I didn’t attend my first concert until age 18. Thinking back on it now, I feel almost insulted that a self-proclaimed music-obsessed individual such as myself never experienced the magic that is live music until the summer before I moved away to college. (Ask anyone I know… I listen to music at all hours of the day, talk about it with anyone who will listen, my room is decorated with posters, my collection of vinyl, stacks of CD’s, stray Post-It notes with lyrics written on them.) My first concert, at the risk of sounding quite dramatic, caused almost this monumental shift in my perception of the world. I remember standing there in the grass, outside in the warm summer evening breeze, lights streaming across the outdoor venue, the music so loud I could feel it vibrate in my chest, actually feel it physically inside of me, and thinking to myself, so this is what I’ve been missing?
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I had never experienced a feeling comparable to that of hearing music with my own ears, its creators standing on a stage in front of me, singing unapologetically loudly with a crowd of people who all have at least one thing in common with you. It was joy unlike any other happiness that had ever swelled in my chest. I was obsessed. I spent months awaiting whatever concert I had scheduled next. I went to another concert later that summer, one more the next spring, two more the summer after. None of it was enough. I craved more. I researched upcoming shows at local venues, stared down the number in my bank account trying to convince myself that I was already in enough student debt for one more concert ticket cost to not really matter, watched festivals online through live streaming services when I wasn’t able to travel.
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My life once again, for a whole new reason, became all-consumed by music. I had never felt a rush comparable to the one live music provided, and attending concerts became my favorite activity. I had only seen five shows, but I was forever changed and committed to seeing every artist I wanted to see if I had the chance. I had found the one thing that brought me unadulterated joy unlike anything else in my life, and I was going to dive straight into it.
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And then the world stopped.
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It was February and I was planning on seeing BTS in June with my sister, followed by Twenty One Pilots with my college friends in Cleveland, Halsey with my best friend that July, and Def Leppard with my dad in October. All the excitement that amassed inside of me in anticipation of experiencing live music once again dissipated. I had to move home from college early, wasn’t allowed to see any friends or family, couldn’t go out to eat at my favorite restaurants or finish watching the U-M basketball season in Crisler Center, and yet the “canceled” and “postponed” announcements rolling in regarding live shows I planned on seeing felt like the most devastating thing the virus brought into my life.
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It sounds dramatic, and a bit selfish, considering people are sick and have died, and still are getting sick and dying. I recognize that. I grieve for the whole world and all that we’ve lost, all that’s been stripped away. But the virus has affected each and every one of us, in many ways to varying degrees. It has halted the course of all our lives, some more than others. As a senior in college, I felt cheated. I was attending my dream school, and only had a precious four years there. And then suddenly it was like I only had three. And then suddenly one by one, the things I so enjoyed about college, living with my friends, attending basketball and football games, actually physically going to class, were all gone. And then suddenly the one thing that I could always rely on to give me joy even in the midst of depression and disappointment and the daunting future was gone, too. For the past few years, live music, whether it be the anticipation of getting to experience it, or the memories, has been a driving force in my life. Just as music itself does, concerts keep me going.
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Much to my luck, and to the luck of all the other music-lovers out there, some of the void that had been left by the empty venues across the world has been filled. Musicians have navigated the unprecedented current times and have pooled their resources to bring live music to their fans all across the globe, and even financial support to those affected by COVID19. They’ve held virtual concerts on YouTube and other streaming services, using a real concert-like budget to put on a show. They’ve released music that they otherwise wouldn’t have had the chance to make if they had been touring. They’ve raised money for COVID relief, to provide materials to hospitals and resources for the research of a vaccine. They’ve donated financial support to concert staff out of work, unable to do their jobs as entire music labels have shut down all touring.
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If anything, music has brought people together even more, despite the fact that “6 feet apart” protocol has been enforced for nearly all of 2020. As it always has, music has acted as an agent of change and unity.
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Part II features two musicians in particular who have been finding alternative ways to fill the void that live, in-person music experiences have left in the time of the pandemic, BTS and Post Malone.
