There are two things I love more than almost anything else; androgyny and live music. Given this fun fact, what follows will be of no surprise to you, my dear reader. I love The 1975.
You may ask yourself, “What a cool band, have you always been this daringly trendy?”
To which my answer is, no. I was, and continue to be, a giant dork.
I realized last spring that my music taste was an utter disgrace, not only to myself, but to whoever regularly rode in my car. Putting my phone on shuffle was Russian Roulette, but worse. Instead of getting shot, you got 45 minutes of uninterrupted One Direction mixed with the soundtrack to Miss Saigon; I had some major self improvement to do. It was time to discover my style, my taste, my ish, if you will.
I took to Spotify.
A brief fling with 90’s R&B sent me down an interesting road; let me tell you, nothing makes you feel sexually available like Genuine’s “Pony”. I found a deep appreciation for the style, and truly enjoy a lot of R&B, but I still ached for a tragic leading man to fill my angsty, teenage heart.
I took to Spotify again to find a band to fill this void, and something amazing happened; I found Sex.
The 1975’s hit “Sex” was my Steven Hawking moment.
I had found a band that I loved and a style that I connected to; the perfect mix of bops and songs to sob in the car to. It wasn’t until a few months later that I saw a picture of the band, and wouldn’t you know it, the leading man, Matty Healy, is beautiful enough to break your damn heart.
He’s described as having “a massive ego, and extremely low self-worth.” Confidence, anguished self-doubt, morbid introspection and ceaseless self-laceration; ditto arrogance, urgency, passion and panic, he’s got it all. This man, I’m telling ya. Lord help me.
But on the real, the music he writes is deeply moving and witty, intelligent and arrogant, accessible and pretentious; he is a man of dialectics, and of my heart.
Naturally, when the opportunity came to see them a few weeks ago, I was all but peeing myself with excitement. What I didn’t know, was that night would hold so much more than a concert for me.
You know those nights of absolute bliss; the ones that make you, if only for a moment, abandon any illusion of control over the future? The ones that are burned into you’re memory, that you save only for yourself? Those moments hold you’re entire being; the sadness, the joy, all of it.
Yeah, this night was one of those.
Tearing down the highway on the way to the concert, listening to “Somebody Else” and half yelling-half sobbing the lyrics, I felt invincible. With my best friend in the seat next to me and no one for miles, we pulled over to do cartwheels in the grass, just because we could. The freedom and possibilities of our lives felt limitless. I felt happier than I had in what felt like years, and the pressure of our shared struggles fell away; we just WERE.
It felt like the entire universe was conspiring for us, just for us.
We pulled into the only parking garage near the venue, and realized between the two of us we only had $5. Of course, parking was $10. I turned to the attendant, told her about our magical drive, about the cartwheels and the bliss, and asked if she would take $5 instead. She smiled, nodded and waved us through. God bless her.
We made it to the venue just in time to wait in the world’s longest line, containing the world’s largest population of girls between the ages of 16-25 in chokers and crop tops.
I was wearing a velvet dress, sneakers, and had drove-with-the-windows-down hair. I looked absolutely nuts, but we were still on cloud 9.
Nothing could touch us. Not the cops trying to arrest us for selling our extra tickets (bad idea), not the handsy security guards, not the man who couldn’t get our tickets to scan, not even the 6’5″ girl who wedged herself between me and the stage.
I am 5’2″, could barley see, was sweating profusely and had spent my last $5; but when the band came out, none of it mattered.
I couldn’t tell you what happened during their hour and a half set; I have hardly any memory of it. I didn’t bother to take pictures, or file each song into my permanent memory; I was just so incandescently happy to bare witness to that night.
I do however, remember a very nice boy picking me up so I could catch a glimpse of Matty. I felt so guilty, as that poor soul picked me right up by the profusely sweating armpits (with excellent biceps i might add). I will never forget floating over the sea of people, all singing along to my favorite song, and for that I am eternally indebted to you, Kind-Bicep Guy.
Those are the moments you never get back, that you have to choose to live fully.
Every other worry waited that night.
I locked eyes with Mr. Healy no less than 3 times, each time I felt like I was going to implode, but I just smiled and knew I shouldn’t take my bra off and chuck it, though I wanted to.
I didn’t think about how I looked, or if I had eaten too much or not enough that day. I didn’t think about if my makeup was okay or if my hair was frizzy; I didn’t care. My favorite band was right there, and I was listening.
After the encore, and the crippling despair at the knowledge that the show was over, we were in desperate need of hydration. The universe gifted us again, as a very nice bald man gave us free bottles of water. I thanked him, accidentally called him a goddess (at which he was only mildly offended) and we left.
As we got back to the car, it was all starting to feel like a memory, and that scared me. I looked over at my best friend in the seat beside me, put The 1975 on, chugged some more water, and knew that this HAD to be more than a story to tell.
If I continued to choose what made me happy, if I relinquished control over the future, if I listened to cool bands and did cartwheels in dresses and got picked up by strangers and fell in love with someone I didn’t even know, but whose music meant something to me-I could be this happy all the time.
That night could be more than a memory, it could be my life.
And so, love what you love, take risks, dance, laugh, do cartwheels, I don’t know, man. I think the moral here is to just take life as it comes, and to not get in your own way.
Life is not meant to be a collection of memories, it is meant to be LIVED.
Girl Seeking Peanut Butter 