"belonging" is a lie, choose fun
tequila sourced from Brita, go alone
Dear Rocka readers,
If the tequila comes from an off brand Brita water filter, expect a hangover.
A couple weeks ago I took a spontaneous trip to LA thanks to my father’s hotel rewards points and my inability to process things until I’m forcefully extracted from them. I went to support an acquaintance’s album release, which is why to an alien perched in the rafters of a downtown warehouse I could be seen taking a double shot all by my lonesome.
I’ve noticed that the older I get and the more I “belong” in these spaces — whether that’s due to my job or my personal connections — the less I feel in place. The more I feel like a poser trying impossibly hard to appear normal. I’ll wince when saying my job title or talking about my writing, two things I do every day and am very proud of. When I was fifteen and forcing my way backstage to talk to bands, I did not experience this insecurity.
I think it’s because some genres seem to require a certain dose of “coolness”, and this show I was at had that vibe initially. No genre — no matter how granola, hippy, inclusive, whatever — is free from this. There will always be someone cooler in your eyes, someone who is the epitome of that artist’s listener.
There’s a superficial pressure to hold yourself in a certain nonchalant manner, but the truth is that every person in that room was bursting at the seams with giddiness. Lots had their own music, many wanted to dance, and everyone was waiting for an unnamed queue to relax. All the equation needed was an x factor to shatter the middle-school awkwardness that haunts daily adult social life.
“White Crocs” was that x factor. It came on and that slice of the world knew peace for three minutes. Everyone immediately knew this with that first dip of the bass. It was like the Brita spirits kicked in at the same time for every person.
As I leaned against a railing and joined the other people bobbing their heads to the DJ, the headliner of the event came up to me and hugged me. I was fully ready to re-introduce myself and explain why I was there as if I had to defend my actions in court.
Your honor, she’s a Michigan visitor who just wanted a taste of normalcy for a few days. She knows her music, but sometimes she zones out like a rave bunny on acid at EDC and can only say she listens to “a bit of everything.”
Maybe it’s the nature of my extremely online jobs, hobbies, and interests, but I often forget I’m a physical entity that people interact with — much less one they will remember. I had met the artist the year prior at a similar event and we’ve been mutuals on social media since. I’ve been loving his music for years, and this show felt like the summation of many years of work. I was proud to be there, and it was special to see the community the artist had built.
You see, no crime was committed. I paid to attend an event and in many ways I was a “day one” fan, yet I had an overwhelming feeling of insecurity that almost prevented me from going in the first place. In industries that are very image-focused or trying to sell a certain “vibe,” it’s easy to think you don’t belong somewhere. But you do. Hell, you’re the consumer. The whole thing is set up for you.
You don’t have to be hugged by the headliner for the show to be worth it. Others will recognize your passion, your knowledge, and your presence as a person who loves music and loves being in a space that manifests that adoration. Even if no one remembers you or so much as casts a glance your way, shows typically aren’t a Rocky Horror Picture Show experience… you aren’t going to be de-virginized on stage and paraded around like a sacrifice.
It is important to remember that musicians make music for many reasons, but most of the time they want to share that with others. If they didn’t, it’d sit in folders on a random desktop as they work their 9-5s. If you like the music, if you want to support the artist, and if you want to have a “White Crocs” moment with a bunch of strangers in a random room, go to the show. Go alone, go because of and in spite of, go in the clothes you don’t think quite fit the mood, go because the other option is just rotting in your bedroom.
Sometimes I need some help with this, hence why I couldn’t be vertical the day following this show until noon. I wish you better luck than I.
(I have included no identifying factors aka concrete details aka the very foundation of most compelling writing because I don’t want to get the venue in trouble for the Brita situation. Forgive me. That detail is too funny to not write. If you’ve pieced together what or to whom this is in reference, no it’s not. I made it all up. I am delusional.)
This playlist is called “view from the rafters,” and it’s full of some indie rock/pop bangers that are extremely danceable. My goal is to give you some tunes to break ya out of the insecurity bubble I found myself in this month.
I’ve been jamming to BEL’s “Are You Okay?” and Ben Berger’s “Sweat Stains” in the mornings. Both are upbeat jams with a couple threads of melancholy that make them feel real. If you’ve ever had substance problems or known someone with them (all of us, be real), boy have I got some fodder for you: “Liquor Run” by Ruby Waters.
The spotlight track this month is Penny Beverly’s “Jump In,” which is the definition of vibrance. This song sounds like a lovechild of Her’s, Alt-J, and maybe a questionable baby daddy touch of Echo and the Bunnymen. It’s got beachy bounciness mixed with bright, coaxing vocals that create such a fun track.
Wanna feel like a child again
All love, baby yeah count me in
Okay, once in a lifetime
Somehow we keep on getting by
Rocka out,
Ally