My first concert was a really sweaty My Chemical Romance set at the Downtown in Farmingdale, New York. I was 13 years old and I thought it was the COOLEST thing in the entire world. There were smelly dudes in black ripped t–shirts passing joints around and breaking beer bottles. My 13–year–old emo boyfriend got stuck in the middle of a mosh pit and got a concussion. I wore Converse lace–ups and a denim miniskirt.
It. Was. Awesome. Even though I now think My Chemical Romance is pretty terrible, I was in heaven. I think everyone feels that way about their first concert — a thumping bass and a chance to be in the presence of your high school heroes. It doesn’t get much better.
Fast–forward an entire adolescent lifetime. I’m a wee bit older and (I think) I have better taste in music. I’ve been to my fair share of concerts and I’ve even kicked some dirt around with strangers at a handful of festivals. I’m no concert queen, no tiara full of tunes, but I do love being in the presence of live music.
From a tiny dive bar to Madison Square Garden, the feeling’s always the same: lights, jams and a good crew of dudes.
So concert lovers, join me in welcoming a new babe to town. Her name is Union Transfer and she’s pleased to meet you (p. 10). She’s got three bars so we’re obviously intrigued.
And if that doesn’t tickle your fancy, try your hand at the POPPED! Music Festival (p. 13) this weekend.
All this jamming jargon not your style? Get off your couch and go to the Rotunda. Suck it.
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