I celebrated another anniversary of my twenty-ninth birthday two weeks ago, and God has a funny way of sending you periodic reminders that you aren’t as young as you used to be. It’s your body taking extra time to recover after a work out. Sometimes, you find out the hard way that you don’t have quite the same tolerance with the alcohol.
The other day, I had one of those experiences at Terminal 5 in New York City (a club that sucks as bad as everyone says it does) during a My Chemical Romance concert.
I had seen MCR a few years ago during “Projekt Revolution” and thought they put on a great live show. I was looking forward to seeing them again as a headliner (when I saw them, they were just under Linkin Park in billing). Their new album was a favourite of mine from last year, so when tickets went on sale I figured “what the hell?”
What the hell was that…for starters, my pre-gaming has changed from a few Budweiser tallboys to a few pints at Rattle n Humm that are slightly higher in ABV, which was ok. I wasn’t in the bag, just buzzed and a little tired. Then came the concert.
I used to enjoy being at shows where everyone has packed together, bouncing up and down, swaying back and forth, and moving however you could with the limited personal space you had. I also used to go to concerts where I didn’t look like a chaperone compared to the rest of audience.
Halfway through the show my friend and I tapped out, and made our way to the back where we had elbow room and a short line for the bar (I think less than ten of us were old enough to drink). Even then, we just got water and said to each other, “Let’s go.” On the way out, I found the only guy who was around my age…and who was there with his son. The final reminder that maybe, in the immortal words of Danny Glover, I’m too old for this shit.
Don’t get me wrong, I still love the band. If they play a show at the Garden, I’m there. I still love live music and like checking out new bands. But it seems somewhere along the way, my peers stopped listening new music at some point while I was still, and am still, tuning into the music that their kids are starting to listen to.
And yeah, while in the movies, characters like Paul Rudd in “Knocked Up” and Jason Bateman in “Juno” seem cool to an extent (Bateman turned douchy), in the real world they’re just lame.
So I pose the question to you, what do you do when you still love the music but have outgrown the scene?
(Though I have to admit, I did get a bitchin’ hoodie)