The power of punk

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The best day of my life occurred on Friday the 13th.

That was the day I saw my favorite band, The Front Bottoms, in concert.

The Front Bottoms have never been just a band to me. Amongst other things, the band is a time capsule, each song bookmarking a certain chapter of my life. For me, their music encapsulates the worst year of my life: the year that the girl who made me realize that I was a lesbian left me after two years together, the year my grandmother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, the year that we had to bury her. It was also the year I fell into the most severe depression I’d ever experienced.

When I listen to their song “Maps,” I am transported back to a tiny bedroom with bright blue walls in my grandparents’ townhome, playing that song on guitar while my mother tended to her mother in the next room.

“There is a map in my room, on the wall of my room, and I’ve got big, big plans,” I would sing, not even knowing my plans for the next day, let alone the future. Yet I held on, waiting for the day when I would truly believe the words I was singing, when I would be able to make big, big plans instead of being preoccupied with the present.

When I listen to “Lipstick Covered Magnet,” I remember nights spent huddled in the darkness of my bedroom, feeling nothing where my chest and stomach should be.

“I’m scared I’m gonna die as lonely as I feel right now,” I would repeat over and over, feeling abandoned and betrayed by the friends I thought I had. A depressing mantra, perhaps, but one that brought me comfort. It let me know, in the words of the band, that everything I felt was common, even though I had never felt so alone. People might leave, but music was always there for me.

Listening to “Twin Size Mattress” brings back similar memories, but where “Magnet” was an anthem of sympathy, “Twin Size” was one of salvation.

When I saw the song performed live, the lead singer screamed my favorite lyric with desperation, as if he knew that it was a pivotal moment for me.

“I will help you swim, I’m gonna help you swim!”

I started to cry, but not with the same tears I had cried alone in my room all those times before. For the first time in a long time, I was happy just to be alive.

The Front Bottoms have never been just a band to me. In that moment, they were the future itself, the future that had always been distant and unimaginable but had finally manifested. They were a time capsule, a three-minute therapy session, a life saver. Because of them, I know now that I am not going to die as lonely as I felt when I was 16. Because of them, I have big, big plans. I am no longer the painfully awkward freshman who was afraid to even hold hands with my girlfriend in public, who would spend brunches and lunches crying under a secluded tree at the back of campus because upon coming out, all of my friends had left me. Now, I am fully engaged in my passions– I’m an editor on the school paper, I have a lead in the upcoming school play, and I’m president of the Gay Straight Alliance, where I mentor kids who are the very image of who I used to be. I know now that I want to be a writer, to give a voice to those who do not have one, to show that words can change lives, just as they changed mine.

Because of them, I am afloat.

*Image credits to Shea Stadium, Youtube, The Key, and Monkeygoose Magazine


The Importance of Music

For as long as I can remember, music has been a central part of my life.

I distinctly remember walking around the playground with a clipboard in 5th grade, attempting to prove, through a poll of my classmates, that the Beatles were better than the Jonas Brothers. (I succeeded.) I find this funny now, not just because of the sheer novelty of being a 10-year-old caring that much about the Beatles, or the novelty of a 10-year-old conducting a poll on the playground to prove a point, but because as an adult, I now have a newfound, only semi-ironic appreciation for the Jonas Brothers. I stand by my opinion that “Lovebug” is one of the best love songs of all time. Ten-year-old me would scream.

Since my stint as a 40-year-old classic rock fan stuck in a prepubescent’s body, my music taste has only expanded, to acts both highbrow and “lowbrow.” I still love the Beatles, but I have just as much of an appreciation for Lady Gaga and her contributions to pop music and culture. I hesitate to even use the term “lowbrow” when referring to pop music and pop culture. I firmly believe that some (not all) pop music has genuine artistic value, just as some (not all) music of more “serious” genres has genuine artistic value. My appreciation for Lady Gaga, as with other pop idols and with bands such as My Chemical Romance, is one that is deeply earnest and unironic. That’s not to say, however, that I don’t enjoy the occasional meaningless, repetitive song i.e. One Direction, Katy Perry, Mac Demarco etc.

I’ve also grown to appreciate music not just as an aural experience, but as a performative experience. I think that’s where a lot of my appreciation of Lady Gaga comes from– she captures the performativity 0f pop culture and pop music, and parodies it in her music, her aesthetic, her live shows.

Beyond that, I firmly believe in the power of live music. I believe that every live performance reveals a small piece of the person performing, whether that be in a garage filled with a dozen people, or in Madison Square Garden. Performing music, especially music you’ve written yourself, is an inherently emotional experience. At every concert I’ve been to, I’ve experienced some kind of catharsis, and it is magical. The concerts in huge arenas filled with thousands is a great experience, but the best experiences I’ve had at shows were the ones in the venues that hold a few hundred people or less, where you’re packed like sardines in a bar or basement or club, standing just a few feet away from the act onstage.

One of the things I was most excited about with my move from Los Angeles to New York was exploring an entirely new, different music scene. I’ve made it my goal to find a venue that I love as much as I love the Echoplex back at home. It’s literally underground, a 700 capacity standing-room-only kind of place with a disco ball dangling above the floor. Sometimes it hosts Emo Nite LA, a monthly-ish event where people dance drunkenly to emo songs from the 2000s. The venue and the experiences I’ve had there are so important to me that I wrote my personal statement about a concert I attended there– and here I am at Hofstra today.

So obviously, there is some merit to the idea that live music has meaning. I firmly believe that these experiences, regardless of who’s performing or where they’re performing, deserve to be documented, and that is what I intend to do through this blog.