Notes From The Flip Side: 03.05.2000
"Let's tie a yellow ribbon around the necks/Of the motherfuckers living for the giving in"
I rarely speak to people at shows; it's a side effect of being shy, although I don't know many people who would use that adjective to describe me. I take a book, and a pen and paper, to kill the time between bands. I usually assume I won't be speaking to many people so I make sure I have something to do.
But when the band takes the stage, I forget everything else. The backpack comes off, I sing along and I dance. I forget that other people are even there. The music is all that matters. When it's a good night and the band finishes up, I drive home in silence, my ears ringing, and fall into bed exhausted. I don't care that I'm alone then; sleep is a relief and I'm still blissed out. Being alone then doesn't hurt as much; most people just don't understand how joyous it is to get lost in the sound and couldn't relate.
I was reading a novel by Julian Barnes the other day, and he argues that anticipating an event is frequently more gratifying than doing it. In some ways, he's right - I've waited years for some kisses; when they do happen, they never quite seem to come close to what I had imagined. When it comes to music, usually he's wrong. Watching the band tune up, tape the set lists to the monitors, listening to those first tentative chords ... at moments like that, anticipation is just flirtatious teasing, like those first hesitant kisses with a new love.