Let’s talk about concerts.
I’m writing this as I stress over several things (including but not limited to: my Digital Studies presentation, how the hell I’m getting home tomorrow, how inhibiting my current illness is going to be, the outcome of Super Tuesday) one of which is whether or not I’m going to be able to make it to the Metric show at the Fillmore two weeks from now. My dad Facebook messaged me a link to the tickets last night, reminding me that I still have no clue how I’m going to make it work. All of this concert induced stress has me thinking now: was it always this difficult?
I remember a time, just a few years ago, where it certainly wasn’t. There was a show I really wanted to go to? Family field trip! As I got a bit older, my dad regularly volunteered himself to be the grown-up chaperon for my merry band of less-emo than we thought we were friends (as long as the concert wasn’t on a school night). We eventually graduated to a hands-off drop off and pick up behind our club of choice. Concert tickets were birthday and Christmas presents, or a generous favor.
At some point though, I became an adult. A woman with a 9:30 Club Friends With Benefits membership who knows where her metro card is at all times. I thought this would make it easier. I was wrong. Getting to shows became an expensive ordeal.
Last July, me and two of my co-workers decided about six hours before a sold-out Taylor Swift show that we were going to go. Addie pulled out her tablet and I pulled out my debit card in the camp “office” (relatively spacious closet) while the 15 year-old volunteers managed 30 screaming campers and spent several hundred dollars on pretty bad seats (3 tickets x $120 a ticket + processing fees; don’t worry, they paid their share back to me). We took the metro downtown and couldn’t really see the stage, but the thing was, it was totally worth it.
In December, My friend Chloe and I discovered the line-up for DC101’s holiday show (lineup: The Struts, New Politics, Bastille, AWOLNation, Fall Out Boy). Still riding the high from when I MET New Politics the year before, and kind of hating myself for never having seen Fall Out Boy live, I decided we had to attend. The tickets themselves weren’t that expensive ($40 a piece for THAT lineup? easy), but the show was at GMU and we were stuck down in Fredericksburg without a car. Despite hoping for an alternative right up to the day of the show, we ending up taking an Uber. About 60 miles. It wasn’t cheap. We crashed the night at her mom’s house and Uber-ed back the next day. In traffic. We spent an unspeakable amount of money on those Uber rides – but I wouldn’t trade that night’s experience for anything.
Why? Why am I content to put myself through this stress to my psyche and my bank account. I question it a lot; growing up, I went to see my dad and his friends play live all the time at no charge to myself. It doesn’t make sense that I make such a big deal out of these shows, but I do. And I don’t think I’ll stop anytime soon.
On March 13th Metric is playing at the Fillmore Silver Spring. It’s a Sunday night, the weekend AFTER I return to school from Spring break. I don’t know how I’ll get there, if I’ll spend the night up in MoCo and skip Monday classes or try to make it back that night, or if I’m financially stable enough to buy the $30 tickets. But I’m gonna try to pull it off.