lift a Car”, has staccato beats mixed with a steady rhythm, designed to
motivate you and get you hyped up. Everyone was singing, or rather screaming,
with as much gusto as they could muster, “All by myself, all by myself. I can
lift a car up, all by myself!” This ended the concert flawlessly, with the
crowd acting as one, yearning for more, but satisfied none the less.
I couldn’t tell if the people in the crowd with me were
there because they cared for music and genuinely wanted to see the band, if
they were only there to appear as so called, “hipster”, or if they were just
looking for somewhere to go on a Friday night. I was there because I honestly
loved the band, and have since the end of summer. I couldn’t shake
the feeling of being proud that I had discovered this small band, which until
recently, was just a band whose music only appeared in the deepest corners of
YouTube. It was as if I was in on a secret that only a few people knew, and I
loved it.
From what I’ve seen, being hipster is the
new main stream. Everyone wants to have their own sense of style, their own
look, music taste, and ideas of fun. It seems that everyone wants to be unique,
but in doing so, everyone is one and the same. I can’t help but to wonder where
all the individuality is now.
Cue
the music.
I saw a glimpse, a shimmer, a
shadow
Of something, I had once but
since lost
And now
I, I've got a feeling that I'm not complete anymore.
