We’ve lived the past two months or so without a lot of great things that were once normal activities in our lives, including watching sports on television or at packed stadiums and arenas.
We’ve also lived these past two months without any concerts, which has been painful for a lot of people, including me because I had some great tickets to see one of my favorite bands (Pearl Jam) play what was supposed to be back-to-back shows in April at the Forum.
Concerts for me and just about everyone who enjoys seeing live shows are a place where the outside world goes away for a few hours as you jump up and down, rocking out to songs that mean a lot to you, have gotten you through things, and that are just fun to experience live with thousands of other people who feel the same way.
I’ve been lucky enough to see the Foo Fighters a few times over there years and if you’ve ever been to one of their shows you know lead singer Dave Grohl is a legend who knows how to make it a night you won’t forget.
Well, today Grohl published an column in The Atlantic in which he perfectly puts into words what concerts mean to him and fans of music and how much it hurts to not have them in our lives and how we have to hope that they are back to being a thing, safety permitting, some day soon.
It’s a great column and you should read it. This part jumped out to me the most:
Not to brag, but I think I’ve had the best seat in the house for 25 years. Because I dosee you. I see you pressed against the cold front rails. I see you air-drumming along to your favorite songs in the distant rafters. I see you lifted above the crowd and carried to the stage for a glorious swan dive back into its sweaty embrace. I see your homemade signs and your vintage T-shirts. I hear your laughter and your screams and I see your tears. I have seen you yawn (yeah, you), and I’ve watched you pass out drunk in your seat. I’ve seen you in hurricane-force winds, in 100-degree heat, in subzero temperatures. I have even seen some of you grow older and become parents, now with your children’s Day-Glo protective headphones bouncing on your shoulders. And each night when I tell our lighting engineer to “Light ’em up!,” I do so because I need that room to shrink, and to join with you as one under the harsh, fluorescent glow.
In today’s world of fear and unease and social distancing, it’s hard to imagine sharing experiences like these ever again. I don’t know when it will be safe to return to singing arm in arm at the top of our lungs, hearts racing, bodies moving, souls bursting with life. But I do know that we will do it again, because we have to. It’s not a choice. We’re human. We need moments that reassure us that we are not alone. That we are understood. That we are imperfect. And, most important, that we need each other. I have shared my music, my words, my life with the people who come to our shows. And they have shared their voices with me. Without that audience—that screaming, sweating audience—my songs would only be sound. But together, we are instruments in a sonic cathedral, one that we build together night after night. And one that we will surely build again.
Hell yeah, Dave Grohl.
