There was a time in my life when I would have thought it crazy to spend money traveling all the way from Midland to Austin just to see a rock and roll concert. Even if the concert featured one of my favorite groups, I was too stingy to spend the money.
I’m beginning to understand music better, now. Live music is more than listening; it’s engaging, it’s liberating, it’s energizing, it’s a full-body experience. And all music is better live – all of it.
I also understand community better, too. I understand the investment required to nurture friendships and sustain community. You can’t just say you’re friends with someone; you have to go be their friend. You have to do friend-stuff together. You have to feed the friendship if it’s to have any value.
So on Wednesday morning Mark and I left for Austin to join my brother, Carroll, and his friend, Gary, for a Wednesday night concert featuring the rock band, Rush. Carroll mentioned it months ago, and when I asked around for Rush fans, Mark jumped up out of his seat.
To be honest, I only know about Rush from my many late-night conversations with Carroll on the telephone. Rush was his band, his era, his music. For me, going to the concert was more about engaging with Carroll than with the music. Because I’m twelve years older than Carroll, we both grew up essentially as only-children. It’s only in these later years that we’ve found each other as friends, as we’ve raised children and played music and rode bicycles and hiked trails and talked politics. It was a joy and pleasure to enter into this part of his life. Carroll is a phenomenal drummer and a creative spirit, so his musical recommendations carry a lot of weight with me. He doesn’t recommend music that doesn’t swing.
However, the concert Wednesday night was filled with rabid fans who were much more like Carroll in their appreciation of Rush than like me. There was an occasional boyfriend or girlfriend or husband or wife who tagged along, but the majority was long-time fans. I know this because they knew all the words to all the songs. And if you know anything about Rush, you know there are a lot of words and complicated songs that stretch back to the early 1970s. I seemed to be one of the only people in the concert arena who didn’t know every word to every song. That is, me, and the young lady who “sat” directly in front of me and danced most of the evening with arms outstretched and hips swaying. She enjoyed the evening much more than her boyfriend, who kept telling her to sit down.
We all ate BBQ at Stubbs before the concert, where Mark proved his chops to the other guys when he mentioned he’d attended five Rush concerts, all before 1993, his first being in the mid-70s. Carroll was pleased that I had brought along a credible fan, not just another tagalong.
It turned out that pork ribs might not have been the best choice for a pre-concert meal, especially when the concert was in a hot arena and we were sitting up high, past the nose-bleed section and well into the high altitude cerebral edema section. Carroll told me he was lucky he recovered soon enough to race back uphill to his seat in time for the drum solo.
Like a lot of concerts featuring bands that have performed for decades, this was a community affair. There were multiple generations represented in the crowd, including many families with children and even grandparents, all banging their heads to the beat together. Concerts made up of loyal fans are fun because of the presence of community. There are certain lyrics you’re supposed to know and changes you’re expected to anticipate if you’re really a member of the community. Everyone was welcome to enjoy the music, but there was a price to pay if you really wanted be part of the group - know the songs.
Being “one of us” is a powerful drug, and we can’t live well without it. More and more, people do not ask, “Is this true?” or “Is this good?” Instead, they ask, “Do I want to be like you?” If the answer is yes, then they’ll trust your recommendations. If the answer is “No, I do NOT want to be like you,” they won’t listen no matter how correct or true or good it may be. People base their evaluations on community rather than on facts or data.
So after the concert was over, as we walked toward where we thought our car was parked, Gary asked, “Hey Berry, when you see Chicago in concert, do you play air trombone?”
“Oh sure, all night long. But I’m one of the only guys doing it; tonight there were 5,000 guys playing air drums all around the arena.”
It’s all about being in community. And, about music.
