Who: Gary Lightbody (of Snow Patrol)
When: August 2, 2015
Where: Swedish American Hall/ San Francisco, CA
With: A room full of people in varying states of emotion
Of Note: This is a story about how I cried in public.
Snow Patrol is a band that I have a lot of emotional bullshit tied to. For years, one of their albums (it rotated) was my 'go to sleep' music. And, the first time I saw them (in PARIS) served as kind of an ending for me, the end of a period of mourning from a failed relationship. I can still clearly remember tearing up during 'This Isn't Everything You Are' and feeling so very triumphant during the last chorus because the message that despite all the pain and heartache, that's not all you are provided a tidy end to my, "and now we move on," narrative.
So, when I saw that Gary Lightbody, Snow Patrol's lead singer, was doing a solo show in SF, I immediately bought a ticket. That man's voice is magic.
The set was a good mix of new things he's been working on (a lot of songs about Ireland, a touching tribute to his late grandmother, a gut wrenching song called 'Call My Name') and crowd favorites from the bands he's played in. He also told lots of stories, interacted with the audience members who called things out, and was generally pretty amazing. Stand outs were 'Yes', 'Set Fire to the Third Bar', and encore closing 'Take Back the City'. The crowd was polite and appreciative; the venue was gorgeous. It was a near perfect night of music.
"But Jen, why only near perfect? That sounds amazing!" Ah yes, intrepid reader, why "near perfect"? Well, because I cried. In public. Like a crazy person.
So, here's the thing. I have had kind of an emotional summer so far. It's almost like now that I have most of my California rage and cross-country move weepiness out of the way, I'm being forced to deal with all the big, scary things that are still on my mind... that didn't go away or get better by moving, just got displaced by more immediate concerns.
I've been thinking a lot lately about my life, where I'm at, where I'm going and have been trying to answer some really tough questions. Like, does all my professional success and globe trotting and life of adventures that others live vicariously through really mean anything if I'm, at the end of the day, alone? Why have I been alone so long - like, is there something seriously wrong with me? A friend recently made the comment, "Right, you and your walls up to the moon." Why is that? Why do I have such a fortress around myself? How do I get over that so I can better let people into my life? Similarly, a guy I was out with recently asked, "Would you like me to go through that?" After a quizzical look, "The hoops you make people jump through." Yikes. Is that actually my deal? Seriously, is there something really wrong with me?
All of this spinning through my head paired with what I have found to be near absolute futility in dating because I don't operate the way that modern romance does (Seriously, why can people not just say what they mean? Do what they say they're going to? Why is it that the forthrightness, no bullshit approach to communication and life that has led me to so much professional success is to my absolute detriment in matters of companionship?) has left me a in a weird place.
And so, when Gary dusted off the amazingly gorgeous 'Lifening', I cried. And not just a couple of tears gently rolling down my cheek cried. We're talking shoulder shrugging, mascara destroying, actual crying. 'A hand upon my forehead, the joking and the laugh/ Waking up in your arms, a place to call my own/ This is all I ever wanted from life' Ouch, right? This song tells the story of all the things you want in life, largely centered around someone to share it with. And though those aren't all the things I want in life ('A career with limitless potential/ Financial security' doesn't have quite the same ring to it, I guess.), it kind of made me deal with the fact that those are some of the things I want but feel like I have absolutely no idea how to get them. So, tears.
But, good old Gary, he had my back. The second to last song of the encore was 'This Isn't Everything You Are'. Three years ago, that song felt like an ending. The heartache is over; it isn't everything you are. Tonight, it felt like a beginning. "Alone" is not my primary definition. That is not everything I am. I've talked with a number of friends recently about if they believe in signs from the universe. I'm not sure I do, but if I did, this song, delivered tonight, would point me to the fact that the recent bout of loneliness is far from everything I am. And so I cried.
(I'm sorry, were you excited RTE was back so you could read about music? Did you get navel-gazey, 1/3 life crisis, #firstworldproblems instead? I apologize. I just needed to get this out. I promise to be back with more actual music talk soon.)
When: August 2, 2015
Where: Swedish American Hall/ San Francisco, CA
With: A room full of people in varying states of emotion
Of Note: This is a story about how I cried in public.
Snow Patrol is a band that I have a lot of emotional bullshit tied to. For years, one of their albums (it rotated) was my 'go to sleep' music. And, the first time I saw them (in PARIS) served as kind of an ending for me, the end of a period of mourning from a failed relationship. I can still clearly remember tearing up during 'This Isn't Everything You Are' and feeling so very triumphant during the last chorus because the message that despite all the pain and heartache, that's not all you are provided a tidy end to my, "and now we move on," narrative.
So, when I saw that Gary Lightbody, Snow Patrol's lead singer, was doing a solo show in SF, I immediately bought a ticket. That man's voice is magic.
The set was a good mix of new things he's been working on (a lot of songs about Ireland, a touching tribute to his late grandmother, a gut wrenching song called 'Call My Name') and crowd favorites from the bands he's played in. He also told lots of stories, interacted with the audience members who called things out, and was generally pretty amazing. Stand outs were 'Yes', 'Set Fire to the Third Bar', and encore closing 'Take Back the City'. The crowd was polite and appreciative; the venue was gorgeous. It was a near perfect night of music.
"But Jen, why only near perfect? That sounds amazing!" Ah yes, intrepid reader, why "near perfect"? Well, because I cried. In public. Like a crazy person.
So, here's the thing. I have had kind of an emotional summer so far. It's almost like now that I have most of my California rage and cross-country move weepiness out of the way, I'm being forced to deal with all the big, scary things that are still on my mind... that didn't go away or get better by moving, just got displaced by more immediate concerns.
I've been thinking a lot lately about my life, where I'm at, where I'm going and have been trying to answer some really tough questions. Like, does all my professional success and globe trotting and life of adventures that others live vicariously through really mean anything if I'm, at the end of the day, alone? Why have I been alone so long - like, is there something seriously wrong with me? A friend recently made the comment, "Right, you and your walls up to the moon." Why is that? Why do I have such a fortress around myself? How do I get over that so I can better let people into my life? Similarly, a guy I was out with recently asked, "Would you like me to go through that?" After a quizzical look, "The hoops you make people jump through." Yikes. Is that actually my deal? Seriously, is there something really wrong with me?
All of this spinning through my head paired with what I have found to be near absolute futility in dating because I don't operate the way that modern romance does (Seriously, why can people not just say what they mean? Do what they say they're going to? Why is it that the forthrightness, no bullshit approach to communication and life that has led me to so much professional success is to my absolute detriment in matters of companionship?) has left me a in a weird place.
And so, when Gary dusted off the amazingly gorgeous 'Lifening', I cried. And not just a couple of tears gently rolling down my cheek cried. We're talking shoulder shrugging, mascara destroying, actual crying. 'A hand upon my forehead, the joking and the laugh/ Waking up in your arms, a place to call my own/ This is all I ever wanted from life' Ouch, right? This song tells the story of all the things you want in life, largely centered around someone to share it with. And though those aren't all the things I want in life ('A career with limitless potential/ Financial security' doesn't have quite the same ring to it, I guess.), it kind of made me deal with the fact that those are some of the things I want but feel like I have absolutely no idea how to get them. So, tears.
But, good old Gary, he had my back. The second to last song of the encore was 'This Isn't Everything You Are'. Three years ago, that song felt like an ending. The heartache is over; it isn't everything you are. Tonight, it felt like a beginning. "Alone" is not my primary definition. That is not everything I am. I've talked with a number of friends recently about if they believe in signs from the universe. I'm not sure I do, but if I did, this song, delivered tonight, would point me to the fact that the recent bout of loneliness is far from everything I am. And so I cried.
(I'm sorry, were you excited RTE was back so you could read about music? Did you get navel-gazey, 1/3 life crisis, #firstworldproblems instead? I apologize. I just needed to get this out. I promise to be back with more actual music talk soon.)
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