We asked you, our faithful followers to submit stories of a time when you met a special someone at a music show. A few brave souls had some things to say:
1) I met this dude at acl. He gave me cigs in return for vodka and we exchanged numbers. But then he talked over Tame Impala so I gave up.
2)The venue was loud. Loud enough that she couldn’t hear me unless I leaned in all the way to shout in her ear. For almost an hour I was making small talk just for the chance to keep smelling her hair. It’s a funny type of conversation when you have to really, actually take turns speaking. You make your lame joke and you have to lean back again waiting, praying that you see her crack a warm smile. To be honest, I can barely remember the music. It was any music, it was all music. Every good song is a love song, one way or another. Not always about a person, not always about people, but every good song is a love song. It’s surprisingly intimate among the crowding, the pushing, the general chaos of a concert. I guess that’s how life is, though. Love is the quiet place in the noise of everything else. Our little magical ability to be and not to be. You know the drill by this point: the utterly adolescent brushing of hands, the growing pressure towards decisive movement, the awkward relief of contact, the strange and wonderful feeling of unfamiliar fingers laced between your own, the sense of standing on a looming precipice -- the future suddenly made vast and incomprehensible. The music moves through all of this, the joy and the sound of the music made tangible through volume, the twin heartbeats of body and drum, the confident swagger of the lead guitar, the crooning flips and swirls of a keyboard, the thrumming reassurance of the bass. Maybe there’s spilled beer and shoes stuck to concrete and a sickly sweet smell of sweat and marijuana smoke. Maybe it’s a cold, bracing shock to finally step out into the night, maybe the warm Southern air holds you both closer than you hold one another. It has happened before, it will happen again.
3) This dude took me to see radiohead and I found myself falling in love yet again...with radiohead.
1) I met this dude at acl. He gave me cigs in return for vodka and we exchanged numbers. But then he talked over Tame Impala so I gave up.
2)The venue was loud. Loud enough that she couldn’t hear me unless I leaned in all the way to shout in her ear. For almost an hour I was making small talk just for the chance to keep smelling her hair. It’s a funny type of conversation when you have to really, actually take turns speaking. You make your lame joke and you have to lean back again waiting, praying that you see her crack a warm smile. To be honest, I can barely remember the music. It was any music, it was all music. Every good song is a love song, one way or another. Not always about a person, not always about people, but every good song is a love song. It’s surprisingly intimate among the crowding, the pushing, the general chaos of a concert. I guess that’s how life is, though. Love is the quiet place in the noise of everything else. Our little magical ability to be and not to be. You know the drill by this point: the utterly adolescent brushing of hands, the growing pressure towards decisive movement, the awkward relief of contact, the strange and wonderful feeling of unfamiliar fingers laced between your own, the sense of standing on a looming precipice -- the future suddenly made vast and incomprehensible. The music moves through all of this, the joy and the sound of the music made tangible through volume, the twin heartbeats of body and drum, the confident swagger of the lead guitar, the crooning flips and swirls of a keyboard, the thrumming reassurance of the bass. Maybe there’s spilled beer and shoes stuck to concrete and a sickly sweet smell of sweat and marijuana smoke. Maybe it’s a cold, bracing shock to finally step out into the night, maybe the warm Southern air holds you both closer than you hold one another. It has happened before, it will happen again.
3) This dude took me to see radiohead and I found myself falling in love yet again...with radiohead.
There was something about that skinny Jean wearing drummer that always had me. When he finally invited himself over to my apartment and had the "what kind of music are you in to?" conservation, I knew I was in love after hearing we have similar tastes.
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