Music

Alan and I went to see Baby Velvet play last week. I didn’t know her music well, but I’m obsessed with Croft’s other band, All Our Exes Live in Texas, and the show was to be held in a venue not far from our place, and I’ve been making more of an effort to see live music since the COVID lockdowns. It still feels special to me to gather in the same actual, real-life room with lots of other actual, real-life people; I’m sure the novelty will wear off soon, but in the meantime I’ll just be over here saying, “It’s just so good to be here!” and dabbing at my eyes like an absolute weirdo. If being stuck at home over the last couple of years taught me anything, it’s that I’m less of an introvert than I’d previously thought.

When I went to pay for the Baby Velvet concert, I realised I could use those Service NSW parent vouchers, and so the two tickets cost me precisely $0 which felt like a surprisingly lovely gift from a government I’ll never vote for.

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I’ve had an interesting relationship with live music over my adult life.

In my early 20s, when I first became an evangelical Christian, my boyfriend at the time gave away our Radiohead tickets because I told him I’d changed my mind about going. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to listen to Radiohead anymore, now that I was officially born again; I was basically a new person, so the Bible told me, and I didn’t know what music the new me was allowed to enjoy, but probably not music with swearing. I wanted to get it right so as to avoid the need for any teary apologies to God for fucking up so soon after promising not to do that ever again.

Later, when I found out I was allowed to love both 90s rock music and Jesus Christ, I kicked myself for missing that show.

Then, when I was 30, Weezer came to Australia. I saw posters up around Strathfield on my way home from Bible college lectures, and agonised over whether I should/could go along; Weezer was the first band I’d fallen in love with all on my own, without the help of any older siblings. They were going to play Blue Album all the way through, from start to finish! THE BLUE ALBUM! Buddy Holly!! Say It Ain’t So!!! Holiday!!!!

But was it okay for me to spend money on watching a band play a bunch of songs I could hear on my stereo at home for free when there were people in the world who couldn’t afford to eat? Was it okay to buy anything at all outside of what was strictly necessary to keep me and my family alive? Shouldn’t I be giving any and all spare money I had to others, rather than throwing it away on a few hours of musical heaven? The real heaven mattered more, I decided; God would reward me there for this sacrifice. I didn’t buy tickets.

I came to regret that decision too.

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The Baby Velvet concert was on a rainy Saturday afternoon, which, it turns out, is exactly when all tiny concerts should be held. The venue was cosy and warm (too warm, actually; the owner had to turn off the air-conditioning once a bunch of us had peeled off as many layers of clothing as was possible within the bounds of public decency), and the music was lush and fun.

Afterwards, as we were making our way towards the door to head for home, we bumped into “Joe,” a man Alan knew from chess club, who introduced us to his wife, “Lou.” Lou and I tried to start a conversation across Alan and Joe’s chess-related chatter and then, upon realising this was frustratingly difficult, she and I moved over to one side of the hallway and Alan and Joe stayed on the other, and we all nattered happily for 15 minutes or so.

Later that evening, long after we’d said our cheery goodbye!s and lovely-to-meet-you!s, Alan asked me whether Lou and I had been staring at him mid-conversation because we were speaking about him, and I said yes, we’d been talking about where he and I met (church), and his past life as a minister.

“Oh, wow," Alan said. “I haven’t had one of those ‘where did you meet?’ conversations in so long!”

“Mate, we covered everything,” I told him. “Where we met our partners, where we grew up, siblings, children, miscarriages, work, hobbies, the bruised-vulva feeling you get after spin classes. We’re basically best friends now.”

A moment later I asked Alan what he and Joe had spoken about for all that time and he said, “Just chess.”

I’m not sure whether it’s because I’m approaching 40 or because I’ve attended a couple of funerals over the last year, or something related to neither of these things, but I’ve noticed myself starting to make decisions based on the fact that I’m for sure going to die one day. I say yes to things I used to say no to. I say no to things I used to say yes to. 

I’ve realised that music’s been involved in every notably blissful experience I’ve had (I would’ve called these “God moments,” once upon a time): listening to Hillsong in my bedroom, watching Michael Franti at Bluesfest, singing harmonies in church and in my car and in the local community choir, dance-cooking (it’s a thing) to Bleachers turned all the way up. I want to make more time for bliss in whatever’s left of my one wild and precious life.

Also: being extremely privileged and spending years in therapy slowly chipping away at my proclivity for black and white thinking has meant that now I know I can see live music and give money to causes I believe in; it’s a both/and situation rather than an either/or. 

And so I’ve been going out, expanding my heart by watching Ben and Ian from Gomez sing Rhythm and Blues Alibi at my local pub; yelling “I LOVE YOU EXACTLY HOW YOU ARE” along with hundreds of other keen beans at Ball Park Music’s 499th show; thinking, It’s just so nice to be in an actual room with actual musicians again! while intermittently dabbing at my eyes.