You can't go backstage without an escort." This is blurted out of the mouth of a man wearing an oversized black suit standing by the stage door. You have got to be kidding me. The last time I saw Brett play was at a small coffee shop in my hometown wearing flip-flops, and his feel good music was barely audible over the espresso machine. There were no stage doors and no bouncers. I guess we have come a long way. I'm living in a world away from home and he's playing to hordes of happy plaid-wearing people singing along to every word of every song. I hadn't seen him in many moons and the transformation was palpable. It was like when a movie cuts to 10 years in the future and the characters' lives are completely upside down from where they were when the movie started. It's not every day you get to see someone become the person they always wanted to be. But when you do, and when they become a person making art for large groups of people, it's an exciting feeling.
It had been a while since I had gone to see live music, which feels strange. My mom is a singer and I've grown up in the wings. I've grown up writing set lists and carrying guitar cases. I have spent a good deal of my life handling merchandise and assuring people that it is worth their $20 to buy a CD and support an independent artist. I'm glad to see that here in Boston there seems to be a lot of support for independent music. In my experience, I've found that a lot of it is actually really good. I saw an opener at The Middle East a few weeks ago that I had never heard of and her ethereal and hauntingly beautiful song "French Fries are Magical" almost made me cry. It had been a long week.
It's so important to take the time to listen. There is nothing better than getting caught up in the moment of live music. It's something you can share with complete strangers and nothing compares to it. Even if it's not your "style," there's something about the energy and vibration of instrument strings and drum skins that creates undeniable electricity. These moments are what make the tumultuous life of a musician worth it. The long road trips and crappy hotel rooms start to make sense because it's all in pursuit of something magical.
I waited several moments by the stage door, which Mr. Big Suit had told me not to enter despite my All Access Pass. But after several minutes of waiting I followed a couple girls that were heading backstage and slipped right through. You hear all the time that if you act like you know what you are doing people will think you do, and, apparently, it's true. I entered the green room or the "schmooze zone" and flashed back to reading "The Sisterhood of The Traveling Pants" (2001) between my mom's shows and spending way too long staring at myself making faces in those large mirrors framed by protruding light bulbs. By the time I was done catching up with my long lost, tall, red haired friend they had turned the concert venue into an after-hours club. I had to go back through the EDM flooded room to get my coat from coat check. I made my way through the crowd, dodging people with shiny hair and glow sticks. I walked out into the biting - or glacial - air, happy that, despite all the typical music business gripe, the magic is still there.
Eva Batalla-Mann is a sophomore majoring in peace and justice studies and community health. She can be reached at Eva.Batalla_Mann@tufts.edu.
