How (Not) to Behave at Concerts

This week, I faced my crippling fear of crowds, sweat, loud noises, drugs, and people enjoying themselves...and saw Justice at the Paramount. All things considered, I'd say it went pretty well. No one had a panic attack and hid in the bathroom. No one got lost, kicked out, or - more likely - ran away. No one's hair was chewed on by the fat man moshing behind them. Are these all things that have happened to me and mine at concerts in the past? ABSOLUTELY.

"Rock" Concerts: The Beginning

I guess it all started at Franz Ferdinand in 2005. I was branching into "alternative rock" at the time, although, confession: I've still never listened to a single song by The Decemberists and YOU CAN'T MAKE ME NOW, IT'S 2012. IRRELEVANT. Anyway. This was my first time in any sort of "mosh pit" environment, and I threw myself into the experience with the fervor and frenzy of a 15 year old girl who has never had anything that exciting happen to her, ever. Also, I was too young to know that I had no natural rhythm and no natural "happy" face. But ignorance is bliss and things were going swimmingly, until I realized the back of my blonde mane was SOAKING, not with sweat but with saliva. The creepy man behind me gave me a smug grin that very clearly said, Yes, I have been chewing on your hair. What are you gonna do about it? 

Nothing. I was 15. I ran away. (This is going to become a pattern...)

For your consideration: how concert environments tend to affect me. Frizzy hair, sweaty as fuck, EXTREMELY UNCOMFORTABLE.

Awkward School Concerts

Sometimes my high school would invite artists to perform at our assemblies for us, I guess so we'd have some incentive to sit through monotonous speeches about "diversity" and insultingly undiverse student elections (pretty sure our ASB president won with a speech about cookies, but I wasn't listening). I cannot overemphasize how awkward it is to be sitting in the bleachers with 400 of your classmates, at 11 in the morning, while some struggling rapper shuffles around the basketball court and tries to get you to "make some noise."

I must have been a sophomore the first time the Blue Scholars came to my school. My best friend and I stayed for about two minutes, then shared a look of confused horror and silently slunk out of the auditorium and down the street to the local bakery. This was the first time I realized that while I might enjoy listening to rap or hip hop in a private atmosphere, I am not prepared to exist comfortably in any setting where I am required to put one arm up in the air and...bob it up and down?? WHAT ARE THESE PEOPLE EVEN DOING OH MY GOD I'M SO WHITE I NEED TO LEAVE.

This. Whatever THIS even is.

So no, sorry, I don't care how much noise you want me to make. I don't care if you're holdin' it down for "real hip hop." It doesn't matter whether or not I like your music - which I actually might - I just don't care enough to humiliate myself with these arm-waving shenanigans.

I made the mistake of seeing Kanye at Bumbershoot the next year, and that was enough to cement the lesson: never again, hip hop show. NEVER AGAIN.

Well, that's a dirty fucking lie.

I totally didn't learn my lesson. Since I've started college, I've opened myself up to the chance of humiliation and awkwardness time and time again. Luckily for me, these nights never really come to fruition.

Exhibit A: Natalie and friends attempt to see Blue Scholars in Seattle. 

While pre-funking at our friend's house in Laurelhurst, I got ridiculously drunk and ran away (told you it was a pattern). I'm one of those extremely considerate drinkers who is able to recognize when they are belligerent/violent/generally dangerous, and can remove themselves from the situation. Unfortunately, my method of "removing myself" is to quietly gather my things, back away slowly, then break into a dead sprint. On this night, I did exactly that. I forgot that I had our tickets in my purse. My friend chased me down the block. Twice. Eventually I did sneak away home, and they went to the concert without me. Probably for the best.

Exhibit B: Natalie and friends attempt to see Tech N9ne in Bellingham.

OK. In my defense, I didn't know what a juggalo was when I first heard Tech N9ne, and "Caribou Lou" was a very popular song. It was also the drink we made that night, in honor of the concert. To this day, I find myself singing the tune of that song in order to remember how to make the drink, so if you see me sort of drunk by myself in a kitchen humming, "151 rum, pineapple juice and Malibu, Caribou, get them all numb...make baby girl-OH HI," then that's why.

Anyway, we made Caribou Lou, and if you haven't had it, then you should, but only on a night where it's imperative that you remember nothing, like a furniture store opening or a family reunion. Anyway, we drank a considerable amount of it in preparation for the concert...and then the tickets were nowhere to be found. We tore the whole house apart to no avail, and six months later, my dad found them in the copy of "Angelology" that I'd borrowed. Angelology. Say that ten times fast. You can't.

Once again, it's probably for the best that we never made it to the concert. Let's be honest, Tech N9ne doesn't exactly attract...my kind of people.

Exhibit C: Natalie and friends attempt to see group from high school in Bellingham

Shortly thereafter, some guys from my high school who rap came to town and we decided to go. Why? Well, put it like this: "Party in the U.S.A." is probably not a very popular song in Russia. So, take that argument, reverse it, and apply it to my situation: sometimes, it's nice to hear people making music about things you can relate to, like YOUR SCHOOL, and YOUR LOCAL PARK YOU ONCE GOT DRUNK IN, and PEOPLE YOU KNOW, even if what they're mostly doing is calling girls from your high school "Diet Coke Slutz." Yes, with a Z. But I digress. We went, and it was sooo bad. I thought the bouncer wrote "ILY" on my hand, so to be polite I said, "I love you, too?" It was actually "114" because I was the 114th person to arrive. Fuck.

Also, it was one of those terrible concerts where people aren't just moshing about and being individually uncoordinated, but are...dancing? Grinding? Ugh. The incredibly inebriated guy I was with, who I knew well enough to look after but not well enough to consider indulging, just sort of clung to my back (I think mostly so he would remain vertical) the whole time. He kept trying to make out with me, which I kept trying to ignore. The result was this, the most strangely placed "hickey" I've ever seen:

Note the "114" on my hand. Hopefully you can understand my confusion.

Bottom line, I have never had a successful concert experience...

...until this week, when the Justice concert went surprisingly well! I didn't lose my ticket or my friends, I politely declined an elderly Mexican's offer of cocaine, and my friends and I carefully maneuvered our way to the front by a combination of elbows and "looking for our little brother." Apparently the people around us referred to us as "those shady girls," but whatever, my friend had a fucking DAISY CHAIN on her head, how is that shady? 

Just two wholesome girls, arriving late and trying to sneak closer to the stage. 

By any means necessary.

Will I let this sudden success go to my head, and proceed on a haphazard, thrill-seeking concert spree? Probably not, because to be honest, most of the artists I would pay good money to see are dead or retired, and I am not down with this hologram shit. Also, please see the very beginning of this post for my feelings re: crowds, loud noise, sweat, drugs, and people enjoying themselves. 

But this experience did prove that even someone like me can just chill the fuck out for one night a year and give in to all the things they hate and maybe enjoy themselves. After writing that sentence, I feel very strongly that it could be used as a persuasive argument for a lot of things, so if that's what you're thinking, I said, No butt stuff.

(P.S. This is no longer a blog for a class so I can make butt jokes, right? Right.)