A How to Go to a Concert Alone, Two Days Before a Pandemic.
Go to a concert alone, try it at least once. Scream lyrics
without fear of who might hear, let your emotions run wild without having to
answer for them later. Go to a concert alone, you’ll thank me once you do.
March of 2020 was shaping up to be another link in a chain of positive months that I had experienced. I was enjoying my studies, I had become more social, plus motivation and morale were running high. Every day felt unique and I was excited to share new experiences with the people aroud. In February, one of my favorite albums of the year, by one of my favorite artists released. Kevin parker released his fourth album The Slow Rush under the stage name Tame Impala. This release coincided with my birthday, amplifying the listening experience.
I still love The Slow Rush to this day, listening weekly. Although the album is a masterpiece, one song stood out and lodged itself deep into my psyche. Track seven, titled “On Track.” The song centers around bleating piano chords, an almost alien synthesizer effect and Kevin’s somber vocals. Kevin sings about feeling lost, alone and at odds with the cascading waves of time. The emotional center of the song moves from melancholic confusion to acceptance of one’s place in the world. Listening to it feels like an existential journey. I love every second. I rode the album throughout the rest of February and into March.
We all know what happened halfway through March of 2020.
I was to be sent home in a matter of days, prematurely ending my best semester in college. Plans that had been made weeks in advance were cancelled instantaneously. I was angry, unprepared to face reality and unable to accept that fact that everything was ending. It was surreal. I chose music as a coping mechanism, revisiting my favorite albums, listening to them deep into the night. The Slow Rush had become more important than ever, and it would soon display its true power. On the night of March 10th, two days before leaving Southern California, I saw a video. It was Tame Impala, performing in Inglewood at the first show of their tour. I remember being glued to the screen; I could not believe what I was seeing. I saw an arena with a packed crowd, painted with lights and lasers moving in unison to the sounds of The Slow Rush. Every negative emotion that had been festering over the past few days subsided and my mind became clear. I decided that on March 11th, 2020, at 8pm I would be in Inglewood, California seeing Tame Impala live, a last hurrah before going home.
I rallied the troops and contacted everyone I could to see who would join me on my pilgrimage. Someone would be interested; I could not possibly be the only one that would be interested in impulse buying concert tickets. My invitations resulted in nothing. I bought a ticket anyway.
The evening of March 11th I hit the freeway and made my way North towards Inglewood from Orange County. I arrived at the venue, paid for the grossly overpriced parking and levitated through the crowds to my seat. I felt lighter than air, I could not believe that I was here, about to see one of my favorite artists perform. My section was empty up until ten minutes before the show started. I gazed upon the arena as it slowly filled up. What began as a trickle turned into a flood of concertgoers. It was a chaotic mixture of parents chaperoning their kids, hippies passing around joints, gym rats in sleevless shirts, influencers glued to their phones, high school students that had snuck out, ravers grinding their teeth and everything inbetween. A few minutes after 8pm the venue went dark. The arena lights were traded out for lasers, and a surrealist display of psychedelic rock controlled the stage. The crowd ebbed and flowed with every song and the lights display seemed to grow brighter and more vibrant over the course of the performance. I had never felt a deeper connection to a piece of art than in that moment, I was a part of The Slow Rush.
Towards the end of the show, a ring of lights that had illuminated the stage began to sink lower and lower towards the crowd, and eventually it turned to face the audience. A song dominated by a wobbly synthesizer accompanied the ring as it abducted the audience into its dissonant dance of lights. The stadium was filled with music as fans were treated to a sample of Tame Impala's third album Currents. It was "Nangs," an interlude of deep, swirling synth sounds. Accompanying the synthesizer was Kevin Parker’s vocals. “Is there something more than that?” Kevin sang on loop until the end of the light display. “Is there something more than that?” those words rang in my mind and entranced me. “Was there something more than that?” I asked myself. I was not even sure what “that” was, but I could not get the question out of my head for the remainder of the song.
The night ended after a continuation of hits off of Currents and another favorite of mine “Is It True?” from The Slow Rush. Unfortunately, “On Track” was not a part of the setlist, but the performance was a masterpiece and made up for my minor disappointment. I lost my voice that night, my body aching the next day from erratic, unapologetic dancing. Who cares? I knew not a soul In that arena, I was there for the music. Tame Impala’s tour to celebrate the release of The Slow Rush never got past two performances. I was one of the lucky few to experience the album live.
I still reflect on that night. As the pandemic rages on I only dream that I can experience something on that scale again. Nothing was the same after that night, the world was tossed into a state of frenzy and fear. In my own life I felt completely lost, directionless, confused, unable to care about what tomorrow could bring. I had never been less motivated, and my brimming optimism turned into a stark pessimism. I still could not accept the nature of my situation. This was a new normal, and all I longed for was the past. I lived in my room for the first few weeks of the pandemic, struggling to find reasons to leave my solitude.
One evening I decided to listen to The Slow Rush again after a small hiatus. I eventually reached track seven, and I heard the song in a completely new way. I felt my mind ease once the song reached its emotional core. A rush of euphoria came over me and I achieved clarity for a moment. After so much fear and frustration brought on by mandated isolation, I felt peaceful.
“On Track” is one of those songs that keeps existential dread at bay. It has the ability to pause the unmoderated and unending debates of one’s ethos, pathos and logos. It has the ability to bring back treasured memories that are being drowned out by stress and fear. It helps me remember the night of March 11th and how I felt. I remember the lights, the pulsating drums, the misfit crowd acting as a choir and the sounds of The Slow Rush. I know I will be able to get back there eventually and experience that night again.
Strictly speaking, I’m still on track.
March of 2020 was shaping up to be another link in a chain of positive months that I had experienced. I was enjoying my studies, I had become more social, plus motivation and morale were running high. Every day felt unique and I was excited to share new experiences with the people aroud. In February, one of my favorite albums of the year, by one of my favorite artists released. Kevin parker released his fourth album The Slow Rush under the stage name Tame Impala. This release coincided with my birthday, amplifying the listening experience.
I still love The Slow Rush to this day, listening weekly. Although the album is a masterpiece, one song stood out and lodged itself deep into my psyche. Track seven, titled “On Track.” The song centers around bleating piano chords, an almost alien synthesizer effect and Kevin’s somber vocals. Kevin sings about feeling lost, alone and at odds with the cascading waves of time. The emotional center of the song moves from melancholic confusion to acceptance of one’s place in the world. Listening to it feels like an existential journey. I love every second. I rode the album throughout the rest of February and into March.
We all know what happened halfway through March of 2020.
I was to be sent home in a matter of days, prematurely ending my best semester in college. Plans that had been made weeks in advance were cancelled instantaneously. I was angry, unprepared to face reality and unable to accept that fact that everything was ending. It was surreal. I chose music as a coping mechanism, revisiting my favorite albums, listening to them deep into the night. The Slow Rush had become more important than ever, and it would soon display its true power. On the night of March 10th, two days before leaving Southern California, I saw a video. It was Tame Impala, performing in Inglewood at the first show of their tour. I remember being glued to the screen; I could not believe what I was seeing. I saw an arena with a packed crowd, painted with lights and lasers moving in unison to the sounds of The Slow Rush. Every negative emotion that had been festering over the past few days subsided and my mind became clear. I decided that on March 11th, 2020, at 8pm I would be in Inglewood, California seeing Tame Impala live, a last hurrah before going home.
I rallied the troops and contacted everyone I could to see who would join me on my pilgrimage. Someone would be interested; I could not possibly be the only one that would be interested in impulse buying concert tickets. My invitations resulted in nothing. I bought a ticket anyway.
The evening of March 11th I hit the freeway and made my way North towards Inglewood from Orange County. I arrived at the venue, paid for the grossly overpriced parking and levitated through the crowds to my seat. I felt lighter than air, I could not believe that I was here, about to see one of my favorite artists perform. My section was empty up until ten minutes before the show started. I gazed upon the arena as it slowly filled up. What began as a trickle turned into a flood of concertgoers. It was a chaotic mixture of parents chaperoning their kids, hippies passing around joints, gym rats in sleevless shirts, influencers glued to their phones, high school students that had snuck out, ravers grinding their teeth and everything inbetween. A few minutes after 8pm the venue went dark. The arena lights were traded out for lasers, and a surrealist display of psychedelic rock controlled the stage. The crowd ebbed and flowed with every song and the lights display seemed to grow brighter and more vibrant over the course of the performance. I had never felt a deeper connection to a piece of art than in that moment, I was a part of The Slow Rush.
Towards the end of the show, a ring of lights that had illuminated the stage began to sink lower and lower towards the crowd, and eventually it turned to face the audience. A song dominated by a wobbly synthesizer accompanied the ring as it abducted the audience into its dissonant dance of lights. The stadium was filled with music as fans were treated to a sample of Tame Impala's third album Currents. It was "Nangs," an interlude of deep, swirling synth sounds. Accompanying the synthesizer was Kevin Parker’s vocals. “Is there something more than that?” Kevin sang on loop until the end of the light display. “Is there something more than that?” those words rang in my mind and entranced me. “Was there something more than that?” I asked myself. I was not even sure what “that” was, but I could not get the question out of my head for the remainder of the song.
The night ended after a continuation of hits off of Currents and another favorite of mine “Is It True?” from The Slow Rush. Unfortunately, “On Track” was not a part of the setlist, but the performance was a masterpiece and made up for my minor disappointment. I lost my voice that night, my body aching the next day from erratic, unapologetic dancing. Who cares? I knew not a soul In that arena, I was there for the music. Tame Impala’s tour to celebrate the release of The Slow Rush never got past two performances. I was one of the lucky few to experience the album live.
I still reflect on that night. As the pandemic rages on I only dream that I can experience something on that scale again. Nothing was the same after that night, the world was tossed into a state of frenzy and fear. In my own life I felt completely lost, directionless, confused, unable to care about what tomorrow could bring. I had never been less motivated, and my brimming optimism turned into a stark pessimism. I still could not accept the nature of my situation. This was a new normal, and all I longed for was the past. I lived in my room for the first few weeks of the pandemic, struggling to find reasons to leave my solitude.
One evening I decided to listen to The Slow Rush again after a small hiatus. I eventually reached track seven, and I heard the song in a completely new way. I felt my mind ease once the song reached its emotional core. A rush of euphoria came over me and I achieved clarity for a moment. After so much fear and frustration brought on by mandated isolation, I felt peaceful.
“On Track” is one of those songs that keeps existential dread at bay. It has the ability to pause the unmoderated and unending debates of one’s ethos, pathos and logos. It has the ability to bring back treasured memories that are being drowned out by stress and fear. It helps me remember the night of March 11th and how I felt. I remember the lights, the pulsating drums, the misfit crowd acting as a choir and the sounds of The Slow Rush. I know I will be able to get back there eventually and experience that night again.
Strictly speaking, I’m still on track.
