Before we depart on this journey, let me be the first to say that concerts as a form of self care is NOT sustainable or realistic. Paying bills, brushing your teeth, scheduling that appointment you need – those are all sustainable, essential forms of self care. So this post isn’t intended to make anyone feel like they’re doing it wrong.
When I started doing more things for myself post divorce, the youngster in me started coming out. By youngster I mean, the slightly irrational, poor decision making skills youngster. The “let’s pay $235 for a concert ticket” youngster. I’ve also been relatively good at just “making things work” when I need to make them work.
I was working an overnight shift at my current job, a crisis residential center for teens. I think it was roughly 5:30am. I had already finished all my chores for the night, residents were sleeping, and I was scrolling Facebook. A few acquaintances had posted about seeing Pearl Jam at Safeco Field the night before. I moved to Washington in 2006 with a dream that I would see PJ in Seattle. I had seen them before in Little Rock, AR in 2003 at Alltel Arena. I went to the show solo. I had just turned 19. But this PJ Seattle dream had never taken shape. I had tried and failed to buy tickets once cause they sold out in 10 minutes. I had also tried to win them off the radio by employing the residents at work to listen to the radio for an entire shift so I could call in. They were a great team. Kids are stupid supportive when they feel like part of a team even if they don’t see the reward.
So fast forward to 2018. In a basement. On my phone. I searched for tickets on a whim. Pearl Jam was playing one more show at Safeco on August 10th. I found one…. For $235. I had the money. I had no sitter. Who fucking knows if I was doing the right thing of not. I clicked buy and I bought one ticket for myself. Just me. I went home that morning excited, tired, slightly confused at what I had just done, and ready….
Miraculously I found a babysitter, Stone’s Uncle Scotty who had recently moved to Seattle. I drove up early to spend the afternoon with him and his girlfriend and so Stone could get used to their company and space. We walked Alki Beach, ate dinner, and caught up on everything that was going on in our lives, especially mine since Scotty is my ex’s brother (told you I got the family in the split). Plus, Scotty has always been my favorite. I met him when he was maybe 14? He was young, baby faced, totally goofy and so sweet. He still is except now he’s bearded and grown.
I took an Uber from their place to Safeco Field. The merch tent was set up outside the entrance with a line that seemed miles long. Pearl Jam merchandise is a big deal with limited edition prints and shirts by local artists. Additionally, a portion of the proceeds went toward fighting homelessness in Seattle which has become an astronomical problem for a multitude of reasons. Mainly the huge increase in housing costs and the minimal increase in pay. It seems so strange now looking back at home much money was being circulated that evening when families were living in tents and pallet homes in the hills reaching up along I-5.
I got inside, bought a $10 hard apple cider, and found my seat. Not gonna lie, the seat was shitty. I was in the 3rd level up from the floor. I didn’t realize I could have paid the same amount for a floor spot. I blame a lack of sleep for that poor decision. Ultimately though, having an actual chair to sit in and being close to fresh air was really nice. I got to watch the sun set slowly as I anxiously awaited the band’s arrival.The stage lights glowed blue and purple. And “Oceans” first few chords drifted…
There’s something electric about live music. I have been watching musicians perform for as long as I can remember. My dad played. My brother started a band when he was 12. I would have been 3 then. And I went to shows and concerts almost every weekend of my high school career. My first real concert was the Foo Fighters and Red Hot Chili Peppers when I was newly 15. I was front and center staring at Anthony Keidis as he screamed the intro to “Around the World”; I lost my voice and hearing temporarily; I had my shirt ripped off in the mosh pit. I’ve been punched during pits at Pantera, cried during Nine Inch Nails, and smoked my fair share at many a Beale Street music festival (sorry mom!). It’s a rush. It’s fun. And all through those teen years I felt invincible and fearless.
After years of feeling less than such, live music made me feel more like me again. I was again singing, dancing, drinking, and chatting with a random couple from Chicago about how many times they had seen Pearl Jam.
When August 2019 hit, I was prepared. I got tickets to Nathaniel Ratliff and the night sweats on a Friday, where I first experienced alcoholic seltzer water (weird because it tasted like my Aunt Tu’s house smells) and pretentious white dudes in their 20s (also weird because they talked about buying property in Costa Rica because it’s cheap and economic colonialism is alive and well). I danced the entire night once I found a spot near the stage.
Then I saw Rob Zombie and Marilyn Manson the following Saturday where I accidentally drank an expensive huge ass cocktail after having an edible I forgot I had eaten when I parked (sorry again mom!). All while critiquing goth rock fashion and watching this guy magically manifest otter pop after otter pop after otter pop from his lunch bag. AND the motherfucker brought GRAPES!
In September, I drove to the Gorge (finally) to see Bon Iver at one of the most gorgeous outdoor venues I have ever seen.
Truthfully, this is probably in my top ten of all time concerts. The weather was perfect. I was rocking this dusty blue porkpie style hat and braids, feeling cute as shit. I bought my man NBA2k20 online while waiting for Bon Iver to take the stage. And he played all these songs I love so dearly: “Re:Stacks” and “Towers” and “Wash” and “Lump Sum”. The encore ended me though. He played “Holocene”, my absolute favorite. His albums have been the soundtrack to my Montana/Wyoming adventures. It’s what I listened to at 2am in my VW diesel Golf trying to find an unknown home south of Bozeman. I listened to him as I learned the art of doing nothing, drinking coffee and reading at a local bakery. His music will always match up with rolling landscapes and rides on the back of Neil’s Triumph.
During the concert I ate garlic fries and chicken strips, had a drink, smoked a few cigarettes, and afterwards camped out with a couple friends that joined me for this whirlwind trip. The next morning I was up with the sun, got a latte at the camp store, and enjoyed the afterglow from the night before while everyone else woke up.
Now that 2020 is here, I have a few people I want to see. Time and money willing. Raphael Saadiq is playing a small venue in Seattle this February. Alanis Morissette is touring to mark the 20th anniversary of “Jagged Little Pill”. Rage Against the Machine is reuniting for Coachella (which morally is tearing me up). The options for summertime are open and hopeful. And isn’t that what living is all about?