I love standing among a group of strangers who, regardless of their background, their upbringing, their beliefs, are all experiencing the same thing as me at that moment. I love getting to know the people standing around me; I love watching them become drunk in a melody (or in a literal sense), their faces when they hear their favorite song. I love seeing a shy young musician smile when a fan screams her name, still unused to the attention. I love the quirks that make a band fun to watch, the shoeless pianist, the jam-like encores, and the mountain-men beards.
But really, what I love most, is that when you are watching live music, there is no room for anything else. A show can last four hours but when you leave, you know no difference in the world outside of the venue. For as much that has happened outside, all you will remember about those four hours is music. So, while your friends are at football games and your parents are working on whatever it is they do and someone somewhere is dying and another someone is being born, you leave the show unaware of any of that. Sure, those things may impact you someday, but they haven't yet. We all left our troubles at the door, we can pick them up when we leave if we so choose. For four hours, it is just music. And that is good. That is enough.
Yesterday, my friend and I were front row at a show for a band we love. That meant that the only thing we had to look at for the duration of the concert was the band itself. There were no back-of-the-head angles to avoid and no reason to find a distraction anywhere else. And, although the show was sold out, the 200 other people there didn't matter at all because we couldn't see them or hear them over the energy on stage. They were there, but they meant nothing to me (and I to them). All that mattered us, individually, was how the current chord progression made us feel. And that is great. That is plenty.
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